Child of the Grove

Chapter Nine

 

  Tayer would have no coronation, no robes of gold, and no great feast where the six dukes of Ardhan would come to pay homage to their new queen. She would go on no tour of the six provinces to acquaint herself with her realm. The huge and ugly State Crown was buried deep in the rubble that had been the palace.

  The dukes would give homage when they met on the battlefield. She would tour only the provinces the army must cross to meet Kraydak's attack. The queen rode at the head of her armies.

  "How can you be so sure, " Mikhail demanded, "that the attack will come at the Tage Plateau? What about the Northern Pass into Lorn? They've tried there before. "

  "And found it wanting, " Crystal replied, a breeze fanning her hair.

  "Kraydak's armies will come to the Tage Plateau. That far he has let me see his plans. "

  "Has let you see his plans? What in the name of the Mother for?"

  "It's my guess he's anxious for the battle and doesn't want me to miss it, "

  Crystal said dryly. "He'll keep telling me enough to ensure we're in the right place at the right time. " Then she left, taking the breeze with her.

  Mikhail looked at Tayer who was plotting the route from Belkar through Hale and up into the mountains. The duke's library had become war room, throne room, and petition room for the new queen.

  "How does she know?" Mikhail muttered.

  Tayer looked up at him and forced a smile. "I doubt we'd like to know, my love. I doubt she found out in a manner befitting a princess and the heir to the throne. " The smile vanished and she shook her head. "I can't deny what she is, Mikhail. I've tried never to do that, but she must acknowledge my heritage now as well as her father's and I'm afraid the two will not mix. "

  "Why not?"

  "The rules are too different. " She tried to remember how it felt to rest safe within the light, offering no resistance, but it had been too many years. Her memories of the Grove, of Varkell, of carrying his light beneath her breast were muted by distance and blocked by her responsibilities to her people. She scrubbed a fine-boned hand over her eyes. "Never mind, I'll speak to her. "

  She considered the map again. "The War Horns go out today. Aliston can meet us at Hale's Seat, but I suppose Cei and Lorn had best meet us at the battle ground. "

  Mikhail stared down at his wife. He knew she had a core of strength that seldom showed to those who knew her less well than he, but that strength had been sorely tested over the last few days and he wished he could do more to ease her burdens. "You do that like an old campaigner, " he said at last, because he had to say something.

  "I was trained to be queen. " Tayer sighed. "Although with two older brothers it didn't seem likely I'd ever have to use the training. " Her eyes misted and her voice dropped to a whisper as she remembered. "And I'd give anything not to have this chance. "

  Mikhail laid his hands on her slender shoulders and squeezed gently.

  "I'm all right, " Tayer told him, only a tiny catch in her voice betraying her sorrow. "But now Crystal must be trained as I was. The succession must be secure, especially as we ride to war. "

  A vision of his beloved hacked to pieces by enemy swords caused Mikhail to close his eyes in pain. But if Tayer could prepare for the possibility so calmly, could he do any less? He twisted the topic away from the battlefield.

  "She won't like it. She didn't like the maid you insisted she have, said a wizard doesn't need a maid. "

  "A wizard may not, but a princess does. "

  Mikhail smiled as he spoke. "Considering some of the outfits she's expected to wear, I don't see how she can do without one. "

  "There are a lot worse things than maids facing her. Although she should've consulted with us first, I'm glad she asked that Scholar to help her. I very much doubt her schooling over the last few years included economics, local histories, diplomacy, protocol, " she paused, "and the making of war and the sending out of War Horns. "

  They were back to the battlefield.

  "Is there no place for Riven in your plans?" Mikhail asked, suddenly recalling the distribution of War Horns she'd mentioned earlier.

  All remaining light left Tayer's voice.

  "Riven is set upon joining his wife and child. He forgets he still has one child left living to grieve and goes running back to the arms of the Mother.

  He doesn't hear the tears of his son or the pleading of his friends. He just lies there, waiting for Lord Death to claim him. " She reached for Mikhail's hand and laid her cheek against his side.

  His other hand came around and gently stroked her hair. "This should never have been set on you, " he said softly. "Your life shouldn't be death and destruction but sunshine and birdsong and the laughter of children. "

  "Do you regret not having children, Mikhail?" They had long ago given up hope.

  Mikhail remembered a tiny girl-child who had clamored to be lifted to his shoulders; her delight at the white pony on her fifth birthday; the day she and Bryon had locked themselves in the dungeon and the entire palace staff had searched for twelve hours before they were found.

