“We also think it would be a good idea for Melisande to come with us for the time being, and live at the new palace,” Ashe continued.
“Melly? But not me?”
“Right. We will get to that in a moment.”
Gwydion nodded numbly, his every nerve screaming inside. They are sending me away, he thought, his mind reeling at the thought.
“Second,” Ashe continued, oblivious of his consternation, “Rhapsody and I would like to reinstitute the winter carnival this year.”
Gwydion’s nausea grew exponentially. The winter carnival had long been a family tradition at Haguefort, something his father had relished hosting, on the days that spanned the winter solstice. Each year a great festival was undertaken, coinciding with holy days in both the Patriarchal religion of Sepulvarta and the order of the Filids, the nature priests of the Circle in Gwynwood, the two faiths of the continent. The festival lasted for three days, marked with games of winter sport, feasting, singing contests, minstrelsy, and dozens of other forms of merrymaking.
The last of the carnivals had taken place four years before and had turned into a bloodbath. The horror of it was still raw in Gwydion’s mind.
“Why?” he asked, unable to contain his revulsion.
“Because it is time to get back to the business of living,” Rhapsody said gently. “Your father loved that celebration, and understood how important it was to the folk of his province, and in fact all of Roland. It is the one time of year that the adherents of the religion of Sepulvarta and that of Gwynwood convene for a happy purpose; that is critical to advancing understanding between both sects. And besides, we have an announcement to make; that seems like the best place to make it.”
“What announcement?”
“Third,” Ashe said, “we have decided, after deep discussion and consultation with a few of our most trusted advisors, that you are ready to take on the full mantle of your inheritance, as duke of Navarne.”
Gwydion stared at his guardians in silence.
“That is why we are offering to take Melisande with us,” Rhapsody said quickly. “Once you take on the responsibility of the duchy, there will be much for you to accustom yourself to, and caring for your sister, as much as we know you are willing to do it, should not be a distraction to you. Our new home is less than a day’s journey on horseback anyway; she can come and see you whenever either of you wish.”
Ashe came over to the young man and stood in front of him, looking down gravely into his eyes.
“Your seventeenth birthday is the last day of autumn,” he said seriously. “You have more than proven yourself worthy of being fully invested as duke; you are both brave and wise beyond your years. This is not a gift, Gwydion; it is both your birthright and a title you have earned. I need you as a full member of my council, and Navarne needs a duke who looks out for its interests as his main concern. Anborn believes you to be ready, and that is high praise indeed. My uncle is not the quickest to offer support or praise; if he feels you merit the title, there are few that will gainsay it.”
“But there may be some who do,” Gwydion said, his heart still racing.
“None,” Rhapsody said, smiling. “We have met already, and all agree. We’re sorry for keeping you waiting in the hall, but the council needed to be able to speak freely. You would have been flattered to hear what they said. No one objected.” She glanced at Ashe; Tristan Steward, Gwydion Navarne’s cousin, had expressed concern, but in the end had acceded and given the idea his support.
“And even if there are, that is something you may as well become accustomed to,” Ashe said. “It is the lot of a leader to be questioned; it is the sign of a good one when that leader takes the praise and blame with equanimity, without being swayed too far from what he believes by either of them. So, what say you? Shall we call in Melisande so that she can witness the first moment of her brother’s investiture?”
Gwydion walked over to the window where Rhapsody had stood and pulled the drape back, causing a bevy of winterbirds that had been perching in the nearby trees to scatter noisily. He gazed out over the rolling green fields of his ancestral estate, scored by a twelve-foot-high wall his father had built to fortify the lands around the castle. The townspeople had begun to move their dwellings within the wall, turning it from the once-pristine meadow into a village, as Stephen had predicted would happen. It was an ugly reality: the trading of innocence and beauty for safety and security.
“I suppose this is childhood’s end,” he said, his voice tinged with melancholy.
