Restoration (68 page)

For a day after Blaise's release, the boy would pursue no activity, no matter that I had a set of gaming pieces made for him, and some magical toys: a small wooden horse that galloped about his chambers, and a palm-sized sailing ship that flew upon the air. I had the woman stay back while I gave him his food, but he would not eat. By evening I deserted their company, exasperated. But after a glass of wine and an hour's running, I regained my perspective. Gods' teeth, the boy was not yet three years old and had witnessed a close acquaintance in considerable discomfort. He was not afraid of me, only of the harm that had come to his friend. I climbed the stairs again, thinking to bid him good night. A quiet voice came from the room, and I paused in the doorway to watch and listen.

“... He would carry his boy on his shoulders in the bright mornings, and they would walk through the green forests, and over the green hills, and into the fields.” The woman was sitting on the edge of the small bed, and the child was curled up in his blankets listening. “And there the man would dig in the soil and teach the boy of plants and roots and growing things, of worms and mice and ... what else?”

“Rabbits!” said the child.

“Rabbits, indeed. And as they worked the soil and planted seeds, the man would tell his boy stories of rabbits and their life in their burrows—”

“What tale is this you tell?” I blurted out, feeling a sudden pain like a knife's point behind my eyes.

The woman tucked the blanket around the child, not taking her eyes from the small, worried face. Her answer was spoken in the soothing rhythm of the storyteller. “It is the story of Evan's family, of his grandfather, I believe. But perhaps I am incorrect about that. I learned it from my brother, who learned it from ... one who knew it well. It has been Evan's favorite since he was a babe, the only tale sure to quiet him when he's upset.”

I could not stay. I was near blinded by the pain in my head, and it was all I could do to keep my voice steady. “Tomorrow. I'll come again tomorrow.”

Once back in my own chambers, the pain receded quickly. After all, I was Madonai.

 

The morrow was little different. The woman watching. Evan skittish. Myself playing the fool to gain the favor of a child. Ludicrous. On the next day I returned to my studies in the library. My father taught me enchantments to control the movements of water. Much more satisfactory. I looked in on the boy in the evening, and he bowed quite properly when I entered his room. I returned his small courtesy, and then sat with him while he ate a reasonable portion of broth and bread. I sailed his wooden ships on the air, but he did not try to play with them. None of the three of us said much of anything. When the woman began preparing the boy for bed, I bade him a good night and left.

On the next day I went traveling in dreams and found the human war quiet. Forces were mustering in northern Azhakstan, near Capharna, the Empire's summer capital in the mountains. Capturing Capharna was a logical step for the Prince to take, but a massive one, requiring considerable preparation. Disappointing. I had been hoping for a fight.

For the remainder of that day and through the next, I could find no occupation to settle me. Was I already going mad from my confinement? The air felt brittle, the shivering world on the verge of crumbling. I could neither sleep nor concentrate on studies or enchantments or exercise. My father's concerned inquiries were constant irritation. “Is it not enough that you made me?” I snapped. “Must you think and feel for me, too?” I screamed at the woman to stop staring at me or I would strangle her, and then cursed myself for losing my temper at a nursemaid. What was I waiting for?

On the afternoon of the fifth day from Blaise's departure, I learned the answer. As I paced an inner courtyard, Kasparian brought the news that a human man was waiting in the garden, demanding to speak with me. As if the key had been fitted into its proper lock, all the jarring edges within me settled into place. The red fire of sunset shot through the lowering clouds like a crack in the sky as I took wing and settled upon the ramparts of my fortress. Of course he would come. The wheels of inevitability had turned, shifting us all into position.

“My lord,” I said. “What can I do for you this evening?”

He looked up, the amber of his eyes visible even from my high perch, his red hair taking fire with the dying sunlight. “I've come to keep my promise, Seyonne. Shall I come up there to kill you, or do we finish it down here?”

“Tell me who you are.” He leaned against a barren ash tree in the snowy garden, appearing as easy as a shengar settled under a tarbush in desert noonday. I was not deceived. His hand rested on his sword hilt.

