The Fall of Neskaya (4 page)

“Y-yes, I know that,” Coryn said, suddenly shy. “I have one, too. All of us except Kristlin, who is too young, were presented with starstones at the Midwinter Festival of our twelfth years.”

“May I see it?”

Coryn couldn’t think of a reason to refuse, but he slipped the starstone reluctantly from its silk pouch around his neck and held it out. To his relief, the
laranzu
made no attempt to touch it, but merely bent over the lightly flickering gem, studying it.

“Yes, you’ve keyed into it, albeit roughly. Who showed you how to do this?”

“N-nobody. Father’s been too busy. And Eddard—”

“Eddard!”
Dom
Rumail snorted, as if it might as well have been Coryn’s horse. “And the wrapping—did you do that, too?”

Coryn blushed. His older brothers and sisters wore their starstones bare against the skin, when they wore them at all. Margarida, complaining that her stone gave her a rash, had wrapped it in a scrap of velvet from the late Lady Leynier’s Midwinter gown. Coryn had gone to his sister for advice when, several weeks after his birthday, he’d awakened from nightmares. He dreamed that shadowy figures were impaling his chest on a sword of molten blue steel. When he tried the velvet, it made his nightmares worse. The circles under her eyes showed that it hadn’t helped her either. It had been his idea to try silk, although Margarida had been the one to pilfer the scraps, cut from their grandmother’s wedding gown and destined for a patchwork comforter.

“Your stitches betray you, boy,”
Dom
Rumail said in a voice less gruff. “Put it away for now and don’t let anyone touch it. From now on, only you or your Keeper may handle it safely. I must speak with your father.”

Relieved, Coryn went back to his work. The gliders from Tramontana had dispersed, each to unload bags of fire-retardant chemicals in a different front line of the fire. Already, the smoke had changed in color. Coryn joined some of the other younger people, his brother Petro among them, up a little way on the hill above the camp. From here, he could see the billows of rust color streak the charcoal clouds.

There would still be more work to do, backbreaking and long, slow labor sifting through the ashes, making sure no live embers lingered to spring to life again. But the larger battle had been won.

W
hen at last the ashes had been combed through and every lingering ember extinguished, when those who had labored so hard against the fire had time to rest and their burns and bruises were tended, Lord Beltran Leynier held a feast of celebration. He included not only his own household but every man and woman on the estate and every smallholder and his family, a gesture of unusual magnanimity.

That evening, the great hall of the castle glowed with candlelight. Tessa and Margarida had bedecked the hall with wreaths of late summer lilies and garlands of brown and blue, the Leynier colors. Padraic the
coridom
had arranged every serviceable table in the castle into a long-stemmed T, with Lord Leynier properly at its head and Rumail at his left hand, in the place of honor.

Coryn sat a few places away, sandwiched between Eddard and his young wife on one side and Margarida on the other. His mouth watered as one succulent dish after another was carried out, the slow-roasted bull calf, the barnfowl stuffed with nuts and apples, the loaves of fresh-baked bread redolent with rosemary and garlic, the last of the winter gourds glazed with honey. He had no idea food could taste so good. In addition to the grueling physical work of the last week, the nausea had receded, leaving him ravenous.

After the platters of dinner meats had been removed and the honey cakes reduced to crumbs, Lord Leynier called for another round of wine for each guest, even the children. Rising to his feet in the expectant hush, he lifted his own goblet.

“At this time of thanksgiving, we offer our hospitality and our deepest thanks to our honored guest. Rumail of Neskaya, your presence here and your actions in fighting the worst fire of many years bring new meaning to the phrase,
S’dia shaya.
You lend us grace.”

Rumail nodded and replied formally,
“S’dei par servu.
For myself, I am glad to have done what I could. My brother, Damian Deslucido, who wears the crowns of Ambervale and Linn, believes that with great power comes even greater responsibility. I could offer no less than my full assistance in such a time of need. Like my brother, I believe that the gift of
laran
confers an obligation of service. In fact, some say there will come a time when those in the Towers will dedicate their talents only to peace and never to war.”

“War is terrible enough when fought with sword and arrow,” Beltran Leynier said grimly. “But no man can stand against these devil-weapons unless he commands them himself.”

Padraic had told Coryn the story of how his eldest brother, who would have been heir to Verdanta, had been killed in the last battle with the Storns of Callarma. His uncles, Beltran’s two surviving brothers, had died in an ambush which had come under the guise of a truce negotiation. As certain as next winter’s snows, his father was right. Neither Callarma nor High Kinnally nor anyone else would dare to challenge Verdanta in the face of superior
laran
weapons.

After the faintest pause, Rumail continued, his voice shifting into formal, mellifluous cadences, “In the name of Damian Deslucido the Invincible, King of Ambervale and Linn, I convey to you warmest greetings and salutations. He sends these gifts as a token of his high regard.”

Padraic, acting in his role of
coridom
, handed Rumail a parcel the length of a man’s forearm and half its height, wrapped in a cloth which was dyed deep blue and bore the sheen of costly spider silk. Rumail grasped the parcel so that the iridescent fabric fell away, revealing a casket of beaten copper. Murmurs rippled around the table at the sight of such riches, for copper was the most precious of all Darkover’s rare metals.

With a single swift movement, Rumail tipped the casket open, releasing a cascade of spice packets, lengths of embroidery-covered lace from Dalereuth, strands of Temora pearls, and a magnificent piece of polished amber carved in the shape of a cloud leopard. Margarida, who loved beautiful things, clapped her hands in delight, as did Eddard’s wife.