Ashe came to the window and stood behind him. “In some ways, yes. But one could make the case that your childhood ended long ago, Gwydion. You’ve seen more loss in your young life than any man should have to see. This is just a formal recognition that you’ve been a man for some time.”
“Your father never truly lost the innocence of childhood, Gwydion,” Rhapsody said. “He had seen the same kinds of early loss that you have—his mother, your mother. Even your godfather—for many years Stephen believed Ashe to be dead. But he had you, and Melly, and a duchy to be strong for. He could have embraced the darkness of melancholy, and he would have had every right to do so. He chose instead to laugh, to celebrate, to live in the light instead of the darkness.” She rose slowly. “That choice is yours as well, as it is for each of us.”
Gwydion turned back and regarded his guardians. They were watching him closely, thoughtfully, but in their eyes was the silent, common understanding of people who had taken on leadership reluctantly, at great personal sacrifice. He knew that they had both lost much, too—most everyone in the world they had ever loved. In their loss, they clung to each other.
Something his godfather had said to him on their wedding day three years before came to mind.
If your grandmother were to have her way, she would abandon all of the trappings and the power and live in a goat hut in a remote forest somewhere. Grow herbs, compose music, raise children. And with but one word from her, I would move the mountains with my hands to make it happen.
Then why don’t you? Gwydion had asked.
Because there are some things that you cannot escape, for they are inside you, Ashe had said, putting on his wedding neckpiece. One of them is duty. She is needed in the positions she has been given, as I am. His eyes had twinkled. But on the day when we are no longer specifically needed, I will ask for your help in building that goat hut.
Gwydion met the eyes of the Lord and Lady Cymrian.
“I’m honored to accept,” he said simply.
Rhapsody and Ashe smiled in response.
“Know that we are here for you, always,” Rhapsody said.
“Let us go share the good news, shall we?” Ashe added, crossing to the door of the small room and opening it. “We have a festival and an investiture to plan.”
On his way down the aisle of the Great Hall behind the Lord and Lady Cymrian, Gwydion Navarne paused long enough at Anborn’s seat to lean in and utter one word.
“Apprenticeship?”
The Lord Marshal broke into an evil grin.
“I told you it wasn’t so,” he whispered back as the duke-to-be walked past.
Through Ashe’s announcement, Gwydion kept his eyes fixed on the Lord Marshal’s face. It remained frozen in the same formal aspect, a court face, Ashe would have called it, immutable and showing no emotion, giving no indication of his thoughts one way or the other. But in the Cymrian hero’s azure eyes Gwydion thought he saw more—sympathy, perhaps; he and Anborn had forged a strong bond, and he knew that Anborn disdained titles and court responsibilities, valuing instead his freedom from duty. Given the sacrifices he had made as a young man in the court of his father and mother, Gwylliam and Anwyn, and the war his father forced him to lead against his mother, Gwydion well understood Anborn’s distaste for titles and the responsibilities they carried. The Lord Marshal had long counseled Gwydion to stay away from them until he could avoid them no more; now that day had come.
When finally
the announcement was over, and the congratulations had all been passed around, Ashe announced that a state dinner in Gwydion’s honor would commence immediately following. The invited guests swirled politely around him, proffering their congratulations again, and talking among themselves.
Just as the group prepared to depart the Great Hall for the dining room, the ambassador from Gaematria, the Island of the Sea Mages, Jal’asee, bent his head slightly and spoke in a tone inaudible to all but Ashe. The Lord Cymrian nodded.
“Uncle,” he called to Anborn, who was preparing to be carried out of the Hall, “indulge us for a moment?”
The Lord Marshal’s brow furrowed, but he signaled to his bearers to wait.
“Go along to the dinner, Melly,” Gwydion Navarne said to his sister. “I will be right there.”
“I’ll see if I can save a seat for you,” Melisande said, amusement in her black eyes. “It would be unfortunate if you had to stand in the back at your own celebration.” She turned and followed the heads of state out of the Great Hall, her golden curls bouncing merrily.