“Can you not use your vaunted skill to judge me, Prince?” I had flown down from the tower, unshaping my wings once I stood on the steps that overlooked the garden. I did not wear a weapon as yet. My visitor hardly frightened me. His vest and breeches of thick, padded leather and the boots that reached to his thigh spoke of serious caution on his part; he hated such protective garb. I knew a great deal about this man.

He shook his head. “For this matter I cannot trust instinct. Nor even Blaise's word. Not when it is Seyonne's life in the balance.”

I laughed and swept a broad bow. “I thank you for your caution, my lord. But I can put your mind at ease. I have Seyonne's knowledge, memory, and form, but his body is now Madonai, not human, and I am no longer subject to his emotional confusion. The part of him that served you”—I touched my left cheek—“that scrubbed your floors of vomit, wrote your letters, and guarded your back, is no more.” I drew my cloak about my shoulders. Without the wings I felt the cold. “Tell me, what is Seyonne's crime that you, who purport to be his friend, would slay me? Has he mislaid your crown or failed to wipe your feet? Perhaps he has shed too little blood for you that you thirst for his.” What kind of fool is so beguiled by strength and charm and leadership—truly Aleksander had those in abundance—that he translates them into the kind of bondage I had served? How stupid I had been to think this prince could bring reason and order to the human world. “Why are you here?” I said.

Kasparian appeared at my side, my sword belt laid across his arms.

The Prince did not move, but I felt the subtle shift in readiness ripple through him. “I made Seyonne a promise, and I never break faith with a friend. Do you not remember?”

From the time I had run to Zhagad to warn Aleksander of assassins, my thinking had been clouded. I owned all of “Seyonne‘s” memories, just as I remembered my thousand years in Kir' Vagonoth and the pitiful smatterings of my life before the split that sent me there, yet I could not remember half of my dealings with Aleksander for the murk of human sympathies that surrounded them. But enough was clear. “I recall a number of promises. A promise to disembowel me if I failed to deliver a message to your guard captain. A promise to slaughter every Ezzarian should I attempt to return to my home. And once, I think, you swore to cut off my hand if I did not drop my eyes from your face. I'll not drop my eyes, Prince.”

He cocked his head. “So tell me—who was it came to my camp eight nights ago and stole away my counselor and her fostered child?”

“Ah! Is that my offense?” I took my sword belt from Kasparian and leaned toward him in mock severity. “Summon the woman immediately, Kasparian. We need her sharp eyes to bear witness to my good heart.” The Madonai bowed and disappeared inside the fortress doors as I buckled on the wide belt of soft leather and strapped the scabbard to my thigh. “Ask her who I am,” I said to Aleksander. “She can vouchsafe that I have maltreated neither her nor the boy, and then you can explain why you would kill me for claiming my own child. I recall you mentioning a number of times that I should leave you to your own fate and spend more time with him. Was there some promise involved with that?”

Though I quipped and cut at him, I searched my mind for reasons. Yes, on my visit to retrieve the boy, I had reminded the Prince of promises and faithfulness, but as a warning against this very kind of perfidy. Aleksander had called me his friend and brother, and now he was here to kill me. Humans knew nothing of faith.

“This vow is of longer standing,” he said.

Kasparian soon reappeared on the fortress steps with the woman. The boy was not with them, a wise choice on Kasparian's part. I would commend him for it later.

At the woman's arrival, the Prince sloughed off all pretense of ease. He moved toward the steps, his eyes fixed on the woman's grave face. “How fare you, Mistress? And the boy?”

“Master Valdis and his father are all courtesy,” she said, dipping her head to me. “Evan and I are well-provided for.”

No further words were exchanged, but she shook her head slightly and, for one fleeting moment, the Prince's ruddy complexion lost color. “So be it,” he said softly, and shifted his gaze to me. “If you plan to use your sorcery to prevent me, Master ... Valdis ... then do so now, for I do swear that I will take your life this day.” Watching him and listening, one might almost believe he could do it.