Lord Leynier, clearly astonished, offered thanks in equally formal language. Rumail went on to present his primary mission, which everyone at the table already knew: the offer of marriage of King Damian’s heir, Prince Belisar, to a Leynier daughter. What he did not say aloud, everyone also knew, which was that the marriage hinged on the girl’s ability to bear children of exceptional
laran
. When the first proposal had arrived, Tessa, the only daughter of marriageable age, had been indignant.

“I will not be
barragana
to any man’s accursed breeding schemes!” she said in an unusual display of temper, for she was normally the most conventional of the girls.

“It is an honorable marriage
di catenas
,” her father corrected her, “and not an unfair bargain.” Although he had the power to force the marriage, he rarely used his authority when his children were truly unwilling. “You would trade what you contribute to the royal bloodline in exchange for a life of comfort and relative safety.”

Eddard’s wife of less than a year, now visibly pregnant, had brought a sweet temper as well as a dowry of prime farmland to the marriage. Her condition had kept her away from the fire camp, but it was only a matter of time before she stepped into the role of Lady of Verdanta. Tessa would eventually have to marry to find a household of her own.

“You’d be Queen,” Coryn reminded her. That seemed like a grand enough thing to be.

“Nobody’s asking
you
to—” Tessa broke off, blushing furiously.

“We marry where we must, not where we will,” Beltran said. “Love between a man and his wife comes later, or not, as the gods will it. Meanwhile, we each do what we can for family, for nothing is stronger than the ties of blood.” He left unspoken the thought in everyone’s mind, that alliances un-cemented by fruitful marriage too often proved worthless. The value of such a union spoke for itself, in the names of the smaller estates now under fealty to King Damian.

In the end, her temper having run its course, Tessa said she would marry this Belisar as was her duty. If, that is, he were kind and tolerable to look at.

“You have several daughters here,” Rumail said, his eyes sliding from Tessa, darkly lovely and poised with her hair coiled low on her neck in a silver butterfly clasp, to Margarida, with her freckles and snub nose, dressed in a smock she’d embroidered herself, and then for an instant up to the gallery where Kristlin watched along with the other young children. “My brother asks that I be allowed to examine each of them, to determine the strength and suitability of each girl’s
laran
.”

Coryn glanced at Margarida. She kept her eyes downcast, yet he caught her flicker of dismay. She was barely fourteen—

“I had assumed the testing would be only for Tessa.” Beltran said, frowning. “For she is not only the eldest, but of the most fitting age for marriage.”

Rumail’s expression remained bland as he said, “Yet the most fitting age may not be the most fitting match. Let us at least resolve the question of the
laran
potential of each girl before we proceed further with negotiations.”

“If it is truly necessary, you are free to examine them in any way which is seemly for a maid and an unmarried man who is not her relative,” Beltran said, with a trace of heaviness in his voice.

“It is necessary,” Rumail said. “
Laran
may lie dormant, or be blocked, or may simply remain as a potential for the next generation.” Coryn could tell from the shift in the man’s voice that now he spoke with the authority of a trained
laranzu
. “I assure you, what I do will in no way compromise your daughters’ honor, nor will there be any pain. And you,
damisela
Margarida, may have your nurse present if you wish.”

Margarida lifted her eyes and said with spirit, “I no longer require a nurse,
vai dom
.”

“
Dom
Beltran,” Rumail continued, leaning forward slightly, “it was not my mission to test your sons, but I would like permission to examine young Coryn. I believe he may also have the
donas
, the gift.”

Beltran nodded in assent and signaled for the tables to be cleared away and the evening’s entertainment to begin. Tessa played the
rryl
particularly well and had a light, sweet voice. Petro, who had no singing ability, accompanied her on lap drum and Margarida on a small reed flute.

As Coryn set out a cushioned chair for Tessa, he felt
Dom
Rumail’s eyes on him. A little thrill went up his spine. Perhaps this
sense
of his was a kind of
laran
. He might be able someday to pilot a glider with his starstone. Images of hovering, soaring, looking down on forest and meadow from eagle’s height, surged over him. Fervently, he prayed to Aldones it might be true.

Dom
Rumail was given the small chamber used for hanging linens to dry during the winter for his testing. All through the next morning, he examined the girls, beginning with Tessa. Coryn didn’t see her until that evening, for Eddard sent him out to ride the boundary lands around the fire, searching for any deeply-buried embers. Dinner was informal, as was usual on work days, with hot meat pies, aged
chervine
milk cheeses and dried fruit bars, nutbread and bowls of oat groats with savory sauce laid out in the kitchen. Coryn found the two younger girls and Petro here, chattering away.

“It was like—” Margarida lifted her hands in a fluttering gesture, “—like dancing on a cloud.”

“Do you mean he made you go to sleep?” Petro said, scowling. “What’s so grand about that?”

“You’re jealous ’cause you got left out,” Coryn said.

“Am not,” Petro said. “I just don’t want some old wizard poking around in
my
mind. Who knows what he’ll do once he’s in there? He could read your thoughts . . . all your nasty little secrets. How’d you like everyone to know about the time you set fire to Tessa’s hairbrush and then dropped it down the latrine?”

Coryn landed a punch on Petro’s shoulder while Kristlin giggled, “So that’s what happened to it. She was mad as Durraman’s donkey for a tenday, thinking she’d lost it.”

Before Kristlin could ask exactly how Coryn had set the hairbrush on fire, Margarida said, “It was rather nice, what
Dom
Rumail did. In a dreamy sort of way.”

“Well,
I
didn’t like it,” said Kristlin, sticking out her lower lip. Her brows knitted, stormy. “It felt . . . I don’t know, like the way a snake sounds over dry leaves.”

“You? What do you know?” Coryn grinned. “You don’t even have a starstone yet. You’re just a little girl, running around in boy’s breeches—whose were they, anyway? Fra’ Domenic’s?” he jibed, unable to resist teasing her.