Limits of Power (12 page)

Yet … how else could he save Mikeli from the stain of this magery? He could … well, he could run away. But how? And where? Where in the whole world would his magery not condemn him? And where would he not be found and dragged back to be imprisoned or executed?

These thoughts tangled in his mind, chasing one another around and around. He must not have magery—but he did. He must not be Mikeli's downfall—yet he was, if discovered. So he must not be discovered—but without the ability to control the magery, someone would eventually see his hand glow, and then … it would be too late. He should leave now, at once, this night.

But
how
? Again, the impossibility of that—where could he go, how would he live?—stopped him even as he stood and moved toward his clothespress. He thought of the dragon first: could Aris have been right? Would the dragon come to his rescue if he called? But no: he could not believe the dragon would even hear him. That was a child's wish. Into his mind came the thought of Duke Verrakai—she hadn't killed Beclan and would not, he was sure, kill him. But Mikeli might kill her if he thought she had known and not told him. He didn't want that. She fascinated him—a magelord, a soldier, and a woman, unlike anyone else at court—and he didn't want to cause her trouble. Where else? Not Fintha, of course, and not Lyonya … but he might go south, to Aarenis. Could he get there before Mikeli tracked him down? He wasn't sure.

He blew out the candle, stared at his finger again, and then lit the candle again. This time his finger dimmed a bit. So … the magic could be used up? Again he blew out the candle and again lit it. Now his finger seemed normal, just a finger. And he was awake enough to blow out the candle a last time before he fell asleep.

Lyonya, between Chaya and the Tsaian border

A
s Dorrin and Beclan rode west along the forest track, Beclan's mood shifted; Dorrin could see it in his posture as well as his expression. Those days in Chaya had been fun. Pretty girls had flattered him; he had been able to talk to his father and brother. But now he was going back to Tsaia, where he had been stripped of his own name and rank and lived under a cloud of suspicion.

She understood that better than he could realize. And the best thing for him would be work. While still riding through Lyonya's forest, he might as well start working on his magery.

“Beclan, do you feel the trees?”

He turned to her. “My lord? You mean … the way the elves do?”

“Yes,” Dorrin said. “Apparently, those of us with magery can feel the taig. Queen Arian taught me—it would be helpful, she said, in healing the damage done to the trees in Verrakai lands. And I hope you can learn it. Best to start here, where the taig is strong.”

“What would I use it for?”

Wrong question, but if it stuck in his mind, she must answer it. “My ancestors did much damage to Verrakai lands—you will see when we've come to our borders. Working with the taig, we can heal such injury. The Lyonyan forest has been maintained in its beauty by those who served the taig—I'm sure you heard about that.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“The queen—Arian—says I can learn to do that. So as soon as we're over the border into Verrakai lands, we're going to try it. Meanwhile, I'm working on my skills at sensing the taig, and I want you to start as well.”

“Is it like making flowers bloom in winter?”

Dorrin reminded herself that he was very, very young. “Elves can do that but rarely do. I heard that the Lady did it at Aliam Halveric's steading. But that's unnatural. What we need to learn is how to restore and sustain the natural growth and health of living things. What do you feel closest to, Beclan? Any particular tree or plant from your childhood?”

“No … but I had a dog once. I knew what Hunter was feeling, what he was going to do next. He died two winters ago.”

“My people—
our
people now—are afraid of dogs, you know, all but the shepherds' dogs. My uncle used dogs to scare them and hurt them as well as for hunting, so I haven't brought any in. Kieri didn't use them in the Company. Would you like a dog, Beclan?”

“I don't know, my lord. Hunter was so special…”

“What about horses?” He said nothing, and Dorrin went on. “If you have never had a feel for plants, I was wondering about animals … a dog, a horse, anything that would help you make that connection to the taig.”

“I thought the taig was all about trees.”

“Hmmm. I should have had you talk to the Kuakkgani while we were in Chaya. If I can find Ashwind, I may ask him to come and instruct both of us. My understanding is that the taig is formed of all living things.”

“My lord Duke!” That was one of the King's Squires Kieri had sent to guide them through the forest. “We could spend the night in a ranger shelter if it please you.”

Dorrin nodded. “It does. The queen told me about Verrakaien brigands who'd been killed, and my king would like to know which of the attainted they were. Will rangers be at the shelter?”

“Yes, we expect to meet some there,” the Squire said.

The next morning, before resuming their journey west, she and Beclan followed one of the rangers to the grave site, but the ranger's description of those killed did not give her enough information to identify them for certain. The grave was covered with a dense growth of a vine she did not recognize.

“We planted that,” the ranger said. “It is good for such places, where evil is buried. Its roots hold fast, and it devours without being tainted. Later it will die, and by its death we will know any evil has been cleansed.”

“I am sorry my kinsmen caused you such trouble,” Dorrin said, “but glad you have taken precautions with their remains.”

When they reached the border; their Lyonyan escort turned back. Dorrin and Beclan rode on with only the two Verrakaien militia. The spring sun, the fresh scents of the forest, raised Dorrin's spirits, and she saw that Beclan was taking an interest as well. After a glass or so, Dorrin felt the taig weakening. “Something's wrong here,” she said.

“It feels … sad,” Beclan said. “If I'm feeling what I think I'm feeling.”

