Covenants (67 page)

"If I may ask, is the doyen all right, Your Grace?”

The Fyrst looked at Laurel, who was packing away his medicines.

"Not yet," the cat said, "but he will be. All he needs is rest and gentle care so that his injuries can heal.”

I stood up, pulled my tabard over my head, and sat down again so that Laurel could braid my hair.

Apparently he'd found time to go back for the feather, for he produced it— bent and mangled, but still there—and attached it to my queue.

"Unfortunately," the Fyrst said, "we cannot do anything to Ambassador Sro Kenalt."

Suiden rumbled low in his chest, his eyes very green.

"No," the Fyrst said. "We cannot do anything to him, Your Highness. Or others will feel free to abuse our own ambassadors." He gave a faint smile. "So we will send him back with a strongly worded letter of protest, asking for an apology and for the return of all our folk who have been enslaved.”

"Do you think you'll get either, Your Grace?" Uncle Havram asked.

"Javes Wolf Merchant'son has provided a letter of introduction to the head of his mother's family," the Fyrst said.

Suiden, Uncle Havram, and Esclaur looked at Javes, all frowning.

"She's Qarant, of the Damas. A daughter of the line."

The frowns wiped off, leaving blank faces.

"We will ask the Damas to intercede, to use their considerable influence for us. Of course, we'll have to tell them the entire story, including Sro Kenalt's part.” Suiden actually began to laugh, a basso rumble as his eyes danced.

"Well, now, I bet you do," Uncle Havram murmured, his own blue eyes twinkling.

"Does Berle know about your mother, Javes?" Lord Esclaur asked.

Javes shook his head. "No. Even though she's only a daughter of a governor of no particular House, a merchant's son is still too plebeian for her tastes, so she never bothered to find out."

Esclaur took a deep breath. "Can I tell her? Please?"

"Where is the chancellor?" Uncle Havram asked.

"With her diplomatic staff in our old chambers, under guard," Javes replied. "Reflecting, as Doyen Allwyn said, on the folly of the sin of pride.”

"She will go back," the Fyrst said, "with a representative who will outline in great detail what she has done, as she too is an emissary of another kingdom.”

"Aye?" Uncle Havram looked at Wyln. "Will it be yourself, Lord Wyln?" His voice was mild, but I could see a tinge of worry at the thought of an elfin enchanter with the fire aspect aboard one of his windriders.

Wyln, though, shook his head. "No, not I. It'll be someone who has the authority to speak for the entire Border— most likely a High Council member." He gently smiled. "Besides, I shall be with Two Trees'son.”

It had been a long day filled with all sorts of interesting things and my mind had started to drift. But suddenly I found myself paying very close attention. "With me? Uh, honored Cyhn?"

"Well, I am your Cyhn. It's either go with you or you staying here with me.” After a startled look at Wyln, Laurel suddenly became very busy with tidying up while Javes, Esclaur and Havram all frowned at the Enchanter, then at Suiden. Suiden, however, ignored their accusatory stares. "But that's supposed to end when the High Council declares Rabbit's mastery," he said.

"Two Trees'son's mastery is something the Council will decide," the Fyrst said before Wyln could answer. "But I determine his Cyhn." His Grace's dark eyes gleamed. "It's an elfin house he belongs to, honored prince, and coming of age tends to be a little different for us. For one thing, it takes longer.

Much longer.” Elves did live forever, barring fatal injury. I stared at the Fyrst, seeing myself as an old graybeard before I was deemed adult enough to be let out on my own.

"Don't worry, Two Trees'son," Wyln said, even more amused. "I will make sure you have playtime.” The Fyrst softly laughed at Suiden's disconcerted expression. Then His Grace's amusement faded as he gave, for him, a massive frown and looked out the window at Dragoness Moraina. "Speaking of things done and not done— Honored Moraina, did you really sign a treaty with the human kingdom?"

A shocked gasp ran through the courtyard.

"No," Dragoness Moraina said.

"Of course she didn't," one of the Fyrst's eorls called from the courtyard. His Grace's bard, however, was staring at the dragoness wide-eyed. He pulled his lute off his shoulder and began to strum, apparently feeling an edda coming on.

"I used a scribe.”

It became very quiet, the only noise the soft playing of the bard. Even the wind lay low.

"Why, honored Moraina?" the Fyrst asked.

