Antiagon Fire (40 page)

Abruptly he image-projected the sense of a mighty black eagle above the two eagles about to begin their dive toward Vaelora, with absolute cruelty of a pitiless predator, and the sense that Vaelora belonged to that predator. Then he added the compulsion that the pair should return to the Eleni who directed them, although he had yet to see her anywhere.

He watched intently … ready to image more, if necessary, but the two slowly circled down and away from Vaelora, slowly and gracefully coming to rest on the red leather shoulder pads of the Eleni woman who appeared, seemingly from nowhere, on the polished stone some thirty yards in front of Quaeryt.

Vaelora moved up beside Quaeryt. “I’ve never felt anything like that. I felt like the smallest of the small.”

“I didn’t want to kill the other eagles. They were just going to do as they were trained. Stay close to me. We’re going over to see what this was all about.” First, he moved forward to the crumpled form of the eagle, hoping against hope that it was only stunned, but as he knelt he could see that it was dead. Slowly, he straightened, then continued toward the Eleni in her dark leathers and red leather gloves and belt. The black-haired huntress was older than she had looked from a distance. She watched impassively as Quaeryt and Vaelora neared, still saying nothing when they halted a yard away.

Both sun eagles looked at him, their golden eyes cold.

He met those eyes and gazed back, image radiating the power of the heavens and wings broader than the skies. In moments, both birds looked away.

“They said you claimed to be a son of Erion.” The Eleni’s Bovarian was heavily accented.

“I claim nothing,” replied Quaeryt. “I am who I am.”

“You are Pharsi from the far east of Lydar.” The huntress’s eyes took in Vaelora. “So are you.” She studied Quaeryt. “You have the hair of a lost one, and the limp.” Her eyes took in his hands. “And the fingers of a son of Erion. Do you deny that?”

“I have never claimed to be other than I am. I was orphaned as a small child and raised by the scholars of Solis.”

“And the woman?”

“She is the sister of Lord Bhayar of Telaryn, and she is of the blood of the Pharsi.”

“Why did you kill Athyor?”

“The first eagle? Because I did not see him in time. He struck my shields before I could do anything.” Mentioning shields was a slight risk, but the Eleni had to know about shields, and that he had such.

“You are protected even from what you cannot see?”

Quaeryt nodded.

The Eleni continued to study Quaeryt, her dark eyes fixed on him as if to use her gaze as a knife.

Quaeryt waited.

“You are doubly blessed, Son of Erion … and triply cursed. You are blessed with powers that none will dare best and blessed by the love of a woman. You are cursed because you can only use those powers for others, unless you would destroy yourself. You are cursed because to do what you must, others will be known for what you have made possible, and you are cursed to know that all this is so.”

The dark-eyed Eleni looked long at Vaelora before speaking again. “You will be the greatest of your blood in this time or any other. None will recognize that, for you have wed the lost one and share his curse and heritage. Nor will any remember your names, even though your trials will be great and your deeds will change Lydar for all time.”

Quaeryt could feel the sadness that radiated from her, and that surprised him. She pitied them? Still, he had a question.
But then, you always have had questions.
“I have noticed that there are no pictures or sculptures of people. Is this because the ancient ones attempted to image beyond what should be imaged? Or is there another reason?”

A faint smile crossed the lips of the Eleni before she spoke. “It came to pass in the old times that the ability to create things from where there is nothing was not accompanied by the wisdom to understand what to create and how to create, and when not to create … and that doomed the folk of the old south. That is why all who image must face the Hall of the Heavens, or die, for only should those such as the Eleni or the
Eherelani
be trusted with such powers. As a hand of Erion and a farseer who have faced the Hall of the Heavens, you and the lady are like the Eleni and the
Eherelani.
You must also be respected.”

“But not trusted?” asked Quaeryt, raising his eyebrows.

“You can be trusted to use your powers, but no Eleni or
Eherelani
would care to trust the outcome of the use of powers by a son of Erion. You are more than a hand of Erion, more than a lost one of legend. All may hope, but to trust is beyond reason.”

“Sometimes,” Quaeryt said gently, “the greatest of reason is to trust.”

