Zandru's Forge (22 page)

“He is to be trusted,” Carolin said.

“I prefer not to risk intrigue if it is at all avoidable,” she said in a tone that did not convince him. She could no more forswear the schemes of power than she could cease breathing. “It is of Hali I would speak, Hali and her sister Towers. I have a favor to ask of you.”

“What favor?”

“Ah!” Pale eyebrows lifted. “You have learned well never to give your word without knowing what it entails.”

She went on to describe the problems caused by the reduced number of legitimate Towers. “We feel the loss of Neskaya and Tramontana exceedingly. Oh, there are renegade circles operating without either discipline or ethics. Dalereuth now makes
clingfire
for anyone with the copper to pay for it, and as for that nest at Temora, the less said the better.” Her voice dripped scorn. “The smaller kingdoms turn to them because they have no choice. They harry one another like bandits.”

“What is to be done, then?” What did she have in mind, a war of conquest to bring the internecine fighting to an end? A generation ago, the tyrant Damian Deslucido had tried that, with disastrous consequences.

Liriel kept her gaze straight ahead, as if peering into a future only she could see. When she spoke, the arrogance that had marked her earlier speeches vanished. “We wish—some of us have been talking—we believe it is possible—” She turned to him, swiveling in the saddle so suddenly that the white mare started.

“There is talk of reestablishing a Tower at Tramontana. Not at the old site, but nearby. Doran Alton, who is Second Keeper at Corandolis, has said he might undertake forming a circle, but that is all too soon without an actual Tower. It is for this purpose I travel to the castle, not an evening’s silliness. And it is for this I ask your help.”

On either side, the snowy hills stretched like mounded fleece. The sun was well overhead, filling the ruts and shadows with light. The tracks where the horses had trod earlier that morning had turned to puddles. A smell arose from the earth, of cold soil and wetness and waiting.

“I thought—there were so many lost at Tramontana and Neskaya, there are not enough
laran-
skilled workers to go around as it is,” Carolin said. “How is such a thing to be rebuilt ? Where will you find the
leronyn
to staff it afterward?” His eyes widened with a new thought. “You will not strip Hali?”

“No, no!” She raised her free hand, leaving the other one, fingers twisted in the reins, on the pommel of the saddle. “I would never suggest such a thing! Many of the Towers—Hali and Arilinn—have talented youngsters, like your friend. Some at Dalereuth would welcome the chance to do lawful work.”

Carolin reflected. Yes, what she said made sense. With both Varzil and Eduin in training, either of whom could become a Keeper, Arilinn’s future was assured. Each circle might contribute one worker, plus one or two more from Hali and perhaps the other Towers, Nevarsin or Corandolis or even Hestral, though that Tower had only a single circle. There would be enough.

“Who would go? How would they be chosen?” he asked, and realized that with the question, the idea had gone from conjecture to intention.

Liriel’s smile warmed, no longer the thinning of lips but a genuine response. “We will ask no one who does not truly wish to come, who does not share our dream. With a functioning circle at Tramontana, we can extend the relays deep into the Hellers. Messages will no longer have to be routed through the very limits of our ability. There are experiments which are better done in those fastnesses. I—”

Now she laughed outright. “You must have guessed by now that I am to be one of them. Lady Bronwyn and I once talked of this—in fact, it was she who first voiced the idea. I ride now to seek her counsel. So while the rest of you are getting rowdy on Midwinter mead, she and I will be sitting up, huddled together like lady conspirators.”

“I? Rowdy on mead? Oh, kinswoman, you have no idea of how dreadful a mistake that would be! Better to go barefoot into a nest of scorpion-ants than to be drunk at my uncle’s court at any season!” He sobered. “What favor had you to ask of me?”

She tilted her head, her features still alight with fervor. “That when the time is right and I have presented him with this plan, you ask King Felix to undertake the construction of the new building.”

“For Hastur to rebuild the physical Tower?”

“Towers do not rebuild themselves. Stone and mortar cost money, whether assembled by ordinary masons or by
laran.
You must convince him it is a good investment, Carolin. After all, Tramontana fought against Hastur in the last war. What better way to ensure our future benefit than to place the next Tower there under our control?”

