Dawnsinger (9 page)

He would have spoken again, but Maeven forestalled him. “How fortunate you should come just now when I have need of you.”

“If I can serve you in some way—”

“You may stand witness.” Maeven hesitated. “I’ve put this off, but I can do so no longer. The time has come. I shall bestow the Sword of Rivenn and the Scepter of Faeraven upon the next Lof Shraen of Faeraven. By now, Eufemia will have given Craelin a missive stamped with my seal asking him to retrieve them from the strongroom. They should arrive anon.”

Kai had no doubt that Benisch misliked having his afternoon spent for him, and indeed the steward scowled, but protocol demanded he accept such a duty with grace. To his credit, he took a seat in a window embrasure and folded his arms to wait.

Benisch intrigued Kai, who could read most people with ease, but not Benisch. The steward, a poor and distant relative of Timraen’s, had advanced to his present position at the former steward’s death. Benisch stood in less favor than Riechardt had, for his more literal interpretation of the law. Not that any steward culled popularity. Even kindly Riechardt had known criticism.

A tap came at the inner chamber door, and it opened to admit Eufemia, followed by Craelin bearing the Sword and Scepter. Two of the guardians, Dithmar and Weilton, entered behind him, swords at their sides.

Out of respect for the ancient emblems of the Kindren, Kai stood, as did Elcon and Benisch. Craelin crossed to Kai and placed the Scepter of Faeraven in his hands. Kai’s fingers curved around smooth metal as the gleam of rubies, diamonds, and emeralds met his eye.

Maeven waved a hand. “We shall begin!” All drew near, and Elcon knelt at her bedside. “I remember a time when Timraen carried Sword Rivenn into battle. With this Sword, forged by Kunatel in the Viadrel
,
the Flames of Virtue, he freed me from the garns at Pilaer.” Maeven’s face glowed as if with youth, and her voice throbbed with vibrancy. “Neither can I forget the sad night when Timraen passed Sword Rivenn into my hands. Locked away during an era of peace, it has waited for stronger arms than mine.

“Listen well, my son, for the time to once again wield Sword Rivenn approaches. This twin-edged Sword divides joint and marrow, spirit and soul, bringing judgment and destruction in its wake. And yet, it can break magics and act as a beacon to guide the lost to safety.” She held out her hands, and Craelin laid in them the bejeweled hilt of Sword Rivenn. But she strained to lift it, and Craelin lent the strength of his hands to hers.

Maeven laid the flat of the blade on Elcon’s head. “In this sword find birth, death, and life.”

Elcon stood, received Sword Rivenn from his mother’s hand, and sighted down its gleaming length. His sea-green eyes shone. “I will strive for worthiness to carry such a blade.”

Maeven smiled. “My son, as Timraen’s son, you already possess the worth you seek.”

She beckoned to Kai, and he gave the Scepter into her hands, but steadied them with his own.

“Elcon, son of Timraen, open heart and hands to Faeraven, the ancient alliance of
ravens,
lands joined of necessity and choice.”

“I receive and will keep the alliance of Faeraven.” Elcon accepted the Scepter as he recited the ceremonial words and added, “with all my heart.”

“Well said.” Maeven’s voice quavered, and she fell back against her scarlet cushions.

“I am honored and humbled to hold a thing of such beauty and history in my hands.” Elcon raised the golden Scepter, its many jewels catching the light. The staff terminated in a gryphon with wings aloft. In its claws it clutched an orb of sapphire with a white star blazing at its heart.

Maeven’s eyes gleamed in a white face. “My son, you shall make your own history.”

8

Freaer

As a trick of light contrived to make Maeven look young again, Kai smiled at her sleeping form. He spared a brief thought of pity for Elcon, drawn away at the conclusion of the ceremony by Benisch on some trivial matter or other. The others had dispersed also, leaving Kai to keep silent vigil at the Lof Raelein’s bedside.

Maeven stirred, and her eyelids opened. “Have I slept long?”

“Not long, but well.” He smiled and took in the restoration sleep had wrought. The tremor that had taken her earlier had ceased, and she looked strong. Incredible as it seemed, she might yet rally. Hope died even as it sprang forth within him, however, for her heightened color spoke of fever.

She returned his regard. “You should go and rest, Kai. Eufemia can stay with me until Elcon returns.”

