The Song of Andiene (28 page)

“What is your plan and purpose?” Kallan asked Andiene, after the meal was over.

She pulled her golden ring out from under her shirt and toyed with it, putting it on, taking it off, turning it around and about on her little finger. “To go to the city of Oreja, and spend the summer there. What else? What reception will I find there?”

“If you declare yourself? Wary courtesy, at first. He would not dare to turn you away, but he would fear to be too cordial, for fear of making an enemy to the north. Spies would send back word to Nahil of you, and of how you were received.”

Andiene smiled. “So he would welcome me, and greet me with all honor, and then a messenger dove would fly north to its cote, with a little scroll sealed by a king’s ring, saying that I was here with much pride but little strength of arms.”

“Remember,” Kallan said, “Nahil would fear you if he were told that you had come barefooted in your shift, with no weapons in your hands, alone. That was how we—that was how he saw you.”

“I know,” she said. “Fear will be my weapon, one weapon at least, and a better one than the sword that you carry. Come, we must travel.”

They walked on, stumbling through the dark. On either side of them lay the wide blaggorn fields, clean-gathered to feed the city so close—only narrow margins left for travelers to glean.

“What would you do if you found a village?” Kallan asked Andiene.

“I think I would lose my companions! Only one of you is bound to me by any vows. I would see then who would follow me and who would not! Traveling in summertime is hard and weary work, more than I had thought.”

Kallan shook his head. “This is not true summertime, yet. Why must you be in the city? I have spent summer in a king’s palace, and in a mud cellar in the forest, in equal misery. They are alike. ‘No history is made in summertime.’”

She turned to face him. Though he could not see her face clearly in the dying starlight, anger filled her voice. “We spoke of messenger doves. I want to send Nahil word that I am coming. I want him to spend the summer thinking of me. You said that he lived in fear? I want him to live in greater fear. Is that clear?”

It was clear enough to silence him. He lagged behind, and Ilbran joined her. To judge by their soft voices, they talked of pleasant things.

Kallan looked at the people ahead of him. A strange group of the homeless and the outcast. Ilbran was a wanderer driven by evil memories. Kallan had traveled with him for most of a winter’s year. Though they had stayed in many places that would have welcomed a strong man and his child, none had tempted him.

Kare seemed content enough to follow her father, though the road was no life for a child. Stronger tonight, maybe grown accustomed to the heat, she held her father’s hand, walking easily by his side.

Syresh was simpler to understand. He was one of the minor nobility, high enough to be proud but not high enough to be ambitious, a poorer swordsman than he thought, but brave enough to be eager for battle.
I was one such as that when I was young. Before I lost all reason to be proud
.

Lenane walked close beside Syresh. For all their quarreling, they had had the look, in the last few days, of ones who had found kinship, a home and family in each other, perhaps without even recognizing it yet.

She was a minstrel without a lute, too free with her claws and her tongue, secure in a minstrel’s privilege to say what she pleased. In the days since Kallan had confronted her, she had grown less wary of him. Andiene tolerated her as a king will tolerate his jester.

And Andiene herself was the greatest mystery of all. Revenge-lust ran deep and fierce in her. She had never spoken of her years of exile; she held some secret close to her. Syresh had spoken of Dragonsland. “Dragonsland is guarded well,” said the song, but all things were possible with such as she.

Then Kallan thought of himself, to finish the tally. “The king’s butcher” they had called him in the city. Strange company that he kept—the ones that he had wronged.

Though Ilbran was his friend, chance words or thoughts would rouse the bitter memories; there would be silence and grim looks. One misspoken word to Andiene and her anger would rise again. The truce had not yet been broken, but from time to time she had come perilously close to throwing his past deeds in his face.

Strange company indeed.

They traveled on, the little band of homeless ones. When daylight came, they were still alone in the wide plains that feed the people. They sheltered in the shade of tall thornfruit bushes, crouching on the westward side till noon, and then following the shadows east. Though they drank all their water, still they were thirsty, and too weak and weary to think or speak.

