Banner of the Damned (68 page)

“But one wore gold trim to his white robe,” I said.

“That is Ivandred’s cousin from the Telyer, whose family were the kings previous to the Marlovens. Mar
lo
vans,” she corrected herself. “There was a language shift under their King Senrid, who brought Ivandred’s family back to the throne. It seems important to them to remember the distinctions.”

“And that very old man who wore a gold sash, with a robe the color of Colend’s royal blue?”

“That is the Jarl of Olavair.” Her voice dropped. “That family ruled until the beginning of the last century, and in the north they still call themselves kings. Though not in the hearing of southern Marlovens.”

What did she want? What did I miss? I thought again about the milling men, their voices sharp and quick. “At first I thought all those wearing baldrics were men, but that is not true.”

“The baldrics mean they have been trained at the Academy.” Her gesture opened westward, toward the high walls we’d glimpsed on the ride into the castle.

“Are they all trained there, the jarlate offspring?”

“Not much is said about that place. Ivandred told me that, of those
who
do
attend, many are sent home at the three year mark and more at the six year mark. Only those who stay for nine years can become lancer captains. Jarls who stay that long are very highly regarded by all. In war, they can command their own people—under the king—instead of handing their people off in levies.”

I was already so bored my jaw ached. Levies, war, command… what a horrible place!

“What did you think of the exhibition?”

“I liked the dancing after dinner better than the horse riding before, however skillful it was. The danger frightened me. Though there was danger in some of the dances—when the fellows did that heel drumming and waved swords around.”

“The women used to, too, but they were forbidden to wave their knives around after a dance some centuries ago, when the dancers then turned on a king and his adherents and assassinated them. Actually, I believe women assassinated a king twice. So women will often do the drumming for the sword dances.”

“Ah-yedi!” I made the Peace. “Like the songs we heard when traveling, these songs have strong melodies, and I liked how so many of them sang when dancing.”

“So you perceived only the danger of the Academy youths’ exhibition?”

I thought back to the sudden quiet, the expectation after a distant bugle peal.

Servants threw open the opposite doors and in raced nine young riders all in black—dressed like the lancers. The horses’ hooves struck sparks on the stone floor as the animals raced in nose to tail. The riders sat with their hands on their thighs, weapons hooked to the saddles but untouched as the horses galloped in patterns, leaping, wheeling, and once rising to strike with their front hooves.

In Colend courtiers often rode horses in similar fast and dangerous patterns, so I heard. But they didn’t fight in patterns, sword to sword, or shoot arrows at targets as they galloped by, much less leap down and exchange blows in a fast flurry of whirling hands, glinting steel, and black fabric.

Then, quick as they came, they were gone. By then the air had warmed considerably from all the human and animal exertions. Stable hands came in to wand the droppings, after which a line of servants brought in food. My astonishment that food would be served where animals had been cavorting was mirrored in Lasva’s stiff back. My throat closed, and
I had to swallow a couple of times, reminding myself fiercely that the droppings were gone—that customs differed—but my stomach settled only when I reminded myself I was here to serve and to observe. Not to eat.

“I perceived great skill in the exhibition,” I said at last.

“What else did you see?”

“That the king sat between the two of you.”

“He always does.”

“Does he always breathe like that? I know they have healers here. There was a good one who tended our wounded.”

“I’m told that the king’s healer died of old age twenty years ago, and the king doesn’t trust anyone younger not to try to assassinate him.” She clasped her hands. We were seated in her private chamber, an almost bare room save for a rug worked with Venn knots, a carved chest, a table and cushions. “What did you notice about individuals?”

I concentrated. “There was that one very tall man with the hair more pale than Ivandred’s, and the yellow robe that seemed to be edged with silver. He fondled the hand of the pregnant woman to his right, who was quite beautiful. But he kept watching Ivandred.”

Lasva’s hands clasped together tightly, then dropped to her sides. Another important person? “Yes. That is Danrid Yvanavar, a new jarl. The woman is his wife, sister to Haldren. Her name is Tdiran.”