"What has gone around is coming around, Your Grace," Moraina said. "What was once fae land is now becoming fae land again, under an elfin king. One who is tied strongly to us. As was farseen—”

"You are saying, then, honored Moraina," Laurel asked, his voice careful, "that you came across a prophecy that said that the land would be ours once more? And for this you transgressed your own beliefs against ciphering?”

"No, not prophecy," Moraina said. "Not obscure ramblings open to every manipulation by lackwits, fanatics, and the insane.
I
did a farseeing, and that made me hire a scribe." She settled her wings against her back with a soft rustling sound. "A check was needed on the human kingdom's fervent belief that what was ours should be theirs until the farseeing came to pass, and I thought a treaty would be the best way." She sighed. "It never occurred to me that we'd be the ones who would need to be stopped.”

"But why?" Wyln asked. "Why not allow the humans to attack us? With what happened last time they did, we would have had the land back that much sooner.”

"Yes, perhaps," Moraina said. "But again, perhaps not. Right now we do have it, and without striking a single blow in anger. With very strong ties that bind us together.”

"A dragon advocating peace," Javes murmured. "Extraordinary."

"It is wisdom," Moraina said.

"A dark elf who is linked to only one lineage, and, if I understand it right, through a hated House," Suiden said, recovering from the shock of realizing that he'd bargained my life away to the elves. "A king who rules the entire land, not answerable to anyone, the Fyrst's declarations notwithstanding. Will the northern clans accept these ties, Sra Moraina? Will all the Borderlands?”

The Moraina's sapphire eyes rested on the dragon prince. "Who said anything about the king of Iversterre?"

It grew quiet again.

"All right," another eorl called out. "Who are you talking about?"

Moraina turned her head to me.

The entire courtyard erupted in laughter. After all, they'd just seen me bare-arsed. Lin, though, at another window, nodded. The bard noted that, his fingers now flying over the strings of his lute.

"Just how is he supposed to accomplish this great feat of unification?" the first eorl asked.

"Covenanted to Laurel Faena," Moraina replied, her brilliant eyes still on me. "Three times sworn to King Jusson. Cyhn to Enchanter Wyln. Declared of Loran the Fyrst's line. Lieutenant in His Majesty's Royal Army under Captain Prince Suiden. Ibn Chause and eso Flavan. Chosen of the moon ghosts. Nephew of Vice Admiral Havram ibn Chause. Mage-born. Son of Two Trees and Lark. Truth rune on his hand.

Sixty-four degrees to the throne. Baptized and catechized into the human Church. Brother Paedrig's student. Keeper of my favor. A fourth time sworn to his cousin the king to bring peace.” The wind swirled in through the open windows, carrying fluttering butterflies.

"It seems that Queen Mab has taken an interest in him too," Moraina said.

Lin smiled, showing her teem.

"He doesn't have to do anything," the dragoness continued. "He's already done it by getting himself so tangled between the fae and the human that not even your Lady Gaia could get him undone." She also smiled. "Because he is so very much ours as he is so very much the human kingdom's, we will therefore share in who he is, and so he becomes the bridge that spans us, leading us back to where we can both begin anew.” The courtyard fell silent again, everyone impressed in spite of themselves.

"The lark ascending, honored Moraina?" I asked, remembering my dream aboard the Dauntless.

Moraina's smile became gentle (for a dragon). "Yes, young human. If we are fortunate.”

There was a stir in the back of the courtyard and Moraina turned her head. People parted and bowed as Molyu made her way towards us. The blood was gone from her face, but she'd drawn a red line from her eye down her cheek. As she reached the doorway and paused, I could see behind her the sun sinking through the last remnants of the storm clouds. Almost the end of the last day of spring—and the moon season.

Her Grace's eyes lit on the Fyrst and she smiled. "It is time, my husband.”

The sun hovered above the ocean as several silk-draped carts, loaded with pelts, skins, bones and wood, started out from the castle. In the lead was His Grace, Loran the Fyrst, dressed in elfin splendor, his great sword on his back. Laurel Faena came next, holding the reins of a horse also draped in silk, upon which Prudence Oak's body and Dragon Gwyyn's skin were placed. After the rattle of crossing the moat bridge, the only sound was the muffled clop of the horses' hooves and the swish of the wheels against the sand road. And the soft thud of our boots, as the human contingent was allowed to walk behind the carriages. Lord Esclaur first as an emissary of King Jusson IV, Vice Admiral Havram next as the Royal Navy representative, Captains Suiden and Javes, and then the rest of the troopers at the last.