After sunset, Andiene was the first one on her feet, urging them on. “Come,” she said. “We will find water and drink deep. This will be our last night of traveling, and tomorrow we will rejoice in the halls of Oreja!”

Her face gleaming with eagerness, she was not like her dull dazed companions. It seemed to Kallan as though she had drawn strength from the fierceness of the sun. At last, she urged them all to their feet, to stumble their way along the path to where the stream bent close, where they could kneel and brush the thirsty night-flying bees aside, and drink the green scummy water.

Though the stream flowed lukewarm and sluggishly, spicy mordeherb fringed its edges, promising safety to all who drank. None of that group gave one thought to safety. Kallan thought that in their thirst, they might have drunk though the water’s edge were rimmed with skulls.

In the black sky, the stars were dimmer still, scattered and dissolved. Yet Andiene and her companions traveled more quickly, growing accustomed to feeling their way along the path. And before them, the city lights shone like a dappling of stars across a quadrant of their way, the torches hanging smokily along the walls. The great gate was closed. On either side of it stretched long slopes of stone, the surfaces roughly carved in scales, and ending in long-clawed feet.

Andiene stared at it. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Some builder’s little joke,” Kallan said. “They had a rare sense of humor, the ones who built our cities and shelters, and they thought it right that those who entered should walk in between the dragon’s paws.”

Andiene looked at those gray rough-carved talons again, and laughed. “I am so ignorant. When I went out from the city, I did not go by the gates.” She sat down on the ground beside them, leaning back so her pale hair shone against the gray stone. “They will not open to us till dawn?”

“No, my lady, but we can have the joy of waiting, and knowing our traveling is over.”

“Not over yet for me!” she flashed back at him. “I have some leagues to go to the north, before I rest.”

She turned to look at the little group that had followed her out of the forest. “All of you know who I am. I mean to rest in this city for the summer, then go and claim my own, the land of Mareja, which is my rightful kingdom. I want you to say, choosing sides openly, if you will go with me and follow me in my endeavor.”

Finally she had spoken boldly, on this last night before they rejoined the world. Syresh was the first to speak. “I am sworn to your service,” he said. “And. if I were not, then I would swear now, to make my honor more certain.”

Lenane looked long at him, then turned to Andiene. “I am no warrior, but minstrels travel with warriors to sing of their greatness.” She gave a little laugh, then echoed Kallan’s thought. “Besides, all royal ones need a jester.”

“And a cook,” Andiene said, and smiled approvingly. Then she turned to Ilbran, more appeal and urgency in her gaze, now. “And what of you? I cannot force you—indeed I am in your debt, twice over.”

Ilbran stroked his daughter’s dark hair and looked away, along the long line of torchlit city wall. Finally he spoke. “What do you mean to do, my lady?”

“I mean to win my way to the city and kingdom with the weapons I bear in my hands.” She spread out her empty hands to show him, and met his eyes calmly. “Your daughter could aid me.”

“No!”

“She has helped me already. She is stronger than I was. She is brave and gallant, and old enough to choose her own path. I could teach her much that she would want to know.”

Andiene heard the echo of the dragon’s words in her own voice.
He taught me much, but I will cheat him of his prey
, she said to herself. She did not realize how fierce her look was, how closely Ilbran watched her.

He saw her pale hair shine in the dim light, cropped short like any gatherer’s, not like Malesa’s long dark lusterless braids. Her skin was dusky in the dim light, not pale; her voice was clear as ice, not soft like clouds of campfire smoke. There was a bright beauty about her, like flames or clear water, and yet he heard Malesa in every word she spoke.

He had known three sorcerers in his lifetime. The grizane had befriended him but died soon. Six years had gone by before Malesa showed herself in all her darkness. And here was the third one, powerful and arrogant. He looked down at his drowsing child, Malesa’s daughter too, drawn by the scent of magic, drawn by Andiene with her plans for power, born of a long line of killers.

He glanced from her to Kallan. Seen in this starlight, the two could be brother and sister—the light bones, the pale eyes, and hair more pale, a breed of killers. Ilbran thought of what he had said once, what he had believed.
What do I care if lord kills king till the end of time?