“It struck me as odd that she would not look Ivandred’s way, nor he hers, unless this Danrid-Jarl forced their attention by speaking to both.”

“Yes,” Lasva whispered. “What else?”

“Oh, it is difficult to explain, as their mannerisms are so different. What can they mean?”

“Look past that to human characteristics.”

“But those are puzzling as well. I saw Haldren’s eyes a-sheen when he gained his promotion, at the very end. Was that joy or sorrow? I thought our lancers all expected to be promoted to the First Lancers.”

“The king chose to separate them to different companies.”

“So the king was not pleased with them?”

“Ah-ye! It… it’s…” Lasva stopped, and spread her hands. “All I truly understand is, the king is making certain that the First Lancers and Ivandred are kept completely separate in all ways. He even keeps us separate, at times, though at other times he has ordered us to produce an heir. Ivandred and I have decided that I will take the birth herb.”

“So… the scowl the king gave Ivandred at the end of the dancing. That was not from pain or from regret that he could not dance?”

“Did you not see, how they all danced around him?”

I thought of Ivandred moving so freely, with such casual strength and grace. How for the first time I had seen his face lifted in joy, even grinning. And how they all grinned back,
the garden arch
. Would not the king rejoice to see how much they love Ivandred? Another thought, more astonishing. “Does he not trust his own son?”

“No.” That word from a Colendi was shocking; she wanted to underscore the truth.

The next morning early, I’d just finished dressing when there was a peremptory rap on my door. I knew it would be a Marloven because we Colendi scratch, but I was startled to find Ivandred standing there in his fighting blacks, hair braided and looped for travel. “Scribe Emras. I have a request.”

My surprise turned to astonishment as I stepped back so that he could enter. The light from my tiny slit window harshened the juts of his cheekbones and eye sockets. Tension and exhaustion tautened his skin. He had looked better on our headlong gallop above Telyer.

He thrust the door shut. “First, I am trying to understand your position. Lasva does not know about your magic studies? Last night I asked when your scribes began their magic lessons, and she was surprised. Said that they are not taught magic.”

Swiftly I told him what I’d told the Herskalt, and to my immense relief he accepted that with a brief nod. “That was shrewd on the part of your queen. As a result, Andaun-Sigradir is not aware of your being a mage, so you are not warded.”

Gratitude flooded me with relief.

“I’m here with a request,” he said. “I need you to make me transfer tokens.”

My gratitude made me wish to serve. But there was also doubt, caused by that pervasive sense of danger. “That much magic performed, will the Sigradir not sense it?”

“Yes. Perform your spells outside the castle. You are Lasva’s first runner, which grants you Restday free.”

I made the Peace, then said, “I have never performed this task. I do not know how long it will take.”

“It’s lengthy,” he said grimly, touched two fingers to his heart then opened the door, and was gone with quick step.

I found Lasva in one of her chambers. This one was barren except for a little side table and embroidery tambours placed at either end of the room, each with cloth set in. She wore riding clothes of soft cotton-wool—trousers, overtunic, and an open robe over that. They were all undyed, and the neutral shade of cloth emphasized her russet coloring, the gold-glinting dark hair wound up in braids, and her blue eyes.

She was pouring out steeped leaf, which filled the air with a summery scent. “Ivandred has been sent by his father to follow Olavair all the way north,” she said, handing a cup to me.

“Why?” I asked, because we were alone.

“The king says it is necessary. Oh, Emras, it is all so complicated.” She finished her cup and picked up her fans. She’d had new ones made, I saw. They were black on one side and gold on the other.

“Strategy,” Lasva said as we progressed down the room in Altan fan form. “When I was young I never thought about such things, but listening to the king has taught me the concepts of strategy. He talks of war, but I?” She whirled, fan snapping out in a perfect flat arc, and glanced over her shoulder, smiling. “I translate what he says into terms of people. Ah-ye! My strategy is twofold: to keep the king happy, if I can. And two, to try to gain the allegiance of the women of this kingdom. They appear to think I have no wit, because I have no experience to match theirs,” Lasva went on. “Ivandred asked me to understand his people. He is a man of very few words. One might say that words cost him.”

