The Legacy of Gird (113 page)

"No," she said to the fourth or fifth invitation to stay. "No, we must go, today." And today meant as soon after breakfast as possible. Aris, moved by the same inexplicable urgency, took their gear out to the horses and found them already saddled. Seri, he thought, must really be in a hurry; he wondered when she had found time to slip out and saddle them.

They were well away before the sun entered the hollow, this time riding sunrising, into the light, as their need suggested. They followed a beaten track that ran along the high ground most of the time.

About halfway through the morning Aris said, "Do you think it's the gods, or Gird, or something else?"

Seri's frown meant concentration, not annoyance. "I've been trying to think. Up until the iynisin attacked us, everything seemed normal, didn't it?"

"I thought so. I was surprised that you'd gotten permission for us to leave, but nothing more."

"There was nothing strange about that; the Autumn Rose and Raheli and Cob all thought you should have the chance to travel and try your healing elsewhere, 'stead of becoming one of Luap's scribes. And they thought we'd do well together. Rahi said I'd been watching you heal even before Gird knew about it, so they might as well trust me."

"So it started with the iynisin attack," Aris said. "Or was it before?"

"Before?"

"When you were talking to me about Luap, about mageborn and peasant, and which I'd chosen."

"No." Seri shook her head. "It couldn't have been that."

"It didn't sound quite like you—the Seri I knew."

"How not?"

"Mmm. Angrier. And I couldn't believe you would stop trusting me, just because I tried to be fair about Luap."

"I'm sorry. I remember feeling suddenly furious, hot all over. You're right, that wasn't like me, most of the time." They rode in silence a few moments, then Seri turned to him with a strange expression. "You don't suppose . . ."

"What?"

"Torre's Ride,"
she said softly. "It's a test, like
Torre's Ride
—could it be?"

Aris snorted. "That's ridiculous. It—" He grabbed wildly at the saddle as his horse bolted, bucking and weaving. Seri's exploded too, pitching wildly and then bolting in a flat run to the north. Aris managed to stay on until his horse, too, gave up bucking to run after Seri's. His breath came short; he felt sore under the ribs, and the horse ran on and on. By the time it slowed, they were far from the track they had been following; a wind rose, whipping the grass flat in long waves, obliterating the pattern of trampled grass that might have led them back to it.

"And now we're lost," he said to Seri, who was hunched over, fighting for breath.

"I'm right," she said a moment later. "And don't argue again. It's a test."

"Fine." Aris waited until he could breathe more easily, and said, "And perhaps we should start figuring out what kind of test involves iynisin, elves, thunderstorms, and horses that come out of nowhere and run forever without sweating." For the two horses were not breathing hard, and no sweat marred their sleek hides.

"And a dying man who needs our healing." Seri straightened up and stretched her back. "And getting lost." Then she reached over and grabbed Aris's arm. "Look at them."

He looked. Their two horses had their muzzles together, and each had one eye rolled back to watch its rider. "
They
know," he said. "You mischief," he said to his horse. He felt its back hump under him, a clear warning. "No, I'm sorry. Don't do that again; I'll fall off. But you do know, don't you?"

"Gird's horse," Seri said. Her eyes danced. "These are the same kind." Her horse stamped, hard, and shook its head. "Or—similar?" Both horses put their ears forward and touched muzzles again, then blew long rolling snorts.

"Gods above," Aris said. "We are right in the middle of something—I wonder if Torre ever felt confused." He felt suddenly better, as if he'd solved the puzzle. But he knew he hadn't.

Seri grinned. "Remember when we were very young, and used to hide in the garden and tell stories?"

"Yes, and you always said you wished we could have a real adventure." Aris chuckled. "And I thought you'd grown out of that."

"Never," Seri said. "Nor have you; I remember who got stuck up in the pear tree." Her face sobered. "Father Gird wants us to do something," she said. "And even if we hadn't stumbled into the iynisin; he'd have found some way to test us. He wasn't one to send untrained farmers into battle."

"We're supposed to be trained already," Aris said. "All those years in the granges, as yeoman-marshals, as Marshal-candidates—"

"So we've survived the tests. We've learned to share our talents. We're more ready now than we were." Seri looked cheerful; Aris hoped she was right.