“I could find a use for food and drink.”

“Go, then. Shae will come soon, as well. I long to see her, but she must rest as much as she needs. Coming all that way on the back of one of those wingabeasts can only have worn on her.”

“Shae is not as fragile as she seems.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

He leaned forward in his chair and lowered his voice. “She can bear the truth.”

She flinched, and her face went white.

He cursed himself for unsettling her, although his words had wanted saying.

“I will see if I can bear to give it.”

When she put out a hand in a childlike gesture, Kai cradled it in his own. He gazed into eyes of drenched seawater green and remembered the lilt of her frequent laughter and how she’d looked in his early days while Timraen still lived. He searched in vain for some hint of the winsome creature she’d been before schooling herself to sanction duty above all else.

He released her hand and stood. “I will send Eufemia to you.”

****

A tall serving maid opened the heavy door at Shae’s knock. She glanced at Chaeldra and inclined her head to Shae. “Greetings. I’m Eufemia of Morgorad. Praectal Daelic, the healer, visits the Lof Raelein, but I will let him know you wait.” Eufemia stepped aside to allow them entrance to Maeven’s outer chamber. She gestured toward the seating area before the fireplace. “Pray, take your ease.”

“Thank you.” Shae gave a polite smile.

The inner chamber door shut behind the serving maid with a gentle click.

“Eufemia will look after you should you need anything.” Chaeldra said in a breathy voice as she slipped from the room before Shae could recover the wit to call her back.

She really should speak to Kai about Chaeldra. The servant continued to overstep and often went missing. She wandered about the outer chamber, struck by the beauty of its rich tones, which gleamed in light slanting through tall windows. The marble fireplace with its twined unibeasts and gryphons drew her. She warmed herself before the modest fire and studied the tapestry that hung above the mantel, which showed the first Kindren entering Elderland from Anden Raven. The group of Kindren in outdated garb pictured in
Caerric Baest
,
the Cavern of Wonder, included her own ancestor, Whellein. He stood with Chaeradon, Tallyrand, Glindenn, Morgorad, Braeth, Daeramor, Merboth, and Graelinn—all those who had followed Rivenn from
Anden Raven
into Elderland, so long ago.

Rivenn, father of Kunrat, father of Talan, father of Shaelcon, father of Timraen, stood apart from the others with his bride, Gladreinn, on a natural bridge that spanned a chasm in which flames leapt. The bridge reached to a mysterious opening in a sheer face of rock. Light so strong as to veil the opening poured through it and bathed each face. In her early days, Shae had learned how the Kindren came through Gilead Riann, the Gate of Life, only to find the way closed behind them and their homeland lost forever.

She sighed. Only since leaving her own homeland did she begin to understand what it would mean to be cut off and never return. A chill touched her despite the warmth of the fire, and she averted her gaze from the tapestry, no longer pleased to view it.

When Eufemia still did not come, she looked out the window over the bailey at the hustle and bustle of activity. She had not considered that she might have to wait to see Maeven. At home, needlework and conversation would have kept her hands and mind busy. Perhaps she should ask for something to occupy her. Renewed irritation flashed through her. Chaeldra should not have abandoned her. Had she remained, Shae could have sent her to fetch something to occupy her instead of having to summon Eufemia. She raised a hand to knock, but hesitated, not certain she cared to reveal she could not handle her maid.

The door flew open. She had time to recognize the musician, Freaer, before a solid, heaving wall slammed into her face and a boot ground into her slipper-clad foot. Arms came hard about her and took her weight but robbed her of air. She struggled against them until reason triumphed over instinct.

The arms about her loosened as the quality of the embrace shifted.

She fought to breathe, managing to gulp in air just as blackness closed in. She rested against Freaer while her vision cleared, her face warming at so familiar a contact, but she couldn’t stand alone. She held her injured foot just off the floor, for the initial pain had not yet lessened.

“Are you all right?” His voice vibrated under her ear, adding melody to the percussion of his heart.

She lifted her head, ready to speak words of assurance, but as his gaze ensnared hers, the words fled. No, she was not all right. A small sound started in her throat, and she pulled away, wincing when she put weight on her injured foot. “I’ve suffered little harm.” She spoke the untruth in a rush, her voice pitched high.

