Limits of Power (76 page)

“He won't move, milady,” the groom said.

“He's waiting to give this lad a ride,” Paks said. Jamis, looking up at the tall horse, clutched her hand harder.

“No saddle?” he said. He sounded worried. Though he rode his pony more confidently now, he had never ridden bareback.

“You don't need one,” Paks said. She scooped him up and deposited him on the horse's back. “Sit up straight now, like your father. And you don't need reins, because the horse knows where you need to go.” She nodded to the horse. It took one careful step and paused. Jamis looked scared, but stayed upright. Another. Another. Jamis's mouth relaxed, Arcolin saw, and the horse gradually lengthened its stride, circling the forecourt.

“It's—it's fun!” Jamis said, turning to look at Arcolin. “Even on a big horse.”

“A very special horse,” Arcolin said.

“And now my horse wants his dinner,” Paks said, as the horse came to her and stopped. “Sorry, Jamis, but you must come down. Another ride later, maybe.”

Arcolin took the boy into his arms and set him on his feet. “Back to your books, lad; your mother's waiting.”

The rest of that day, Arcolin was aware of Paks moving about the stronghold. Most of her comrades were in the South; few up here had been Stammel's recruits, and most had not known him, or only briefly. He wondered if that was worse for her. He wished he had old comrades with whom to reminisce about Stammel.

She came in to supper with Captain Arneson; the two of them seemed already friends, chatting easily about the recruits' progress. During supper, Arcolin asked her when she had last been in Fin Panir.

“I came from there, on my way to Lyonya; the Marshal-General gave me messages for both the kings. I had just delivered the first to King Mikeli when I felt a call to come here. I cannot stay long; I must get to Chaya soon after King Kieri's children are born, and quickly.”

“Is there trouble?”

“Not to concern you or this domain, my lord,” Paks said. She shook her head then. “But who knows what may flow from any occasion? You know about the reappearance of magery in both Tsaia and Fintha?”

“I heard, on my way through Vérella. Is it all the same, or is some blood magery?” Arcolin asked. “Or a gift of some god, as you paladins have?”

“No, my lord. As far as we can discern, it is all natural magery, what the magelords had. Born magery, showing in children as young as five or six winters, though more often in those at the change, twelve to fifteen—sometimes in those older. Your Marshal will hear, if he has not already, of the Marshal-General's concerns in this matter.”

“He knows,” Arcolin said. “But no one seems to know why it came.” He paused, fiddling with a napkin ring, then went on. “Some of us thought it might have come from Gird through you, Paks—the first magery anyone remembers seeing was Kieri with the sword when you gave it to him. And you helped Dorrin regain her magery. After that it was Beclan, her squire—”

Paks frowned. “I don't think so … though who knows how the gods work? I had no part in saving Kieri Phelan or Dorrin Verrakai from the perils of their early lives, but I am sure Gird and the High Lord did. A paladin is but the tool the gods use. The eldest of Elders might know, but Dragon does not explain.”

“Dragon's essence, he tells me, is transformation,” Arcolin said, remembering that conversation.

Paks tipped her head to one side. “But who wakened or sent or released Dragon?” she asked. “He did not tell me.”

Arcolin felt a shudder down his backbone at the casual way she spoke of the dragon. “Perhaps … perhaps he just
is,
and none of our words—sleeping, waking, sending—mean anything to him.”

“Perhaps.” Paks yawned. “Excuse me, my lord, but eating and sleeping both mean something to
me.
”

A few days later, she said she must leave the next dawn; Jamis began to cry, throwing his arms around her. Paks hugged him then set him down. “When a god calls, Jamis, a paladin must answer. If the gods will, I will return—and meanwhile, you are fortunate in your mother and father and in having your own pony. Think of those things, and spring coming. You will make friends and learn as much as you can. Will you do that?”

He nodded, solemn-faced now, and took his mother's hand.

Arcolin was up before dawn to bid her farewell. As he'd promised, he woke Jamis, and with Jamis and Calla stood in the courtyard to see her come lightly down the steps and across the inner court, her mail glittering under her surcoat, saddlebags over her shoulder. They followed her through to the forecourt, where her mount waited, saddled and bridled, red coat gleaming as if in summer sun though no sun yet lit the place.

Paks greeted the horse; the horse nudged her with its nose, and then she tossed the saddlebags up; they clung without tying. She turned to Arcolin. “You were the best captain I could have had,” she said. “And Matthis Stammel was the best sergeant. Gird's grace rest on you and yours. Milady Calla, I am so glad to see my captain wed to someone who loves him … and you, young Jamis, are like to grow into a fine man.”

Jamis nodded silently. She mounted and rode away, out through the stronghold's gates, down the road to Duke's East, out of sight. “
Will
she come back?” Jamis asked.

“I don't know,” Arcolin said. He put out his hand; Jamis took it, and Calla took his other hand. They walked back inside to the smell of breakfast cooking.

T
he queen lay propped against pillows in her bed, eyes bright and a smile as wide as the kingdom on her face. The king came and sat on the stool a Squire placed for him beside the bed. Tucked into Arian's arms were the two most beautiful babies Kieri had ever seen. The room smelled fresh with the good-luck herbs the midwives had strewn.