"When we find out what it is he wants," Aris said. "If we've finished the tests." Seri grimaced and put out her tongue.

The two horses stiffened, then threw up their heads and neighed. Out of a fold of the ground rode a troop of nomads on shaggy ponies. All carried lances; the nomads called out in their high-pitched voices.

They came back to Fin Panir leaner, browner, and far more cautious than they'd left. The gate guards didn't recognize them or the horses, but when they gave their names said they were wanted at the palace. "Why?" asked Seri. Aris thought he knew; his hands prickled. He led the way, his bay picking his way neatly through the crowded lower market.

"Aris!" Luap, crossing from the palace to the Hall, stopped in midstride. "Is it really you? We need you."

"Who is it?" He was already off the horse; Seri slid off hers. A stableboy came running out; the horses let themselves be led away.

"Arranha. A few days after you left—" Luap told the story as he led them quickly into the palace. "We've tried everything—herblore, young Garin—and it's not enough. He hasn't died—I suspect that's Garin's doing—but his arm's swollen to the shoulder and he weakens daily."

Aris said nothing. He loved the old priest; he wondered why the gods had let him leave Fin Panir if Arranha was going to be in danger. When he came into Arranha's room, he stopped short, shocked. Arranha had always been "the old priest" to him; he had known Arranha was older than Gird. But he had been so vigorous an old man, so full of life . . . and now he lay spent and silent, his body fragile and his spirit nearly flown. Awe flooded him. Was this Arranha's time, and had the god he had served finally called him? He could not interfere with that.

He put his hands on Arranha's shoulders; at once the magery revealed the dangerous fever in the wounded arm. It had seeped even past his shoulder, into his heart. Aris let his power flow out. He felt the resistance of a deepseated sickness, and worse than that Arranha's lack of response. He had given up; although, he breathed, he would not struggle against death any longer.

Seri put her hands on his; Aris looked up, surprised into losing his concentration. "We work together," she said. He nodded. He could feel her power pulsing through his hands and into Arranha. "Gird loved and trusted him," Seri went on. "Gird wants him to live; he must help Luap with the mageborn in the west." Slowly, Aris felt the sickness yielding, first from Arranha's heart, and then fingerwidth by fingerwidth down his arm. The swollen tissue shrank; the angry reds and purples faded. He could feel that Arranha breathed more easily; his pulse slowed and steadied. Finally, even the purple bite marks which had oozed a foul pus faded, and Arranha's hand lay cool and slender on the blanket once more.

Arranha opened his eyes. "You called me back. Why?" Then he seemed to see them clearly and his expression changed. "
Both
of you! Seri, when did you learn healing?"

She grinned at him. "It's not like Aris's; I have to ask Gird what he wants."

"Gird. But he's not—"

"He's not a god; I know that. But he lets us know what he wants done."

Arranha pushed himself up in the bed. "I might have known. He saved my life outside the walls of Grahlin, and now he's done it again; I wonder what he expects of me this time." His gaze fell on Luap. "Don't look at me like that, Selamis: I'm well now. I'll be with you in the west; isn't that what you wanted?"

Raheli watched the Council carefully the morning Aris and Seri were to come in to make their report. Already rumors had spread, as fast as light from a flame: Arranha healed, a mageborn and peasant working healing magery together. She and the Rosemage had already conferred; they sat on opposite sides of the room where they could hear most of the murmuring and see each other. Luap sat in his usual seat, with fresh scrolls around him and his pen full of ink. The scribe he had nominated to take over his position sat behind him at a small desk, he would practice taking the notes.

But the Council concerned her most. In the years since Seri had maneuvered Cob into presenting her own plan for the training of new Marshals, the Council had changed character. Fewer of the rural Marshals bothered to come in to Fin Panir; some sent their concerns, and some ignored the Council until a crisis arose. Most of the Marshals who attended regularly had granges in Fin Panir or Grahlin, or vills within a day's ride of Fin Panir; they had plenty of yeoman-marshals to do their work while they attended Council. By the accidents of war, most of them had also been latecomers to Gird's army, gaining command because the earlier Marshals died in battle. Since they had not known Gird as well, they relied on the written Code, the growing volume of Commentaries, and Luap's version of Gird's life when considering some new policy. Raheli could still influence them, as Gird's daughter, as could a few others, but it grew harder every year. She had begun to regret her decision to refuse the Marshal-Generalship.

