Mercedes Lackey - Anthology (26 page)

 
          
"I
must have her," Hvandi said at last, planting himself before Gonten, his
dark eyes smoldering. "Her goddess must be brought to heel at the Bright
Lord's command."

 
          
Gonten
reached for a goblet of too-warm wine. "So you've said, more than once
since dawn. And I believe I understand what—"

 
          
"You
don't," snapped Hvandi, perhaps the only man save the Emperor himself who
could use that tone of voice to the Prince, Heir Apparent to the throne.
"It is something those untutored in the mystic arts can only glimpse. But
I will try to explain.
Again."

 
          
The
Prince nodded, despising his fear of the priest. Though he had never spoken of
it, Gon-ten had always sensed something dark, something at odds with Hvandi's
position as Priest of the Bright Lord whose power sustained the Asketian
Empire. But he had also witnessed evidence of Hvandi's vast power and was not
foolish enough to challenge it. Not yet, at least. Let the priest talk on; it
was only slightly more boring than listening to the governor complain.

 
          
"My
powers come from the god," Hvandi said, his voice falling into a lecturing
tone, as if he spoke to a young child. "Every kingdom we conquer has its
own gods, its own beliefs. All must be subjugated before Bright Keti. This
Sa-vanya—this purported goddess of wisdom— must bow before the Lord of Heaven
or we are diminished. I can accomplish this task only by wedding the
priestess."

 
          
"As
you've wed other priestesses before," Gonten said, refilling his goblet.

 
          
Gods, how the priest could go on.
"But this one—she's
refused you."

 
          
Hvandi's
eyes flashed. "So did the others, but eventually they yielded."

 
          
"This
priestess seems different," the Prince observed, keeping his voice level,
"Just like the people of this damnable kingdom! They didn't even raise an
army to defend their country when my grandfather conquered them. Oh, to be
sure, isolated groups of men took up old and rusty arms to protect their
villages and towns, but they never mounted any serious resistance. It was as if
they had forgotten war and how to make it."

 
          
He
stood and walked to the window that opened onto the sleepy countryside.

 
          
"This
place is like living in some drug-dream. It's enough to drive any sane man mad.
Nothing ever happens here—the people go about their simple, ordinary lives, and
raise their grain and fruits and livestock. Aside from the pursuit of learning
and the arts—" Gonten snorted derisively. "They do as we demand, they
pay their taxes,
they
give way to us in all things.
Sometimes I wonder why my grandfather bothered conquering Delad. It has no real
wealth save its learning, and that alone shouldn't have been enough to tempt
our legions. We have learning and arts aplenty in the Empire. The defeat of
peasants wielding ancient weapons is no source for pride." He fixed the
priest with what he hoped was an innocent look. "How can a goddess of such
a gentle people compromise the power of the Bright Lord, whose strength and
power and majesty are beyond comprehension?"

 
          
Hvandi
threw both hands over his head and muttered something the Prince was earnestly
glad he did not hear. "Ignorance can be dangerous, Prince,' he said
. "
This may seem to you a backwater kingdom with
nothing of great value to be found within its borders. But there is much power
to be won from this goddess. If I am to have it at all, it must be achieved
through the marriage act."

 
          
Gonten
closed his eyes and rubbed them wearily. He and Hvandi had gone over and over
this
point,
and, try as he might, he still could make
no connection between marriage and the assimilation of power.

 
          
"Why
not just rape her and be done with it?"

 
          
"Your
father, Prince," Hvandi replied in an icy tone, "has instructed me to
treat this priestess well. Her people are meek, yes, but we don't know how far
we can push them before they break. She is a national treasure, the mouthpiece
of the goddess who rules this kingdom." His eyes hardened. "Your
father is facing rebellion to the north and west; even you should be able to
see that he hardly needs another uprising on his hands."

 
          
Gonten
tensed at the implied insult but kept his face expressionless, yielding the
point to Hvandi. "Well, then, if she refuses to wed you, we must convince
her otherwise."

 
          
"And
how might we do that?" the priest asked. "No one has any dominion
over her, not even the King."

 
          
So
you don't have all tiie answers, do you? Gonten thought. He smiled slowly,
hoping he appeared
more sure
of his reply than he
felt.

 
          
"There
are ways, priest. Believe me . . . there are ways."

 
          
Fatigued
from the labors of the day, Yslinda blew out the last lamp and stood for a
moment in the warm darkness. More folk than usual had taken the boat ride to
her island asking for her help. She had given freely of her wisdom and her
healing touch as always, but tonight she felt especially drained.

 
          
As
she stretched out on her simple pallet, she shivered and drew the thin covering
up to her chin. O Savanya, she prayed silently, tell me what to do.

 
          
Guide
me. I cannot wed that foreign priest— I can't! He'll use me, drain me of my
power, and leave our people without your guiding light! Give me a sign, O

 
          
Wise
One! A sign!

 
          
But
the darkness of night remained simple darkness, and the soft wind was only a
wind. Yslinda closed her eyes and slept.