“Cost?” I asked.

“Your observations about Tdiran Marlovair, or rather Tdiran Yvanavar: she wore the Yvanavar colors, though Ivandred calls her Marlovair. I think it is habit, and I think they have a history. I asked him last night, but all he said was,
There is no use in talking about Tdiran Marlovair
.” Her voice dropped low, unexpectedly hard. Then she tipped her head. “You perceive?”

“It is not the words, it is the tone,” I said.

“Ah-ye. He has difficulty putting words to what happens in his head and heart. It could be he has so long guarded his speech that words do not come easily. I sense there is more. As for Tdiran, I tried to speak with her, but she was reticent. They all were. They talked freely enough among themselves, but with me, it was like a girl’s first day at court. Everyone smiles at her but otherwise take no notice, for she can have no influence.”

When she reached the wall, Lasva began speeding up the pace. I was soon damp. It had been so long since I had practiced.

She increased the pace until our arms were swinging. At the end of the form she leaped, whirled, and struck her fan across one of the tambours. Its fabric ripped cleanly, straight across. She snapped her fan shut and laughed soundlessly at me. “You seem surprised! Yet it was you who first demonstrated the cut.”

She bent to the tambour and frowned. “Not as clean as I’d like. The strike wasn’t strong enough at the start, so I put more effort into the middle, causing this sawing effect. I will work on that.”

I saw then that her fan had real steel at the tips instead of the wooden cat-ears. Seeing the direction of my glance, she held the fans out. “Ivandred had them waiting for me,” she said.

“How much fabric do you spoil, or do you not do this every day?”

“Oh, I end with the grand slash each morning. It feels so satisfying, though I do not know why. And when I am summoned to attend on the king, I mend it again. It gives me something to do with my hands, and he sees it as frivolous and harmless. Satin-stitch, chain-stitch, interlock, feather.” Her forefinger tapped at the cloth, and I saw the tiny, even stitches. “He has seen me sewing nearly every day, but has yet to ask what it is. So much of the world is hidden to him. He seems to value only that which has to do with force.”

We set the fans aside as she said, “I will order you a set.”

I made the Peace then left, anxious to get going before anyone could stop me with demands. I’d decided that Restday would be my time to visit the Herskalt.

Then I thought, why should I be limited to daytime? There was no doubt a lesson awaiting me in that chamber, which had lain there for weeks. If the Herskalt was asleep, or busy with his teaching, or elsewhere, I could leave a note asking for lessons in making transfer tokens, and in the meantime I could experiment.

But I hoped he rose early, as I’d decided to transfer well before dawn.

I was ready for another attempt at the
real
magic.

“H

“The runners wear blue.” My face heated. “Of course you know that.”

His amusement deepened briefly, but he didn’t say anything.

“Perhaps you know why they chose blue? It being the color mages wore in Sartor for centuries. Also scribes. We were taught that scribes and mages were once conjoined, though each says its practitioners were first. Is there a connection, according to what you mages have been taught?”

The Herskalt motioned with his hand. “You have to look much further back.”

“To?”

“To the beginnings. Colors symbolized power. Blue was the power of the mind, contrasting with crimson, the power of the sword. From there developed the usual overlapping, often conflicting infinitude typical of human endeavor, translated out into a rainbow of symbolic colors.”

“You make it sound like everything in life is about power,” I said.

“Many would agree,” he replied. “Judging from her actions so far, your Lasva appears to comprehend, if only by instinct, that the birth of lasting power arises not in one’s own mind, but in the minds of others. I refer to the way she endeavors to beguile the king.”

How did he know that? Ivandred must communicate with his old tutor, or maybe they had friends in common.

I said, “I don’t understand. Will you explain?”

“If you were to go to Colend right now, mark off a territory, and declare yourself queen, what would happen?”