The dukes of the provinces of Roland and Tristan Steward, the Overlord Regent, remained as well, watching with interest as Jal’asee walked slowly down the carpeted aisle and came to a stop in front of the Lord Marshal. He nodded to two members of his retinue, who opened the doors of one of the side rooms and disappeared inside, returning a moment later with an enormous pallet on which a huge wooden crate was carried. With great effort they set it down in front of Anborn, then respectfully and quickly withdrew.
“What’s all this?” the Lord Marshal demanded, eyeing the wooden crate suspiciously.
The elderly Seren cleared his throat, his golden eyes gleaming.
“A gift from your brother, Edwyn Griffyth, High Sea Mage of Gaematria,” he said. His voice, soft, deep, and crackling with an alien energy, sent shivers down Gwydion’s spine. The duke-to-be glanced over at Rhapsody, and saw that she was similarly affected; she was listening intently, as if to music she had never heard before.
Anborn snorted. “I want nothing from him,” he said disdainfully, “least of all something that has to be carried in on a litter. It’s an insult. Take it away.”
Jal’asee’s placid expression did not change in the face of the harsh reply. He merely reached into the folds of his robe and pulled forth a small sheaf of cards, and held them up silently, indicating they were instructions from Edwyn. Ashe nodded.
“With respect,” the tall man said in his pleasantly gravelly voice. He consulted the first card, cleared his throat again, and read it aloud.
“ ‘Don’t be a childish ass. Open your gift.’ ”
A low chuckle rippled through the hall among the dukes. Anborn glared at them, then at the Seren ambassador. Jal’asee smiled benignly. The Lord Marshal inhaled deeply, then exhaled loudly and signaled to the attendants to open the crate.
The members of Jal’asee’s retinue hurried to unlatch the crate, then stepped back as the wooden walls fell neatly away.
Inside was a gleaming machine, fashioned in metal. It stood upright, with steel foot pads supported by articulated joints, which seemed to be controlled by two geared wheels with handholds. The assemblage took in its breath collectively; otherwise, silence reigned in the Great Hall.
“What in the name of my brother’s shrunken, undersized balls is that?” Anborn asked scornfully.
Jal’asee coughed politely, flipped the top card to the back of the sheaf, and peered at the next one.
“ ‘It’s a walking machine, you dolt. It has been designed precisely to your height, weight, and girth, and should serve to allow you to walk upright, assisted, once again. And you would do well not to comment on the size of my genitalia—it may give rise to embarrassing questions about your own manhood.’ ”
Anborn raised himself up angrily on his fists. “I don’t want it!” he roared. “Take that infernal contraption back to my brother and tell him to bugger himself with it.”
Patiently Jal’asee flipped the top card back again, and read the next one.
“ ‘There is no need to be foul. And I am not paying to transport it back. It’s staying. You may as well make the best of it.’ ”
Anborn eyed the metal walker with a blackening brow, then suddenly turned in the direction of the Gaematrian ambassador once again.
“Tell my brother I said ‘thank you,’ ” he said with exaggerated politeness.
Jal’asee blinked, then quickly riffled through the remaining cards, finally looking up with a pained expression on his ancient face.
“I—er—do not appear to have a response to that,” he said in amused embarrassment. “I don’t believe your brother anticipated that as a possible reply.”
“HA! Got him!” Anborn crowed. He signaled to his bearers. “Get me out of here; I’m missing dinner.” His attendants picked him up and carried him from the Hall, leaving the dukes, the ambassadors, and the lord and lady staring after him in a mixture of humor and bewilderment. The dukes, talking among themselves, followed behind him.
Ashe went over to the walking machine and examined it carefully. “Edwyn’s abilities as an inventor and a smith never cease to amaze me,” he said, a tone of wonder in his voice. “It is marvelous to see the genius he inherited from his father put to good and helpful uses, rather than the destructive ones that Gwylliam employed.”