 
          
Wings
beat across the heavens.
Wings star-bright, vaster than
worlds, more powerful than time.
Eyes, huge and golden against the
blackness of space, glinting in a light more than light, seemed to see through
Yslinda into the core of her very being.

 
          
Owl
Light, Owl Bright, speak to me, give me sight!

 
          
The
huge bird sat silent on the lower crook of the moon, then spread its wings
until they hid the wheeling stars. Its head turned, its feathers ruffled in a
wind that blew through Yslinda's mind. Softly, surely, the Owl descended from
its perch and wrapped those wings around her, the touch of down-soft comfort
keeping the gibbering shadows at bay.

 
          
By
torchlight, the young King's face appeared paler than usual. Clad, as always,
in a simple white tunic over white breeches, save for the slender golden
circlet on his dark head, he might have been any of the young men who had
journeyed to the capital to further their education. His gold eyes caught the
light, and for a moment Prince Gonten seemed snared by his gaze. But he had
stared down opponents far more
mighty
than this
fourteen-year-old boy who stood before him, and he shook off the strangeness,
refusing to be cowed.

 
          
"So
you see the problem here," Gonten concluded conversationally. "We ask
very little of you, King. We will not take your priestess from you. We honor
you that much, to be sure. Tradition, however, must be upheld, and tradition
demands that Lord Hvandi wed this woman, a symbolic union between our gods and
yours."

 
          
"I
have no power over her," the young King murmured, repeating himself for
the third time. "I can't command her."

 
          
"Ah, but you can recommend, most strongly, that for the good
of her kingdom—for the greater good of the entire Empire—she do this
thing."

 
          
The
boy lowered his eyes momentarily,
then
raised them
again. "I can," he admitted, "but whether she listens or not is
entirely up to the goddess."

 
          
Gonten
smiled slightly.
"Perhaps.
And perhaps I can do
more than you think to persuade the goddess to give strength to your
words."

 
          
Yslinda
waited by the dock as the royal barge came to rest. The King was first to
alight, followed by his guard and Prince Gonten's men. The Asketians, she noted
uneasily, far outnumbered her countrymen.

 
          
"Goddess
bless
, King" she said as he reached her. She
bowed her head, in deference both to him and to the unbroken line of kings that
stretched back longer than memory.

 
          
"Goddess
bless
, Priestess," he replied. His face was
shadowed, as if he had not slept well. "We will talk in private."

 
          
She
bowed again and led the way from the shore to the front steps of her house. Neither
the King's guard nor Prince Gonten's men followed.

 
          
"I'm
afraid I know why you're here, King," Yslinda said, once they had stepped
inside. "And I can't pretend I'm pleased to see you play the role of
messenger."

 
          
The
young man blushed slightly. "You must listen to me, Yslinda," he said
"For the sake of our kingdom, you must listen. Do you think I enjoy coming
to you like this . . . like some paid lackey of the Asketi? But I must. I don't
see that I have a choice. Prince Gonten would have you wed this priest
Hvandi—" He lifted a hand to forestall her reply. "—and there is
little I can do to prevent his."

 
          
"But
the goddess can," Yslinda said, her voice trembling. She struggled for
composure. Surely she could not be hearing the words coming from the King's
mouth. He had always supported her in all that she had done. But not in this,
an inner voice spoke. What are his choices? Say no to someone who could crush
this kingdom like an eggshell beneath his legions' feet?

 
          
"Of
the goddess' power I have no doubt. But at what expense can this demand be
turned aside?" he asked, echoing her thoughts, as if he, too, had the
ability sometimes to see into another's mind. He looked directly into her eyes,
his own very steady. "The Asketian was very blunt. I have no heir; I am an
only child. No issue of my family survives save me. If you do not agree to this
thing,
an—
accident will be arranged. The line of kings
will end with me, and our kingdom will go down in darkness, our link to our
ancestors gone."

 
          
A
cold wash of fear ran through Yslinda's veins. "He wouldn't!" she
exclaimed, shying away from the very notion of an ending to the House of Kings.
"How could he even dare to—
"

 
          
"He
can," the King
said,
his voice full of a v
eariness that went far beyond his age. "And he will. Unless the goddess
herself intervenes in ways I cannot imagine."

 
          
Owl
Light, Owl Bright—

 
          
"O
Savanya," Yslinda murmured. "O goddess! Let it not be so!"

 
          
"Prince
Gonten also said the priest will arrive at sunset three days from now to take
you to Lord-Hill. He gives you that time to prepare yourself and for him to
make the palace ready for the ceremony. You will be married at sunrise of the
fourth day, for that is the time when his god ascends over the world."

 
          
Owl
Light, Owl Bright—

 
          
A
fragmented mosaic of alternatives to her forced marriage scattered across
Yslinda's mind, choices she could make and the repercussions flowing from them.
At the end of each pathway into the futures lay a curtain of darkness, beyond
which even she could not see.

 
          
"Have
I no choice in this?" she whispered. "No choice at all?"

 
          
The
King's face grew more shadowed yet. "That, Yslinda, lies with Savanya.