Carolin could not argue with this reasoning, and it seemed a worthy cause. Even as he agreed to speak to his uncle, he wondered if Liriel’s buoyant certainty were warranted. There was no way to look into the future, the way his illustrious ancestor, Allart Hastur, was said to do, and see which choices led to disaster and which to peace. A Tower was not a toy, that much he had learned at Arilinn. For an instant, he wondered what Varzil had seen in the lake, if it had been the work of
laran
gone wild or harnessed deliberately to some evil purpose.

Or, even worse, some purpose which seemed at the time to be the highest good ...

Carolin and Liriel fell silent. They went on at a brisk pace, with Dyannis’ pony trotting to keep pace with the taller horses. Her laughter rang out, a child’s delight in an unexpected holiday. Carolin was glad she’d come along. It would have been cruel to exclude her from this night’s festival just because Varzil could not attend.

At dinner that night, Carolin took his place at his uncle’s right side, with Rakhal on the other. Others of his family, including his cousin Lyondri and Lady Liriel, sat nearby. Below, with the other kin, sat Maura Elhalyn and beyond her, at yet another table, Orain and Jandria, little Dyannis and Eduin.

Dyannis and Eduin were already deep in conversation, the girl laughing merrily and gesturing with her hands. Eduin smiled, nodding, and Carolin thought he had never seen his friend so relaxed, almost happy.

The banks of candles turned the air thick and golden, like honey, so that every face Carolin looked upon seemed to glow from within. His heart swelled with a feeling he could not name.

If only Varzil were here with me
...

Even as he thought it, a sense of his friend’s presence swept through him. The leagues to Hali Tower vanished. He could almost hear Varzil’s voice.

Carolin’s
laran
did not run strong in telepathy, yet the words seemed as clear to him as if they were in the same room. It was Varzil’s strength, deceptive in his slender, almost effeminate frame, which would carry both of them.

After the evening meal came a period of rest and socializing, to be followed by dancing. It was often said that whenever more than two Darkovans gathered together, they held a dance. The tradition held sway for every night until the last guests had departed.

Throughout the next hours, couples circled and wove patterns across the open floor. Carolin, resplendent in supple leather dyed in the Hastur colors of blue and silver, danced with all the older ladies, as was proper for a young man of his station. Later in the evening, when stamina had worn thin and the elders had retired, there would be plenty of time to enjoy himself with his friends. For now, however, propriety must be observed.

The next dance, following a series of sets and reels, was for couples. Orain led his lady wife on to the floor, and rarely had Carolin seen their mutual aversion to one another so clearly displayed. She was of much higher birth, pressed unwillingly into the match by a family eager to curry favor with the king. Orain for his part had not dared refuse the honor bestowed upon him. Gratitude, Carolin reflected, could be the most insidious poison of them all.

Carolin watched Rakhal swing Maura in his arms. Her face flushed with excitement. Her sea-green gown, cut simply and crossed with the Elhalyn tartan, set off the creamy smoothness of her skin and turned her hair into a glorious sunset.

Carolin frowned. Rakhal did not hold her as if she were his foster-sister and virgin
leronis.
Even in the short time Carolin had been back, he had heard whispers about his cousin’s conduct with women, always brushed aside with Hastur charm. Surely Maura would not endanger the Sight, not even for the man who might someday claim her as his bride. Nor would Rakhal be so foolish to deprive Hastur of such a rare Gift. Before Carolin could say anything, however, the dance came to an end.

Rakhal held out his arm to escort Maura back to where the unmarried Hastur ladies sat, but she caught Carolin’s eye and beckoned him over. “Carlo is quite as solicitous a partner as you are,” she told Rakhal, “and I must have a word with him.”

With a smile that stretched his mouth but did not reach his eyes, Rakhal handed her over. She slipped her hand through Carolin’s elbow, pulling him aside.

“Is something amiss?” he asked, although clearly she had been enjoying herself. Damp curls had escaped the bejeweled net to frame her face. He caught the faint sweet whiff of mead on her breath, but her step was steady enough and her voice firm.