Aris and Seri appeared in the doorway. Both wore the gray shirts and pants of the training order, and the blue tunic of a Marshal-candidate. Raheli felt herself relaxing. No one could help liking those two; they had the cheerful steadiness that attracted goodwill. Aris looked tougher, his face tanned where it had been pale, his shoulders broader. Seri looked less concerned about him; she seemed full of confidence.

When they were called to account for their journey, they spoke in turns, but without formality; it did not seem rehearsed. Rahi had already heard part of the story the night before, but Aris's description of the iynisin curse on the grove and spring, and its healing the next day still awed her. When Seri told of the horses appearing, one of the older Marshals said, "Like Gird's old gray horse!" at once.

"We thought of that," Aris said. "But we are not Gird—we could never claim that importance."

"Nor did he," Luap said. Everyone stared; Luap rarely spoke in Council meetings, maintaining the distinction between the Marshals and himself.

"But go on," another Marshal said. "We can discuss this later. I want to know what happened next." So did they all, and questioned Aris and Seri about each last detail of their journey, including much that the two had not had time to tell Raheli. They had healed someone at a farm, they had found a tribe of horse nomads, and spent a few hands of days with them, learning their language and healing their sick. . . .

"Horse nomads? How could you learn so fast? And why heal them? We didn't train you and send you out to benefit them. Aris was supposed to heal yeomen who needed it."

Seri answered this time. "We cannot say how we learned so fast—it surprised us, and them, as much as it surprises you. But since the gods directed us there, they must have had some purpose. As for healing, that is the purpose of such power—to withhold its use is as evil as to misuse any magery."

"I don't like it," the Marshal-General said, scowling. "An honest peasant lass fiddling about with magery; that can't be right. I know you'll say Gird approved young Aris using his healing magery, under supervision. But that's not the same as Seri doing such things, calling light and all that."

Raheli spoke up. "Marshal-General, in the old days there are legends of our people having some great powers—consider the Stone Circles they raised. And Gird would have trusted peasants—especially someone like Seri who has served well in barton and grange—to use magery for the benefit of all."

"It's magicks, and magicks are evil," the Marshal-General said.

Raheli would have said more, but Seri leaned forward, smiling at the Marshal-General. "Sir, that magic by which Gird freed us all from fear and grief at his death; was that evil?"

"No, but—but that was not magicks; that came from the gods. Luap said so."

"And the gods granted this to me, sir—I did not ask for it; I didn't even imagine it was possible. It is not my talent. It is their gift. I would be ungracious to refuse it. Now if the Council requires that I not use it here, I will leave—but I will not renounce what the gods have given me."

That set off a stormy argument. Some said Seri was rebellious, haughty, ruined by spending too much time with a mageborn; others argued that she was right: if she had new powers, they must be the gods' gift, and she should use them. Through this, Aris and Seri sat patient and quiet, though Rahi felt angry enough to bash some heads. She wished Cob had been there.

Finally, when the argument died of its own weight, the cheerful steadiness of the two young people had its effect, and the vote the Marshal-General demanded, to force Seri to give up healing, failed, in the days that followed, both returned to their former training duties so quietly that it seemed the storm had never occurred. Aris spent more time in the drillfields and barton, and Seri spent more time with him, learning herblore, but otherwise they seemed unchanged.

As the year rolled on, Luap and Arranha together planned for the great move. By word of mouth, the plans travelled the land, and mageborn survivors began to trickle into Fin Panir. The strong and young, those known to have magery, would go first and prepare the land for planting. One by one, Luap showed them what became known as the mageroad. He still worried that they did not know where in real space the stronghold lay, but he felt he could not wait.

Getting the first working groups funneled through the cave was almost as difficult as moving Gird's army, Luap thought. Aris had agreed to come to the stronghold with Seri "for awhile;" he would not say whether he would settle there permanently. In the wake of Seri's defiance of the Council, Luap chose not to press the issue. Surely they would find the new land fascinating enough once they had lived there for a time.