  "I always felt I had one. In fact, -the way Bryon was constantly underfoot I often thought I had two. " And he remembered the silver tear that had fallen the day the centaur came and took her away. She'd looked back only once and the tear had shone like a star on her cheek. Now she had returned. "I always felt I had one, " he repeated sadly.

  A knock on the door boomed through the silence that had fallen as they both considered their daughter and what she had become.

  Tayer released Mikhail's hand and he moved to stand behind her, a solid wall against her back.

  "Enter. "

  The door swung open and the Captain of the Guard marched into the room, followed by two of his soldiers supporting a man between them. The man appeared to have been badly beaten, then kicked into a corner and forgotten for some time. His lips were cracked and bleeding, his eyes swollen shut, and his skin showed purple and black with bruises through his ripped and blood stained clothes.

  "Who is he?" asked Tayer as the soldiers dragged him forward.

  "This pitiful remnant, " declared the captain, drawing himself up before the table, "is the only survivor of the palace. "

  "What!"

  "That's right, Majesty. This scum, who beat his own brother to death and was sentenced to die by your father the king-may he rest in the arms of the Mother- survived when everyone else was crushed to a bloody pulp. I've brought him to you for resentencing. "

  "Release him. "

  "Right, I'll. . . " The captain froze, in the act of turning away. "What?"

  "Release him. "

  "But, Majesty, he's a convicted killer!"

  "He is alive! Too many others are dead and too many others will die. Take him out of here, " commanded the queen, "and release him!"

  The Duke of Belkar's late wife had loved flowers and to please her he had extensive gardens planted around all of their residences. After her death, he'd found great comfort in them and often said that in the gardens she still lived.

  The garden at the townhouse was not very large, but it was exceptionally beautiful. Crystal-clad now in a style befitting a princess, a gown of palest green with a silver net loosely confining her hair-had found in it much the same peace the duke found; problems could be temporarily forgotten and demands for the impossible momentarily ignored. She let the healing balm of the spring flowers and delicate lacework of the flowering trees wash over her.

  "May I join you?"

  Lost in thought, she hadn't heard Bryon approach. Still not quite back, she opened her eyes.

  Bryon had been thinking of her as a part of the garden, a rare and beautiful flower with silver petals and the scent of sun-warmed flesh. But when she opened her eyes, the garden disappeared and he was sinking into green fire.

  Sinking joyfully into green fire. Sinking ecstatically into green fire.

  Wanting
it to consume him.

  "Oh, Bryon, I'm sorry!"

  He blinked once, twice, and was suddenly looking into a pair of concerned green eyes.

  "I was thinking. . . I didn't know you'd be looking at me so directly. "

  "What else would I be looking at?" he muttered a little peevishly, but added in a more normal voice when he saw how distressed she appeared: "It's nothing to worry about, I'm all right. "

  Crystal drew him down beside her on the bench and searched his face anxiously.

  If he wasn't all right, she'd never forgive herself. After a moment, satisfied that what he said was true, she sighed and turned away.

  "You must never forget, " the centaurs had told her time after time, "that you have the potential to be as great a danger as Kraydak himsejf. "

  Bryon watched the effect of the sigh on Crystal's profile and the sparkle came back into his eyes. She was the most magnificent woman he had ever seen and he had every intention of presuming on their childhood friendship. He took her hand gently between the two of his and carefully, as if it were a timid bird he must not startle, began to stroke it.

  "What were you thinking of?" he asked softly.

  "About my time with the centaurs. "

  "Were you very lonely?"

  "At first, but there was so much to learn in so little time. And there were always the breezes. "

  "I can't imagine a breeze being much company. "

  "That's because you don't know how to listen to them. They hear everything and they love to gossip. " She almost smiled as she looked back at her younger self. "I even gave them names and made up faces for them. There was one that seemed to take a special interest in me, I called him Barrett. Although the centaurs didn't approve-they felt my reality was wide enough without adding to it-I imagined him with black hair and gray eyes. He's still my good friend. "

  "He?"

  She turned to face Bryon. . . and his black hair and gray eyes. She snatched her hand away and felt her cheeks grow hot, not wholly as a result of the afternoon sun.

  "What makes you think I was lonely?" she asked, smoothing the already perfect folds of her skirt.

  "For one thing, " and his smile caused two deep dimples to appear, "you used to laugh all the time, but I haven't heard you laugh once since you've been home. "

  "There's not much to laugh about, is there?"