“Carlo, you have been dancing all evening with aunties who used to change your breechclouts, they’ve known you that long.”

He sighed. “It is a small enough kindness, not to mention my social responsibility.” The ladies were either widows or spinsters, and it would have been scandalous for them to dance with anyone but a kinsman.

“And it is your responsibility to make sure your guests have the opportunity to enjoy dancing, as well.”

They approached the cluster of chairs occupied by the ladies in question, and for the first time, Carolin noticed Dyannis Ridenow sitting among them. Someone, probably Maura herself, had taken care with the girl’s appearance, for her hair was coiled low upon her neck in gleaming braids, interwoven with thin silvery ribbons from which hung a cascade of tiny white bells. Her dress, a bit too big for her, was, the shade of silvery-green that Maura loved, and it looked well enough on the girl. She wore no tartan, only a long scarf of white wool, so loosely woven it resembled lace, around her shoulders. While it was warm enough in the center of the dance floor, the perimeter tended to be drafty.

“She has no kinsman here to dance with her,” Maura murmured. “I had hoped Ranald Ridenow would be with us, but he has not arrived.” She gave Carolin a playful push in the direction of the ladies. “Go on, now, and do your duty.”

Carolin knew when he was being maneuvered. As host and the friend of her brother, he could dance with Dyanna’s without any stain upon her reputation. She smiled, recognizing him, even more delightedly as he bowed and held out his hand to her.

“If Varzil were here, he would have the honor of this dance,” Carolin said to her. “So I shall just have to fill in as best I can.”

They took their position near the edge of the floor for a round of four couples. Rakhal was dancing again, this time with Jandria, in the neighboring set. Unlike the other ladies in their tight-laced silken gowns, Jandria wore a tunic and under-dress of muted gold wool. She looked comfortable and warm, and the color set off her dark hair. Carolin had not realized how pretty she was.

As they began the slow opening figures, Rakhal leaned toward Carolin.

“Cousin, wherever did you find that tender little dove? You mustn’t keep her all to yourself.”

“She’s Varzil’s sister, and a novice at Hali,” Carolin shot back, his words a hiss above the music. Then the movements of the dance took them in different directions.

Dyannis caught Rakhal’s parting glance, for she missed a step and the lady dancing on her diagonal had to hurry to keep the figure intact.

“I’m afraid I’m not a very elegant dancer,” she said. “At home, we mostly danced the old reels. There was none of this choosing and waiting to be chosen. I danced with whomever I liked, whether it was Father or Kevan or the pot boy.”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” he answered. “I believe some of these figures were devised by dancing masters anxious to prove how indispensable they were. The more insanely complicated, the better, or something like that.”

Dyannis giggled, relaxing, and as the dance neared its end, he found himself wishing he could spend another with her. She deserved better than endless conversations about needlework, babies, and people she didn’t know, watching everyone else have fun dancing. Nor did he feel entirely sanguine about Rakhal heeding his warning. She was so impressionable, a simple country girl overawed by Tower and court.

Carolin caught sight of Eduin, standing by the table where drinks and dainties were offered. “Come,” he said, placing his free hand over hers. “Let me escort you to another of your brother’s close friends. Then you will have two dancing partners, neither of whom is a pot boy.”

A strange expression passed over Eduin’s features as Carolin greeted him, a moment of confusion mixed with gladness as he looked down at Dyannis.

“Carlo assures me it is perfectly proper for us to dance, even though we’ve just met, since you and Varzil are
bredin.”
She used the word meaning, “sworn brothers,” with the polite inflection.

“I am sorry,
damisela
—when we spoke at the King’s table, I took you for Lady Maura’s companion from Hali Tower. I did not realize you, too, have a place there.”

Dyannis took no offense at being confused with a genteel companion instead of a
leronis
in her own right. “How could you have known? I have been at Hali but a short time. I have yet to take my place on the relays or do any work besides fetching things for the healers. It was Maura’s doing that I join my brother here for the Festival—and now, alas, he is confined in Hali’s infirmary and here we are, deprived of his company. Prince Carolin tells me the three of you studied together at Arilinn.”