The park was still and dark, the gloom undisturbed until flashes appeared among the trees, few at first, then more, as the haunts we'd left in the clearing joined in the procession, until they were a thick stream behind us. We exited the park and stepped onto cobbled streets, but even then there was no noise. I looked down and saw grass and meadow flowers thickly carpeting the stones.

We wound through the city, its citizens lining the streets, caps and hats off, heads bowed as the cortege went by, until at last we came to a square overlooking the ocean. We were joined there by the town folk, Dragoness Moraina, Wyln, Molyu, my da, and other dignitaries, who helped placed the bodies on a pyre. Then, as the sun descended into the water, last rites were held for all the haunts who journeyed with us. Basel stood next to me, striking his pose with his antlers held high, Honor Ash on the other side, the unicorn with her, the leopard next to Lieutenant Groskin, the rest intermingled with those alive. They all were quiet as various vicars took turns in the ceremony for the dead. To my surprise, Brother Paedrig was last and his sweet tenor was a soaring counterpoint over the basso roar of the sea.

"To the last embrace, to return to that from which we were formed," the brother said.

"To the last embrace." I blinked and the troopers stirred a little in surprise at the Fyrst, Wyln, Dragoness Moraina, Laurel, and the fae of the city joining in our responses.

"Until the day we are summoned forth," Brother Paedrig said.

"Until the new morn when we shall arise anew," we said. The leopard stood, stretched and affectionately butted Groskin. The haunt then turned and started walking towards the ocean. Groskin watched, his eyes glinting gold.

"All corruption left behind in the cleansing earth," Brother Paedrig said.

"All shining with joy, reflecting God's glory," we said. Other haunts started pulling away and moving towards the water.

"The earth keep you," Brother Paedrig said.

"The earth enfold and keep you safe," we said. Honor reached across me and touched Basel. Basel turned his head towards her, then on his delicate stag legs joined her and the unicorn as they went to the square's edge and over.

"Peace," Brother Paedrig said.

"Peace and rest be yours," we said. I turned my head to see them flow out over the water into the last rays of the setting sun.

"Goodbye, Basel, Honor," I said, tasting salt. I wiped my wet face as the Fyrst, Laurel, Suiden and Moraina picked up torches and lit the pyre. As it burned, the outline of a dragon rose, spread his wings and took off, flying over the waves. On his back I could just make out a sprite with oak leaves in her hair.

"Peace and rest be yours."

Laurel and I crested the mountain trail and looked down on Freston as the wind laughed and pulled on our clothes. Well, my clothes, as the Faena stood clad only in his feathers and beads that hung from his ears. They gently swayed and clicked as he pressed his ears forward, looking down on the mountain town that lay basking in the rare warmth of a fall day. "And so it begins," Laurel said.

So it did. I smiled down at the familiar sights, but men gave a wistful glance over my shoulder towards the Border—and my family—that we'd left a few weeks before.

"What's the building with the yellow tile, Two Trees'son?" Wyln asked, sitting on a horse next to me.

"It's a theater, honored Cyhn," I said. The wind laughed again, plucking at my braid's ties and ruffling both my feather and the butterflies' wings.

"A playhouse?" Wyln leaned forward in his saddle, his face intent.

Captains Suiden and Javes also looked down upon the city, their gazes aimed towards the faded purple tiles of the garrison—and King Jusson's standard that flew above it. I wondered how Commander Ebner's mustache was handling a royal visit.

Suiden shot me a glance. "Keep it down, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir."

Jeff, pulling up next to Laurel, snickered.

Groskin joined us, his eyes golden in the afternoon's light, while the rest of the troopers came to a halt behind us.

All of our horses lifted their heads, perhaps scenting the garrison stables and the promise of currycombs, warm stalls and hay. Groskin's horse gave a soft whicker and reached over to nip Laurel's ear.

"Home, sirs," Groskin said. "Yes. Give the order to move it out, Lieutenant," Suiden said, starting down the trail, the wind blowing his horse's tail behind them like a streamer.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lorna Freeman started reading fairytales at an early age s in reaction to an ordinary life. Though not a true native, she has lived most of her life in southern California, the land of sunshine and earthquakes. She now is at work on the next book in The Borderlands series.