The feeling worsened as they rode on, and then they saw the first deformed tree. Only half the limbs had leafed out; the branches and trunk had lost bark. Others stood beyond, grotesque parodies of healthy trees. Under them grew only a few twisted shrubs and stunted flowers, the blooms pale and already wilting.

“This is what Gwenno reported last year when she patrolled in this area,” Dorrin said before Beclan asked. “Why my family cursed the trees, I don't know—unless it's possible that some form of blood magery works with trees.”

She turned to her militia. “Ride on until you find a healthy stand of trees and make camp there. I want to study this and see if anything may be done.” The guards saluted and rode ahead. Dorrin dismounted; Beclan followed her.

“It's horrible,” Beclan said. “Can we do anything?”

“We can try, though I suspect it would take a Kuakgan or an elf—or a group of them. Pick a tree.”

Beclan chose a tree with a few tufts of spring-green leaves on twisted limbs. They both laid hands on it; Dorrin felt its living essence, frayed and sad, through the palms of her hands. “Alyanya's power,” Dorrin said. “Lady of Flowers, Lady of Peace … if we can help this tree, show us how.” To her senses, the tree seemed to warm, as if a little more life flowed into it.

Beclan looked at her. “I feel something, my lord,” he said. “It's not like a pulse, but a … a flow.” He looked up. “But no more leaves.”

“It will take time, I suppose,” Dorrin said. She sighed. “Do you feel tired, Beclan?”

“Yes. As if I'd been running.”

“Enough for today. We'll eat and rest before riding on.”

As they sat in the thin shade of the crooked tree, Dorrin felt a tremor in the ground, much like a horse shaking a fly off its skin. Beclan dropped the bread he was holding. They both heard the groan that followed. Then shade thickened; they looked up, and Dorrin saw thrice as many leaves as before and a few sprays of apple blossom, its scent drifting down to them.

“We did that?” Beclan said, his eyes wide.

“I would not say so,” Dorrin said. “The taig and the Lady of Plenty did that, but we opened a way for them to work. Come, let us try another.”

But the next attempt exhausted Beclan; he crumpled to the ground, pale to the lips. “I'm sorry, my lord,” he said when his eyes opened again.

“It is not your fault,” Dorrin said. She felt tired, too. “You are new to this; you did very well. When you're able, we'll ride on to camp.” Her guards had set up tents and had hot food waiting when she and Beclan arrived. She wondered as she ate how many trees were damaged and how long it would take to heal them.

O
n the last day, dusk was closing in as Dorrin caught sight of the house. Her guards picked up a canter, riding ahead to announce her return. Dorrin held her mount to a walk. The guards had not reached the house yet, but lights flickered in the windows of the great front room. They had not known when to expect her … Who was there at this hour?

Torches appeared on the porch, and mounted torchbearers rode out of the stableyard as she came to the ford. Light glittered on the moving water; rain had fallen here, and swifter water tumbled over the stones, knee-high on the horses. Torchlight lit someone … a visitor … in red and silver. A royal? Then she was close enough to recognize Duke Serrostin. Had he come to demand his son's return?

“They thought you might not be back for days,” Serrostin said, sounding more cheerful than she expected. “I'm on the king's business, my lord Duke. He's decided to make a progress, and you are the fortunate first domain he will visit.”

Dorrin had a moment of stark panic. The king? Here? When? Surely not before Queen Arian's visit to Tsaia …

“He plans to come between the queen's visit and Midsummer Court,” Serrostin went on. “And perhaps he'll have time to visit Konhalt, depending on when the queen leaves.”

That left time to prepare. “Thank you,” Dorrin said. “We will welcome him, of course. Do you know how many will travel in his party or how long he will stay?”

“Not certainly, though he said he did not intend to impoverish his people; he will bring supplies with him. Possibly the prince, certainly one or two peers, a small staff; he'll send a courier with details a tenday before he leaves.” Serrostin turned his mount to parallel hers and lowered his voice. “I've seen Daryan.”

“He's matured,” Dorrin said.

“Yes. He informed me very firmly but with perfect courtesy that you had jurisdiction here and I could not take him away without your consent since there was no proof of maltreatment.”

“He thought that's why you had come?”

“Yes. I finally got a word in to reassure him. Since then he's been a gracious host in your absence, since both your kirgan and Gwenno Marrakai were out of the house.” He smiled at Beclan. “Hello, Beclan. Daryan said you were wife hunting in Lyonya.”

“I was not! I was just … I had the chance…”

“He was teasing,” Dorrin said. Beclan subsided.

“So tell me, my lord, do you know when the queen will come?” Serrostin asked. “We had thought she planned to leave Chaya within days after the marriage.”

He must have missed the courier sent to Mikeli, Dorrin realized. “I have news both good and bad,” she said. “But let me save that for a private conversation.”

“Of course.”

Later that night, after a pleasant dinner at which Daryan served, his wrinkled brown thumb uncovered as he handed platters around, Dorrin took Duke Serrostin into her office and related all that had happened while she was in Lyonya.

“The elf queen dead! I cannot believe it—they're immortals—”

“Not with a sword in their vitals,” Dorrin said bluntly. “It will change Lyonya; Kieri doesn't yet know how, but it's clear the elves are in disarray, with no elvenhome. What King Mikeli needs to know—though he should have had a courier by now—is that King Kieri intends no change in his own policy toward Tsaia.”