“I’m sorry. I should have taken more care. Here, let me see your foot.”

“No!”

He gave her a puzzled look.

She swallowed. “Thank you. No. It’s not bad. I’m certain it’s just a bruise.”

Ignoring her protest, he took her by the arms and guided her backward to a bench. As she sat, he bent to remove her slipper.

Eufemia emerged from the inner chamber to hover beside the connecting door. “Is all well?”

Shae gritted her teeth. She would not make a fuss in front of the servant, but Freaer’s long fingers running over her injured foot seemed an intrusion.

“Nothing broken, I think, but you’re right about the bruising.” As he bared strong teeth in a smile, Shae lost both thought and breath.

He murmured something to Eufemia, and the servant returned to the inner chamber.

As Shae examined the reddish bruise blooming on her skin, a footstool thudded before her and Freaer lifted her foot to its embroidered cushion. “Rest. Praectal Daelic will soon tend you.”

“That’s not necessary. It will heal well enough without care.”

“There’s no harm in having him take a look.”

Suddenly too weary to fight so strong a will, she gave in with defeated ease, leaning against the cushion behind her. Her eyelids drifted shut.

“You look like Meriwen of Old, whose beauty upon awakening drove Iewald to forsake an army.” His voice washed over her in a smooth tide.

“I wasn’t sleeping.” She protested, although she found it difficult to rouse. She could by no means picture herself as he painted her. Katera might merit such praise. She never could.

“Do you know the tale?”

“I know it—and its sorrowful end. Iewald betrayed the Kindren for love of Meriwen, who wove a web of magic to ensnare him. But I prefer to think of honor and love as allies, not opponents. And would true love need any other magic?”

His eyes glinted. “What do you know of such matters?”

“As much as any, but less than some.” Uncertain of her answer, she fell back on the common saying.

He gave a soft laugh. “Well spoken.”

She hesitated, not certain if he mocked her. “Speaking of honor, I must tell you.… The Lof Raelein’s death song—”

“Leave the subject!” His expression grew remote. “She has made her choice.”

“But —”

“Leave it.”

Shae’s protest died.

Freaer stirred the fire, which sent up showers of sparks and released the cloying fragrance of Draetenn wood. He added a log and rocked back on his heels, outlined in profile against the flames.

The inner door opened to admit a large fellow with a kind face. A satchel of elk hide hung by a strap slung across the front of his brown overtunic.

“Praectal Daelic!” Freaer said by way of introduction. “Shae, sister to Kai.”

Daelic’s face lit with a smile. “So you are Kai’s sister. I hear you’ve run afoul of Freaer.” He eased himself into a kneeling position beside the footstool and made a sympathetic sound in his throat. As he prodded her foot, Shae held her breath. “Hurts, at a guess.”

She nodded. “It does—especially when you touch it.”

His smile settled into well-worn grooves in his face. “Let me stop then. I’ll give you a drought to help the pain, so you can sleep. At least nothing’s broken.” He rummaged in his satchel and brought out a small bundle wrapped in dried Draetenn leaves. “Take it as an infusion last thing at night.”

She took the packet with a polite murmur.

“I’ll rub arnica salve into the injury and wrap it to stop the bruise from spreading.” Daelic bent to the task. “Keep your foot raised, walk little, and it will heal faster. A soak in vinegar mixed with water will fade the bruise faster.”

Shae gave her thanks, grateful when he stopped pressing her injury.

Daelic stood to his feet, huffing. “What kind of brother does Kai make?”

She tilted her head to look up at him. “You ask that as if puzzled.”

He smiled. “I’ve known Kai since his early days and have seen him in many roles, but not as brother.”

Shae considered his words. “I find no fault in Kai as a brother except for his long absences from Whellein.”

“At least he is loved enough to be missed.” Daelic’s smile widened, but then his expression sobered. “Kai seems too alone and little given to tender mercies—except, of course, when duty calls for tenderness.”

“You describe him as cold!”

Daelic shook his head. “Not cold—just practical. Kai entered into service as a guardian of Rivenn in his early life, remember. Weapons and endurance tests don’t well replace a mother’s arms. He excelled and trained under Craelin, which gave him little time for anything save duty. Small wonder his heart remains intact, although some have vied for it.” He cleared his throat again. “But I forget I speak to his sister…”