“If one has the wisdom to know whom to trust.” She paused, but briefly. “Go as you will, for the Hall of the Heavens has judged you and found you worthy. And more.” The last two words were added, in a lower voice, as if unwilled and reluctant.

“We thank you and wish you well, in keeping your heritage and ours,” replied Vaelora.

After that, Quaeryt merely nodded.

When they turned and walked toward the stone staircase down from the Hall of the Heavens, Quaeryt could sense the eyes of the Eleni still upon them.

For all that the Eleni had said that he and Vaelora should be respected, Quaeryt maintained shields linked to the edge of the stone staircase until they were both standing firmly at the bottom of the steps.

The woman who had been their guide bowed, as if reluctantly, and murmured several sentences.

“You are like unto the
Eherelani,
” said Calkoran. “As with them, your every act will be weighed and measured, and none will wish you close, respected as you may be.”

Not that such is any different from most of the last year—except now Vaelora’s facing the same thing.
But, really, was that any different for her, either?

Quaeryt could feel all the eyes on him and Vaelora, and the questions, none of which he wanted to answer. So, to break the stillness and forestall questions, he said, “We’ve done what the High Council asked. We’re heading back. Mount up. We’ve got a ways to cover.”

While he wanted to ask Vaelora a question, he wasn’t about to until later and he could ask without everyone looking at them and hanging on every word. Later didn’t come until they were on the wider road, with a barely warm midafternoon sun at their backs. “What did you do up there … to break that illusion?”

Vaelora smiled, a trace shyly. “I just thought … a different version of those words.”

While Quaeryt thought he knew, he had to ask, “Which words?”

“I will not see what is not and may never be.”

“How…?”

She shrugged. “It seemed right. Just as I can tell between what I’d like to see and a true farsight.”

He nodded.
How many people can make that distinction?
Then he smiled.

40

Quaeryt decided against asking for a meeting. Instead, he dispatched Calkoran and the guide with the message that since he and Vaelora had accommodated the High Council’s request, they would meet with the High Council at eighth glass on Lundi morning. Surprisingly, he and Vaelora slept reasonably well on Solayi evening.

Lundi morning dawned cold but clear, with a wind out of the northeast. Usually, Quaeryt knew, that when the wind blew out of the center of Lydar, there was less likelihood of heavy rain or snow.
Usually … but not always.

Immediately after a hurried breakfast, he went to find Zhelan, who was already inspecting the stables.

“Commander, you look to be in a hurry, sir. Begging your pardon, sir, but have you heard something from the Khellans?”

“Not yet. I don’t know exactly how the High Council will react, but it could be that we may want to leave Saendeol immediately after Lady Vaelora and I meet with them. Just in case, I’d like to have the men ready for a departure. It might be as early as ninth glass, and it might not happen at all today.”

Zhelan raised his eyebrows, wanting to ask a question, but not wanting to presume.

Quaeryt almost smiled, but replied, “The Pharsi are stubborn. Whatever happens, they’re unlikely to accept Lord Bhayar’s terms immediately. I could be wrong, but we’re in no position to start an attack on Khel, especially at the beginning of winter, even if we are in the south.”

“You’re thinking of returning to Kherseilles, sir?”

“More likely to Geusyn or elsewhere in Bovaria while the Pharsi decide. If they do accept Lord Bhayar’s terms, we won’t stay much longer, nor will they wish us to, I suspect.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What are your thoughts, Major?” Quaeryt paused and added, “Your honest thoughts,” emphasizing his desire for that honesty with a touch of image projection.

“I’d be agreeing with you, sir. There’s little more we can do here.”

“Except kill people … and that won’t help our mission.”

“No, sir.”

“We’ll need just a squad as an escort to the High Council, and Undercaptain Khalis and Undercaptain Horan. I’d think we should form up at two quints before the glass.”

“Very good, sir.”

Quaeryt returned to the main dwelling and sat in the front study and fretted until Vaelora joined him.

“You think they’ll say ‘no’?” she asked.

“I don’t think they’ll commit to anything. If they reject Bhayar’s terms, that immediately angers him. If they accept them, that will anger most Pharsi.”