“Gwylliam wasn’t always destructive,” Rhapsody said, watching as Ashe turned the hand crank slowly, making the right foot pad rise and step forward, then reversing it. “He is responsible for many useful and pleasant inventions—the halls of Ylorc are lighted with sconces he designed; the mountain is warmed and cooled through ventilation systems of his making; there are even privies within the depths of the mountain. When Ylorc was still Canrif, his masterwork, it boasted some of the most sophisticated and clever inventions in the world. You should take pride in your grandfather’s accomplishments as well as ruing his follies.”
She felt a light touch on her elbow, and turned to see Jal’asee standing behind her. She looked up into his face and returned his smile.
“M’lady, if I might, I would like to speak with you alone for a moment,” Jal’asee said pleasantly.
Rhapsody looked over at Ashe, who was watching her questioningly, and nodded.
“Go ahead with the dukes, Sam,” she said quietly, addressing him by the name she called him privately. “I will be along in a moment.” She waited until her husband and Gwydion had left the room; once alone, she looked back up at Jal’asee.
“Yes?”
The Ancient Seren ambassador’s pleasant expression faded into one that was more serious.
“M’lady, is the Bolg king to be invited to young Gwydion’s investiture at the winter carnival?”
“Of course,” Rhapsody said. “Why?”
“Is he likely to attend?”
She exhaled, then shrugged. “I really couldn’t say. He has been away from his kingdom for an extended period.” Her face flushed; it was her rescue that had required him to be away thus. “Why do you ask, Your Excellency?”
The tall man looked down at her seriously. “I am hoping that you will do me the honor of introducing me to him, and arranging a brief moment of consultation.” The gravelly voice was light, but Rhapsody could hear in it the unmistakable seriousness of the words.
“I can certainly introduce you if he is there, but I cannot promise he will be willing to speak at length with you,” she said. “Achmed is—well, he can be—unpredictable.”
“I understand,” Jal’asee said. “And I am grateful for whatever intervention you can provide. I plan to stay until the solstice and attend the investiture; it would be impossible to travel home and back in the two months’ time from now until then.” His eyes sparkled brightly. “Without extraordinary measures, that is.”
Rhapsody smiled. “Someday I would like to learn about such measures,” she said, rising and gathering her skirts in preparation of leaving the Hall. “Though I underst
and that the Sea Mages are very guarded when it comes to their magic.”
The ambassador nodded noncommittally. “I would be honored to tell you a little about it, given your status as a Namer, m’lady,” he said, offering her his arm. “Your vow of speaking the truth and guarding the ancient lores makes you one of the few people outside of Gaematria with whom it would be appropriate to discuss such things. When you are feeling up to it, perhaps we can take a walk in the gardens and do so.”
“Thank you; that sounds very appealing,” Rhapsody said, taking his arm.
“And perhaps in return you can tell me a bit more about the Bolg king,” Jal’asee continued, starting across the floor of the Great Hall. “He is one of the two men with whom you traveled along Sagia’s roots to this land from Serendair, is he not?”
The Lady Cymrian jerked to a halt in shock. She pulled her arm away, shaking. Other than Ashe, no living soul knew of how she and her two friends from the old land had escaped the death of the Island of Serendair, to arrive here, on the other side of time.
“How—how did you know that?” she asked, her voice trembling. She had been caught by surprise so deeply as to be unable to cover gracefully; the nausea of her pregnancy and the exhaustion she was routinely fighting prevented her from it.
Jal’asee smiled at her.
“Because I saw you leave,” he said.
5
ON THE TRANS - SORBOLD ROADWAY, REMALDFAER, SORBOLD
Dusk was coming, taking the remaining light of the afternoon sun with it.
Talquist, regent of the vast, arid empire of Sorbold, had been scribbling notes and poring over balance sheets throughout the latter part of the day in the back of his opulent coach, the shade of the window up to allow him both fresh air and illumination in the course of his task. Now, with the approach of night, he paused in his work for a moment, taking care to blot the last of his writing before allowing himself to stare out the window at the sunset.