And yet, she had endangered her cause by waiting many days till his wounds had healed and he was strong enough to travel. He had traveled at her side joyfully. She had forgiven her foe, Kallan, and won him to follow her trustfully. She could not help her birth.

Ilbran looked down at Kare again. “What she did, I could not control, but this I can. She is too young to choose; she is barely past her first naming. She will not aid you in your endeavor.”

For all that he said, his relenting was written on his face for anyone to see, even before he spoke. “But if you still wish it, I will go with you to Mareja.”

At that moment, her smile was all the reward he needed, before she turned to Kallan. “And what of you?”

The last to be questioned, he had had much time to think and prepare his answer—if she asked him. He knew what he wished to say
: Lady, I would follow you over the whole wide world
. But she had spoken to him last; he had seen the betraying joy in her eyes, a moment before. Instead, he said, “It seems that I am fated to serve one of your family.”

“Do not say that!”

“Judge your actions,” he said. “Judge your actions and remember that you are blood kin to the one you hate.” He looked up at the high unclimbable walls of the city. He had been in many of the ruling cities up and down the land, all alike, all alien to mankind.

Then he turned to face her again, and spoke bitterly. “I will go with you because you need me. No one has gotten the throne without leaving a trail of blood behind. Your father did not, nor will you, no matter how great your power may be.”

Chapter 20

At dawn, they went in between the dragon’s paws. The guards laughed and did not challenge the small bedraggled group. Andiene walked slowly and looked from side to side. “This is the pattern of my own city,” she said in wonder.

“No,” said Kallan. “This is a wider city than Mareja. They built this more grand. Look at the houses, the palaces we pass.” He gestured to the buildings around them, long and low to the ground, built of many-colored stone. “These lie empty, and there are not people enough to fill them. The old ones built mightily in this southern land.”

“You speak with pride,” Lenane said merrily. “Show us the source of that pride.”

“Did you plan a time like this?” he asked in annoyance.

“What better time? Come, show us what secret you have hid.”

His companions turned to look wonderingly at him. Reluctantly, he drew the gold ring out from under his shirt. “I am blood kin to the king of this land, but you know how worthless that is. I was twentieth heir when this was cut, when I was named, but many have raised fine families since then, and the count has gone beyond reckoning.”

Andiene looked at him with new respect. “Will they know you?”

“No, I left long ago. It is worse than nothing.”

She pulled her own ring out, used her teeth to loosen the knot, and set the circle of gold on her finger. “This will not leave my hand again.”

They walked on, passing few people in the streets, for most had gone to shelter to wait out the day.

The gates of the courtyard were open; the guards let them pass without a question. The smooth stones were clean and white. Andiene looked away from the rings sunk into the stone. What did they use them for, the makers of this city? The same uses that her kind put them to? She glanced at Kallan. He looked away.

Her voice was proud and calm as she spoke to the guards at the gates of the great hall.

“You may pass,” their captain said. “Only put your swords aside.”

Kallan nodded, unbuckled his sword and laid it aside. Syresh and Ilbran followed his example.

Andiene trembled with fear and excitement as she waited in the wide hall, an unfamiliar place. Her life had been spent far from halls such as these. Witless children have no part in affairs of state.

She did not look at the crowd, but only at the king. Taules Reji, the lord of this land, was a small man, his face lined more heavily than his years would warrant, his hair dulled from its silver-metal shine.

His robes were of crimson lanara silk, his fingers, wrists, and neck weighed down with the gold of royalty and of death. His teeth gleamed in the shape of a smile, but his eyes did not smile as he appraised the ragged group before him, all kneeling but one.

When Andiene stepped forward, his smile stayed the same, but his eyes showed wary recognition, and his hands tightened on the arms of his chair. The guards half-drew their swords; she paid them no attention. Her voice was clear and confident. “I am Andiene, rightful Rejin of the Mareja. I ask for shelter and welcome for me and my people.”