“So what do we do?”

“Make certain, as best we can, that they commit to eventually accepting them without saying so.”

“That won’t please Bhayar.”

“I’m sure it won’t, but I can hope he’ll be a realist.”

“He’ll blame you, you know?”

“I’m quite aware of that,” he said dryly. “I can hope that, in the end, it will work out.”
So long as getting to the end doesn’t take too long … or put me in the far north of Bovaria destroying High Holders who can’t or won’t accept Bhayar.

He was glad when it was time to leave for the meeting with the High Council, if only so that they could learn where they stood … and, hopefully, what they could do about it.

The ride from the compound was uneventful, and there were neither significantly more or significantly fewer people along the streets or in the main square of Saendeol, although Quaeryt did notice that many wore relatively heavy coats or sweaters, and even the poorest seemed to be wearing several layers of clothing.

“Is it that cold out?” he asked Vaelora.

“It’s colder than it has been, but not by that much.”

Quaeryt looked to the north, but the sky remained clear, if slightly hazy.

Abruptly Vaelora laughed softly.

“What?”

“We’re in the south. They’re not that used to cold. It was the same way when Father moved us from Extela to Solis. I kept wondering why people in Solis were wearing coats on pleasant days.”

Quaeryt hadn’t even considered that, possibly because he’d grown up in Solis, but had then had to get used to the bitter cold of Tilbor.

As before, when they reached the council building, Quaeryt and Vaelora walked around to the north doors, followed by Calkoran. Neither of the guards at the doors, even as they opened them, would look directly at Quaeryt or Vaelora.

Good or bad?
Quaeryt almost shrugged. One way or another, it didn’t matter.

He remained a half step behind Vaelora when they climbed the single step and stopped before the long desk and the five councilors.

Vaelora inclined her head so slightly that the motion was barely perceptible. “As you requested, we walked the Hall of the Heavens and met with the Eleni. We have returned to request your consideration of the favorable terms offered by Lord Bhayar.”

“For envoys who are requesting favorable action, you are not being especially accommodating,” replied Cheliendra.

“You requested that we prove we could walk the Hall of the Heavens,” said Vaelora. “We did. Our request, in turn, is that you consider the terms.”

When there was no immediate response, Quaeryt spoke. “We came here to work out terms that would be beneficial to both Khel and Telaryn. Thus far, we have not demanded anything more than a meeting time. You on the other hand…” Quaeryt let the silence draw out. “Let us just say that for the leaders of a land facing terrible problems and the threat of worse, you appear to be behaving in a manner that does not consider realistically either the situation in which you find yourself or the benefits to be gained by working out terms with Lord Bhayar.”

“You claim that we will benefit because we stand alone,” said Cheliendra. “Yet Antiago is not yet a part of Telaryn. You say that you do not come to threaten. Yet is not your very presence a threat?”

Quaeryt did not reply immediately, thinking for several moments. “Is it a threat to come to a neighbor and to say there is a fire burning through the grasslands that will consume you? Is it a threat to warn of an oncoming storm? Once there were many separate lands in Lydar. Once even what is now Khel was three lands, I have heard it said, and this very city was the capital of Jovana. Those three lands did not survive, but became one. So it is becoming with Lydar. It will be one land before long. You in Khel did not regain your full freedom from Bovaria because you were strong. You regained it because Lord Bhayar destroyed Rex Kharst, and that was because he was strong, not you.”

“You say that you will not use your powers, Son of Erion,” asked the woman to the immediate right of Cheliendra, whose name Quaeryt did not recall, “to force Khel to agree to terms with Lord Bhayar. Then why are you here?”

“Khel cannot be forced to agree to those terms, not unless the land is laid waste and even more Pharsi are slaughtered, not unless all are frozen under the lash of a winter you have not ever seen, and should hope you will never see. Your choices are simple. You can agree to work out terms with Lord Bhayar. Or you can refuse for all time, and in time, you will see that winter and those deaths.” Quaeryt knew that there was a third choice, but he wanted the High Council to suggest it.

“You have said that we stand alone, but there are others not yet a part of Telaryn,” replied Cheliendra.