  "No. " The dimples retreated. "I guess there isn't. " But Bryon knew that wasn't all of it. It was as if Crystal's purpose left no room for anything else. Had she given up her humanity when she took up her powers? He looked forward to finding out.

  A chill breeze wrapped around them both. Crystal caressed it with long fingers, her head to one side, listening.

  "I have to go. " She stood suddenly. "The old Duke of Riven is dead. "

  Bryon hesitated barely a moment and then he rose as well. "I'll go with you, "

  he said, but it was too late. Crystal had used his hesitation to move quickly toward the house. He followed, but a gust of wind snapped a thorny branch into his path and he lost all hope of catching her when he had to stop and unsnag his breeches.

  "Well, Barrett, " he muttered, watching the swing of Crystal's departing hips,

  "I guess it's between you and me. " He didn't quite hear the breeze chuckle as it sped away.

  The War Horns went out that afternoon; north to Aliston, south to Cei, west to Hale, and northwest to Lorn. As well as the horns, each Messenger carried a scroll sealed with the queen's signet. The Horn was a part of the ancient bond between the dukes and the High Court. The scroll carried the plans for war.

  The Messengers of Ardhan were chosen from the finest young men and women in the kingdom. The four that carried the War Horns were the best of an exceptional group. They were highly trained, highly motivated, healthy, intelligent, and totally helpless should Kraydak decide to prevent them from reaching their destinations.

  "I will be watching, " Crystal assured them, meeting each of their eyes in turn and allowing them each a glimpse of the light. "If you should be attacked, I will be there to protect you. "

  And no one questioned the value of that protection save Crystal herself.

  The new Duke of Riven also rode out that afternoon. He carried his own War Horn but, instead of a scroll, he had the bodies of his father and sister. His mother's body had not been found.

  It was two weeks' hard ride from King's City to Riven; burdened with the heavy wagon the trip would take almost a month. Long before Riven could be reached, the dead would be beyond the point where the living could travel with them. If he wished to take his father and his sister home, the new duke had no choice but to accept the wizard's help.

  "They would not be dead but for you, " he said as she stepped back from the, task, "and now they will not return to the body of the Mother because of you. "

  "When they are placed in Riven's soil, the Mother will take them back, "

  Crystal told him, trying to forget the feel of dead flesh beneath her fingers.

  "Remember, had Kraydak not been waiting for me, Lord Death would have taken them much sooner than he did. "

  They locked eyes and although Crystal carefully kept her power masked ("The people of Ardhan must respect you as well as fear you if they are to be any use in battle, " the centaurs had cautioned her. "It is not advisable to keep reminding them that you are their only hope for a future. "), young Riven looked away first. With a grunted, "Perhaps, " he threw himself on his horse and began the long ride home. The War Horn of Riven hung from his saddle, but even when swearing allegiance to the queen, he had not said if he would sound it.

  That night, long after most of the townspeople had gone to their beds and the sounds of the Guards had faded toward the outskirts of the town, a solitary figure appeared in the ruins of the People's Square. In the silver light of the moon her hair seemed to burn, each strand alive with cold fire. When she dropped the cloak from her shoulders, her naked body ignited as well until she seemed a slender silver flame.

  She cupped her hands and lifted them to the moon. White light filled them until it overflowed down her arms then, throwing her arms wide apart, she scattered the light over the rubble. . . and called.

  The call was lower than anything that should have come from a human throat. It was deep and insistent and commanding.

  On the third call, the earth answered.

  The paving stones began to vibrate as a note too low to be heard sang up from the ground. The broken pieces of the palace began to shift and pitch. Waves rippled through them as if they were water, not stone.

  The silver figure stepped forward and stood for a moment, not on the stones but on the air above them. Then she began to dance. She moved slowly at first, outlining the perimeter-for everywhere her feet had been there lay a silver tracery-but as the earth's call began to rise, still unheard though felt at temple and wrist, the dance began to move more quickly until she was indeed a silver flame in the moonlight.

  As the pattern was completed, the song beat so quickly it seemed it must escape. As the last line was closed, it stopped. The pattern sank into the earth and all the dogs of the town began to howl at once.

  Shutters slammed back. Sleepy voices demanded explanations and called at curs to be quiet. Had anyone looked toward the palace they would have seen, not a silver dancer who moved like flame, but a silver birch that lifted lacy branches to the moonlight and swayed in a gentle wind.

  The dogs quieted at last, and the town returned to sleep. The dancer descended to the street, picked up her cloak, and disappeared in the shadows.

  The next morning, twenty-six sheep grazed in the meadow that had erased the scars of the palace.