“Your time and place are well chosen,” I said. “At present, unless I carry Kasparian here in my scabbard, sorcery profits me little in this realm. But I do not fear to face you on mundane terms, Madonai to human. As you've brought no war steed, I will even forego my wings.” Whatever the mystery of this determined blood lust—how did he think to benefit by slaying the one who had brought him to the brink of a new kingdom?—I relished the prospect of a fight. Too much concern with children and women threatened to sap my developing strength. “So where shall we test ourselves, my lord Prince? We can duel here in my garden and my fortress, but my knowledge of the terrain would give me unfair advantage. Kasparian can create us any venue we choose in his sparring arena—desert, forest, wilderness, familiar to us both or strange—much like the portal landscapes I've described for you. And you needn't fear that he will build me an advantage. I am the only being he despises more than human princes.”

“I don't care where we fight. Only that I fulfill my bond.”

I considered the problem. “Perhaps we should start where all this began ...”

I drew Kasparian aside and described what I wanted, allowing him full access to my memory of the place. He departed, and I motioned to the Prince and the woman. “Come along then. By my child's head, you have nothing to fear until I draw my sword. And you, too, Mistress. I would have you witness that I fought him fair.” As I led them into the heart of the fortress, they followed at a distance, talking quietly. I did not eavesdrop. Their concerns were none of mine.

 

 

To begin a duel cold is an awkward thing. In my Warden's days I had entered combat in a state of studied calm, but always imbued with the fire of righteousness and duty. Of late my arm had swung with vengeance and anger and other feelings that my mind could name, but no longer comprehend, remote sensations, like an unpleasant taste lingering in my mouth. Blood should be shed for reason, not passion. And yet, when I jumped lightly onto the square wooden platform in the barren courtyard of Kasparian's devising, reason was not enough to draw my hand to my blade.

Kasparian had done well, even conjuring the bitter wind that had broached the gray walls of Capharna's slave market courtyard on the day I had stood naked and chained on display for my new master. The ground was pitted and puddled with frozen slush, and the iron loops set into the walls for attaching slave chains still spoke of degradation.

I could see neither Mistress Elinor nor Kasparian. Somewhere in the fortress they would be watching ... as would my father, too, I guessed. All his feelings about humans had coalesced in his hatred for this prince. He would not wish to miss my triumph.

The Prince's demeanor was admirable. He wasted no time and lost no focus at walking from a buried passage in Tyrrad Nor into the replica of a long-ago winter's day in his empire's summer capital. His face was as stark and barren as the walls, and his gaze was only for me. He drew his sword and dagger and attacked.

Reluctantly I drew my weapon. “You must explain this vow you service,” I said, countering his first blow and shoving him away after a brief closure. “My father has freed me of human weakness, which means that even this despicable venue gives me no lust for personal vengeance.”

Another brief, violent exchange. Every sinew of Aleksander's body was prepared. Every part and portion of his being was intent on his movements and mine, but he was not yet fully committed. His strokes were quick and light and precise. He was feeling me out. Was he not yet sure of his purpose?

In the center of the wooden platform was a post and crossbars to which the living merchandise at auction was bound for inspection. I danced backward, using the structure to separate myself from the Prince. “A matter of honor is it not, to tell a man why you plan to kill him? But then, what do human princes know of honor?”

Aleksander moved slowly to his left, leaving the post out of the way again. “I promised Seyonne that if ever he became the dread being of his visions—the monster he believed would destroy our world—I would slay him. I hoped the changes we saw in you were but for show, some tactic in a war we could not see. I prayed that you knew what you were doing, and that at any moment you would tell me a bad joke and show me how you had saved us all yet again. But then you took your son ... brought him to this place you feared ... into this danger ... and I knew ...” He circled slowly to his left, and his fingers shifted slightly on his sword grip. “The curse of Athos be upon this fortress and whatever power dwells here who has done this to my friend ...” And with a savage cry he fell on me with a blow that could sever a thousand-year oak.