The Golden Swan (22 page)

“Mercy, my liege king,” he begged, his voice oily even in his despair.

I glanced at Tirell and saw that he was not without thoughts of mercy. Bellflower blue shadow in his eyes showed that. Then they hardened to the color of blue ice—he was True King, and a king who allows revolt is no king.

“I have a wife,” he told Raz almost quietly, “the most loving and faithful of wives, your daughter, and you tried to lure her away from me by the most vile slanders. And when that failed, you sent ruffians to steal our son. Now at last you have found nerve to make open battle on me. No, Raz. I have no mercy to offer you.”

“Mer—” the man started again, but before he could finish his head was gone. A more vindictive monarch would have killed him at greater length, but Tirell made the slaying swift. A roar of victory went up from his army as they hoisted the head on a spear for proof, and a groan from the others. Losing heart, they started to fall back, and Tirell's followers cheered, pressing after. Tirell stood still, leaning on his sword, looking tired and more than a little sickened, letting the battle leave him.

“It is over,” he murmured.

“Not yet, brother.” Frain looked tired as well, but keen of glance. “You have not yet met your real enemy.”

“Myself?” Tirell straightened, smiling broadly. “I thought I had.”

“Son of Aftalun, Tirell, I know you have!” Frain sounded both amused and annoyed. “I mean Shamarra.”

“She. Shamarra.” Tirell's smile faded, and the same keen look came into his eyes. “For years I feared her, until I came to believe she had left Vale for good.”

“She is here. She is a shape changer, so she could be anything, anywhere. A beetle in the earth, one of those Luoni—” Frain lifted his sword briefly toward the ugly birdwomen who swooped overhead. “Even that horse, I thought, until it obeyed me.”

“Shamarra,” Tirell breathed. “She whom I wronged. I should have known—” He lifted his sword, taking the wary stance of a warrior. “What is going on now?”

The sun was going dark. All in a moment it seemed to be blotted out in the midst of the cloudless sky. The clash of weapons abruptly stopped.

“Men of Melior to me!” Tirell shouted.

Either they did not hear him or they were too stricken to obey. Warriors of both armies started scattering and straggling in all directions, running, terrified of the unnatural dusk. The battle lines faded away until only a great heap and strewing of bodies remained. The day seemed much too quiet then, horribly so, with no sound except for the groaning of wounded men and the greedy squawks of the Luoni. Frain and Tirell stood alone on the bloodied plain with a whining wolf, myself.

“What is it?” Frain asked softly, expecting no reply. For my own part I was crouching and bristling in fear. Then a streak of fire shot through the gloom, and I understood. More portents. Comets fly when great men die.

“Surely this pother cannot be all for Raz,” said Tirell uncertainly.

“There,” Frain whispered, pointing his blade.

A stirring amid a pile of corpses, stench, glimmer of fungus-white flesh, a sluggish heave and we saw it—a monstrous maggot, as daunting as death, its stubby tip standing man-high and wriggling hideously. But there was not time to stare or flee, it had taken a greenish change, it was a serpent as vast as the others and more fearsome, for just at its neck sprouted feathered wings.

“Ai!” Frain shouted, an incoherent cry of alarm, and it flew at us.

“The black beast,” Tirell said, very low.

I do not know what he meant by that. But in the moment he spoke the thing was indeed a beast, an unnatural creature made all of flux, the pale deathly deer, horned catamount fleet as a deer, goblin horse, snarling antlered hound of hell. Like a whirlwind it sped toward us, all a blur of fear and confusion, and Tirell stood rock steady, waiting for it. But Frain sprang forward and ran to meet it.

“Shamarra, no!” he shouted. “You shall not have him!” She veered to slip past him, but he blocked her way swiftly with his sword, and she came to a halt just before him, shimmering eerily from one form to the next.

And who are you to say I must not have my game, Swan Lord?
she asked. The cool voice was familiar, yet with none of the former condescension in it.
I thought you loved me
, she added, and there was something of real feeling in the words despite her horrifying formless form.

“I do! You know I am fated to do so. But I love my brother as well, and for more reason. Am I to let one of you slay the other, then?” Frain raised his sword in threat as, a horned and ram-headed serpent, she oozed forward.

