Mercedes Lackey - Anthology (15 page)

 
          
The
spell came to me unbidden, the words flowing easily, the fullness of courage
and justice expanding my chest and making my heart feel as if it would burst.

 
          
This
was the right thing to do.

 
          
I
cast the bones down on my half sister's bed, speaking the final phrases of the
spell work.

 
          
"Will
you stay?" my sister said to me with pleading eyes. She had recovered
rapidly, and now we sat on a pair of iron lounges in the king's gardens,
perhaps as our mother and my father once had. A light wind blew dogwood and
apple tree scents from the west.

 
          
I
wanted to stay. That I could not deny. We had much in common, having both grown
up without a mother.

 
          
And
I wanted to know my sister. There was procedure to follow, but her father was
stepping down from his rule and soon she would be queen. I wanted to see her
grow through this moment in her life.

 
          
But
I shook my head instead. "No," I said. "I have a whole life to
discover again, Terisa. And I'm not ready to stay here. I will return,
though."

 
          
She
smiled. "I understand. This is your home, though. Do you understand?"

 
          
I
matched her smile and nodded. "Yes," I said. "This is my
home." And suddenly it was. I felt it in the way Terisa smiled, and at the
way we had grown comfortable with each other's presence in such rapid fashion.

 
          
We
stood then, and I gave her a hug.

 
          
Terisa
smelled of orchids, and I of my now dead sorcery.

 
          
"Will
you go back to Castle Talon?" she asked.

 
          
I
stared into the birdless sky. The hawks had left after the spell had been cast,
scattering into the hills and the mountains to live in the high rock as all
hawks should. Even Kiva had left. I had given them back to the gods, to whom
they rightfully belonged. I was alone now, truly alone.

 
          
"No.
I'll travel for a while. Father used to tell me of his wanderings as a boy.
Perhaps I'll follow his path."

 
          
"Good
luck," she said with a playful smile. "I'll look forward to your
return."

 
          
"As
will I," I replied.
"As will I."

 
          
I
left the next morning.

 
          
The
king offered me a horse, but I decided I wanted to walk. I felt like a
week's-dry sponge, empty and waiting. I wanted to know the land and see it up
close. And the closer I was to the ground, the more real it would be, the more
I would learn from it.

 
          
I
strode alone past Ellingsworth's tall buildings and out of the main gates.

 
          
The
soil smelled of clay. The grass had the cold edge of the approaching fall
season. I set off to the east, toward the Ridge Mountains.

 
          
The
sun rose higher in the sky, and the day became warm. I eventually stopped to
make my lunch.

 
          
My
father was a good man. I knew that now. He loved my mother, and she loved him.
He was caught up in his magic, and he was caught up in his efforts to find his
love. Maybe that was enough for me to forgive his lack of attention.

 
          
I
planned to think about it often in the next weeks.

 
          
A
shadow flashed silently over the sundrenched grass.

 
          
I
glanced up at the same time Kiva called out.

 
          
Her
feathers golden brown in the sunlight, she swooped down from the sky, gliding
on unseen currents to land on a branch above me.

 
          
She
sat silently, her magic now as dead as my own. Her glance was nervous and
self-conscious, or perhaps I was just applying my own understanding to her
actions. The other birds were gone, their tie to Castle Talon rent with the
tearing of my inheritance. Kiva and I were no longer bonded by sorcery.

 
          
But
I felt close to her in a way stronger than ever before, and I think somewhere
deep inside her eyes I saw this same connection. I reached to my side and
pulled out the pouch of our mother's bones.

 
          
They
were still there, light as air. Kiva watched me, her curved beak seeming to cut
into the afternoon.

 
          
I
untied the drawstrings and emptied the pouch onto the ground before me. The
bones fell, crumbling at the touch of soil, spreading and melting into the
earth as if they were made of water. A whiff of orchids twisted in the breeze,
then
the scent was gone.

 
          
Kiva
cried a mournful sound, full of sadness and emptiness, yet carrying undertones
of understanding. I had been born of two human beings. Kiva had been born of my
mother's body and my father's magic.

 
          
Now
the souls of both had been joined.

 
          
Their
lives were done.

 
          
Ours
was about to begin.

 
          
I
stood up, wiping my lips with the back of my hand. "You're welcome to
travel with me, sister," I said to Kiva, strapping a leather guard over my
forearm.

 
          
And
Kiva, bound to me in a different fashion than I had ever felt before, flew to
my hand.