“Our children,” she said to the babes. “Here is your father.”

Beyond expectation, they looked at him, eyes appearing to focus. One—the girl—had wisps of pale reddish hair; the other—the boy—had light brown. Their arms moved, tiny hands opened. He offered each a forefinger; the hands clenched around his fingers. It was only the infant grip … but he felt more than that, more than he had felt with his other children. Surely no babes just born could recognize anyone but their mother.

“They are our hope,” he said. “And you, my queen?” He wiggled his fingers loose from those grips and stroked Arian's hair.

“I am well. More than well, rejoicing in them and in you.” She grinned. “And I suspect you feel in them what I do. Both of them. My grandfather was right.”

Kieri nodded. “I was not sure it would survive their birth. Though it survived mine. And they have it from both parents.” He sighed. “Which makes it all the more important to see that they have guidance in its use from earliest childhood. I suspect some elves will not be pleased if they do have that ability. Your grandfather is resigned, I think, but others—and certainly the iynisin—will see them as enemies.”

“My grandfather will aid us,” Arian said. When he did not answer, she put out her hand to touch his. “I know you do not want to be his vassal, Kieri, but he is our best ally for now. The guards he sent have not sought to usurp your authority over the Ladysforest elves, have they?”

“No…” Kieri shook his head. “But—you know why I distrust even honest elves.”

“And you have reason to do so, but—are you not more able with your elven magery now, thanks to their instruction?”

He nodded. “So I am, and I have exercised it out of their presence, as far as I dared go away from you in this critical time.” He grinned. “I have even used it in ways they would not approve—so I must admit my instructors do not control me.”

“What did you do?” Arian asked.

“Nothing evil, I promise,” he said. “But if a king may not wake and put back to sleep a rosebush in thanks for his queen's safe birthing—” He reached down and picked up the roses he'd laid there. “Aliam told me the Lady did much the same in his steading, and it is too early for roses.” As he held them, their fragrance poured out, filling the room for an instant as if they stood in the rose garden in summer, then faded, no more than three roses usually produced.

Arian smiled. “Thank you. I am glad our children will have that scent at the root of their lives.” She frowned a little. “Kieri … if you can wake and put to sleep the roses, do you think you now know how to wake those sleeping magelords?”

He shook his head. “I doubt it,” he said. “They sleep by someone else's spell, and how to unweave another's spell is still beyond my understanding. At least a trifold weaving, your grandfather said. And yes, I may have some elements of mageborn talent, but I know nothing of its use. Dorrin has no idea what would set magelords asleep for hundreds of years. I wish Paks would come from wherever she is and tell me more about what she saw.”

“Or someone else on that journey. Maybe the Marshal-General could send one of the Marshals who were there.”

“Maybe. I confess I would like to have those magelords when I consider what Alured the Black might do. If he has been invaded—or if he willingly harbors one of the Verrakaien or their like—we will need those with experience in warring with magery. We had paladins with us in Aarenis when we defeated Siniava, and yet it was a near thing. Alured, I believe, is a more dangerous opponent than Siniava. From what Paks said, those sleeping magelords seem to be mage and warrior both.”

Arian looked down at the babies, her face stiff with worry. “They must have time to grow, Kieri.”

“Exactly. And this realm has suffered enough from the scathefire. We must not ignore the danger; a few magic-wielding warriors would not come amiss. They would have been of use in that battle winter before last. Or if Alured chooses to come to the north by water … I can all too easily imagine him storming our new port with whatever magery he's acquired: his own, or that of an ally. By Arcolin's letters, uncanny things happened down there the last few years.” Kieri shook his head and leaned over to kiss her. “But nothing, my love, matters are much as this: you here, alive and well, with our firstborn alive and well in your arms.”

Arian glanced down at the babes, now both asleep. “I had best get my rest while I can. I suspect both of them will be keeping us awake for years to come.”

Kieri chuckled. “We will have help with that, but—if you allow—I will take them to their cradle.” Arian nodded, and he scooped up one babe at a time, a little surprised at himself for remembering how to hold a newborn. He laid them in the double cradle built for them, and when he turned back from the second, Arian was already asleep.

The sound of hooves on stone came through the window. Kieri reached the window overlooking the courtyard just in time to see a tall figure in a Girdish-blue surcoat over glittering mail on a red horse ride through the gate. So much for rest.

As always, many contributed to the research in this book as well as others in the group. Their contributions made it better; errors are my fault. David R. Watson of New World Arbalest graciously lent books from his library and gave advice on weaponry, as well as serving as an alpha reader for some sections. The other alpha readers, pressed into service over the holidays, did their usual amazing job of pointing out what still needed to be done. The group of fans who read and comment on the Paksworld blog looked up details from past books for me, and their commentary gave insight into some issues. Choir members provided much-needed support when things weren't going well and helped me keep focused on the ultimate goal. Former editor Betsy Mitchell, a strong supporter of the Paksworld books from the very first, continued to advise on this one right up to her retirement, and current editor Anne Groell has done an extraordinary job of taking over, including reading all the previous Paksworld books. No writer could be better served. And finally, thanks are always due to my husband, Richard, and son, Michael, without whose patience and willingness to take over the other work there'd be no time to write.