You will not kill me
.

“Perhaps not. But I am your equal now; beware.”

Very true
. Was that warmth in her voice, congratulation, even?
Perhaps more than my equal at most times. But just now the sun is in abeyance, Lonn D'Aeric, and for that reason I think you will not be able to stand against me
.

An odd, inquiring look washed over Frain's face. “Not your doing, surely?” he murmured.

No
. Wry humor in Shamarra's voice—they understood each other, these two!
No, scarcely. Sun says that yon king's death is in the pattern, Frain. I seek justice, no more. Now let me pass
.

He stood his ground. “We must make a new pattern,” he declared, or begged. “One of forgiveness, reconciliation—” “Only one way is that possible,” said a strong and quiet voice.

It was Tirell who spoke. He had understood all that was said—he must truly have been one who had learned from dragons. He stepped forward a pace, sword raised.

“You know well enough how such healing comes, Frain,” he said. “I must face the thing I fear. Is it not so?”

A strange sort of thunder sounded, earthly thunder, and beneath our feet the ground shook. Frain swayed where he stood.

“Tirell—I cannot let it happen!” he cried. But he had turned slightly to the sound of his brother's voice, and the nameless creature that was Shamarra swept past him, gave a mighty leap and was on us.

I say us because I still stood at Tirell's side. I sprang to a deathgrip on the shapeshifting thing's throat, and Tirell's sword met its chest, plunged deep. But the creature surged forward, as fluid as water, taking me with it like a leaf. It ran right up Tirell's sword and sank the many tines of its antlers into his chest, raped him with them tenfold, drove its way into him—and then with a mighty toss of its head it threw me off and ripped him open. Then it staggered away and fell. It lay dying, and it was the fair and maidenly Shamarra who lay there, a sword buried to the hilt in her bosom.

The Luoni flapped down and sat in a nearby copse, waiting.

Tirell lay—I could not look at him, I could not look anywhere. His chest was torn out, and his burning blue eyes gazed up at the darkened sun, frosted over with pain. Frain stood for a moment as stunned as I, staring at his brother, staring at Shamarra. Then he went to Tirell without speaking, laid gentle hands on his forehead and heaving sides. He lifted the prone head, sat and cradled it in his arms. Tears were running silently down his cheeks.

“And a healer, yet,” Tirell marveled. His pain had left him at that touch. He spoke readily and lay in merciful ease. But Frain could scarcely speak for anguish.

“This is all the help I can offer you,” he said in a choked voice. There was no mighty Tree in that place. He could not save his brother from death as he had saved me.

“You have brought me your forgiveness,” said Tirell faintly. “That is the greatest of help and healing.” He let his head rest against Frain's chest, and for a moment he closed his jewel-bright eyes. Frain stifled a sob.

“With all my heart,” he averred.

“And perhaps even Shamarra's.…”

Shamarra lay nearby, quite still and senseless, breathing only in shallow gasps.

“She has hurt herself as much as me,” Tirell murmured. “Frain.…” The word was an entreaty and a caress.

“What?” Frain whispered.

“The Luoni will attack me. I am many times forsworn.”

Frain touched his temples. “We will fly with you and protect you, my friend and I,” he promised. He laid his face close to the bloodless one he held. “I love you, brother,” he said.

Shamarra went up as a swan, a fair white swan, the proper form of the immortal. I saw it go—perhaps things were manifest to me by then that would have been unseen before. Tirell went up as an eagle, the great black-and-white ger-eagle, at nearly the same moment, and Frain and I sprang up to be after him. Red hawk and gray falcon, we were beside him in a flash, and the Luoni swooped down on all of us, screeching.

Laifrita thae, earthsisters
, Frain told them.
Give us passage
.

Laifrita thae, deadly ones
, I greeted them courteously. They could not attack us who lived and tendered them the greeting. They wanted Tirell badly, but Frain and I flew to either side of him and Shamarra just above, the swan lady protecting her detested lover, and sharp talons curved below. The Luoni flapped about us, cursing.
Shamarra?
Tirell asked.