 
          
Lawrence
Watt-Evans is the author of more than two dozen books and over a
hundred
short stories including several set, like this one,
in the World of Ethahar. His latest novel is Dragon Weather.

 
          
PRINCESS
Kirna of Quonmor sat upon her bed and frowned at the barred window.

 
          
The
sun was down, and daylight was fading rapidly; she would be spending another
night here in the wizard's tower, and once again, she would be spending it
locked in this room, all alone. This was not working out at all as she had
expected. Running off with a wizard had seemed like such a very romantic idea!
She had thought she could entice him to either marry her, whereupon they would
travel all over the world having wonderful adventures together, or to take her
on as his apprentice, whereupon she would spend years learning all the secrets
of magic and then someday return to Quonmor to find a usurper on the throne,
whom she, as the rightful heir, would then depose and punish horribly for his
effrontery. Her subjects would cheer as she crowned herself queen in her
father's throne room, and she would use her magic to transform Quonmor into a
paradise, and to reconquer Dennamor, which her great-grandfather had lost.

 
          
And
then perhaps she would reunite all the Small Kingdoms into an empire—after all,
if that warlock Vond could conquer a dozen of them, without having even a trace
of royal blood, why couldn't a wizard-queen rule them all?

 
          
But
this had all depended on this Gar of Ura-mor falling in love with her, or at
least taking her seriously, and so far he hadn't. He hadn't objected to her
company on the walk home, but when she had tried to flirt with him, he had
laughed and said she was too young, and when she had asked about an
apprenticeship, he had said she was too old.

 
          
And
then when she had explained that she was a princess, so the ordinary rules
didn't apply to her, he had gotten angry and locked her up here, in this room
with the thick iron-bound door and the distressingly solid iron bars in the
window.

 
          
And
then when he came back—well, it had been downright embarrassing. He had treated
her as if she were little more than a baby, and hadn't agreed to anything. What
was the good of being a princess if you couldn't have what you wanted?

 
          
She
pouted, and bounced on the bed—it wasn't as soft as her featherbed at home, but
it was pleasantly springy and fun to bounce on.

 
          
"Princess
Kirna?" a breathy voice asked.

 
          
Startled,
she stopped bouncing and smoothed out her face—her father had always told her a
princess mustn't pout. The voice hadn't been Gar's. It had sounded as if it
were right beside her, but of course there wasn't anyone else in the room; she
turned toward the door and called, "Who is it?"

 
          
"Hush!"
She jumped; the voice was right in her ear.

 
          
"Who's
there?" she whispered.

 
          
A
vague blue shape shimmered in the air before her, and the voice said, in a
slightly accented Quonmoric, "I am Deru of the Nimble Fingers. I've come
to help you." The blue shape raised a hand, and she glimpsed a blurry
face.

 
          
"A
ghost!" she gasped.
"A real ghost!"

 
          
"No,
I'm not a ghost," Deru said. "I'm a wizard under a spell."

 
          
She
flung a hand to cover her mouth. "You're under a curse? That terrible Gar
did this to you, and is keeping you prisoner here?"

 
          
"No,
no," Deru assured her. "I did it to myself, so I could get in here to
talk to you. It's called the Cloak of Ethereality. It'll wear off soon."

 
          
"Oh,"
she said disappointed. "You just came to talk to me?"

 
          
"I
was sent to find out why you're here."

 
          
Kirna
stared at the misty blue outline for a moment. Who was this person? Who had
sent him? Was he really here at all?

 
          
He
said he was a wizard—had the Wizards' Guild sent him?

 
          
Might
Gar be in trouble? Kirna had heard stories about the dreadful things the
Wizards' Guild did to people who broke its rules. . . .

 
          
Maybe
he wasn't in trouble yet, but he could be, and it would serve him right for
mistreating her.

 
          
"He
kidnapped me!" she said. "He dragged me here and locked me up, and he
tortured me!" She held up her left hand, where Gar had nicked her with a
knife to draw a vial of blood.

 
          
The
apparition stooped to stare at her hand, and she snatched it away before he
could see just how small the cut really was.

 
          
"He
took my blood," she said. "I'm sure he's going to do something
terrible with it."

 
          
"He
took your blood," Deru said thoughtfully.
"Anything
else?
Hair?
Tears?"

 
          
She
blinked at him, startled; this wasn't the reaction she had expected. She
decided she had better tell the truth—more or less.

 
          
"Yes,"
she said. "He tortured me until I cried, then caught my tears with a cloth
and a little jar." The "torture" had just been shouting and
teasing, but she didn't see any need to admit that.