It is all gone
. She sounded glad.
All hatred purged with the passing. I only remember that you were fair. I thank you, Lady
, he said.

Short, swift and wild that flight was, but it was glorious. The way led to the west, where the great river ran, a broad, bright flow. Just as we came over it the sun burst forth from its bonds of darkness, far down the western sky, and touched everything with sudden gold. Tirell saluted his brother and made his whistling dive, disappeared into the shining water on his way to Aftalun's realm. The Luoni wheeled away, complaining, and Shamarra sailed onward, majestic, into the sunset. She would fly with the immortal flocks.… On the instant Frain shot after her.

No wait!
I cried.
I have to go back
—I had left the fern seed behind. And already I had forgotten that his quest was different from mine.
Frain, farewell!
I called out, my voice cracking, and I turned back to where Tirell's body lay, my heart half breaking. When I reached the battle place I found my fern seed easily enough, but the sight of that fair young True King, dead, turned me human in form, mirrored my own grief. I sat down and wept. When Frain came, only a few minutes behind me, I could not stop weeping.

He put his arms around me even as the feathers were leaving them. “I must part from you soon,” he said gently. “A few more days. There is something I must do.”

What is it?
I asked, still sobbing.

“You will see. Shamarra has told me what I must do.”

I looked at him, calming myself with an effort, sniffling. Tracks of tears were on his face, but he seemed too tired to sorrow anymore.

Does she no longer despise you, then?
I asked.

“I think not. All such spleen seems gone from her.”

I doubted him. But then, I had doubted him about Tirell.

“Look, the light is fading,” Frain said. “We will have to stay here tonight.”

We were both exhausted and heartsore, too spent even to properly sleep. Scent of blood was on the air, and wails of women come to collect their dead and dying. We dozed restlessly and woke often with little cries in the night and spoke to each other for comfort. Dawn, at last—we got up and smoothed Tirell's cold brow, closed his bright blue eyes. There were no rocks to build a cairn for him—

Moved by some new instinct, I got the fern seed pod, carefully opened the pointed end of it and shook out a mist of seed so fine it could scarcely be seen. Then I stood openmouthed, joy growing in me and bursting into bloom. For the ferns sprang up even as I watched, unfurling bright plumes of green, surrounding Tirell with their soft stirring, raising their canopy over him, and each one of them held up a flower of fire red with petals that seemed to float on air.

“You've made a memorial for him,” Frain breathed. “Dair, you marvel—”

Hush
, I grumped.
Can we go now?

“Yes. In fact, we must.”

We walked off westward. Neither of us felt like flying just then, but human walking is a wearisome business.
Can you be a wolf?
I asked Frain, going wolf myself.

He thought about it, and then he made the change. But instead of a wolf it was a wolflike dog that stood beside me—red, of course, with silky fur, finer than mine, and sensitive petal-like ears. He was a staghound, emblem of honor and fidelity.

I should have known
, I said.

Wolf and dog
. He grinned at me toothily.
Come on
.

We trotted along companionably, covering the miles without much effort. I could not hunt, for I held the fern stalk in my mouth. But we met a peasant woman who, oddly, did not seem afraid of us, and she gave us food. We swam the river and crossed the farms and fields of Melior. We met the peasant woman again the second day, she with her apron full of bread and meat, and I could not help but look at her askance, for how could she be there ahead of us?

Mother of us all
, said Frain softly,
you are good to us. Thank you
.

“One more day and you will be each on his own,” she said. “Eat well.”

We ate and slept and went on. The steep, dark mountains of Acheron loomed before us. We trotted into a forest of gray and twisted trees. Some of them looked half dead, but they might have been two hundred years old and ready for two hundred more. The trees of Acheron are deceptive things, like its water. They stooped over the trail like so many old women, and we could hear them talking.

S
O THE LADY HAS FLOWN AT LAST
, one creaked.

T
HAT IS WHAT THE SMALL BIRDS SAY
, tittered another in tones of doubt. They were gossips.

I
F IT IS TRUE
, T
HE
S
WAN
L
ORD SHOULD COME SOON
, rustled a third.