Crown of Renewal (Legend of Paksenarrion) (24 page)

“They’re twins, but they’re not alike.”

“No. The dark-haired one’s the boy. We named him Falkieri, for Kieri’s father, and Dameroth, for my father. The girl’s name is Estil for Estil Halveric and Merrandlyn for my mother and Kieri’s—the names combine well.”

“Will they have Kieri’s talent?”

“Perhaps,” Arian said. “We hope so.”

“Though I don’t think the western elves have that hope,” Kieri
said. “Perhaps they’ll get used to it.” He touched Arian’s cheek. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“That’s what everyone says. And I’m wide awake. The midwife and Estil Halveric tiptoed away thinking I was asleep … but I’m not.” She looked at Paks. “Did you come just to see the babies?”

Paks explained her errand.

“Good,” Arian said. “I’d like to see a Kuakgan again myself. Last year, when we were trying to find the source of the poison, I was so upset—I would like to learn more about them. Maybe we could do something to heal the enmity between elves and Kuakkgani.”

“I don’t think that’s likely,” Kieri said. “Lessen it, maybe—with my elves—but ending it would require them to change long-held notions about the proper way to interact with the taig.”

“Maybe that’s not the only proper way to interact with the taig,” Arian said.

“If it was, elves could heal iynisin wounds,” Paks said. “And they can’t, can they?”

“No.”

“Yet what Master Oakhallow did for me, besides removing the bit of iynisin weapon left in me, all involved the taig. I don’t understand it; I was asleep for some of it.”

“Dorrin told me about the Kuakgan healing one of her squires’ injuries,” Kieri said. “The lad’s father had the same objection to that healing as the elves: mixing the natures of plants and other living things. And from what I hear, the boy’s thumbs did look woody at first. But the tendons healed in his legs, and he has thumbs. Finally his father accepted it … what else could he do? Cut the lad’s thumbs off again?”

“What was the poison?” Paks asked.

“Last year? Melfar, hidden in a cake of farran. It was a wedding gift; cooks had used it to flavor pastries for the feast.” Arian’s head drooped. “Every pregnant woman who ate it lost the child.” When she looked up again, her expression was angry. “It was an elf who did it. An elf who tried to kill Kieri later.”

“And who, I’m certain, arranged my mother’s death and my capture,” Kieri said. “But she is dead now, and we are here with two
healthy babies and a paladin. Who should not be hearing such dark things.” The babies had waked, their little faces contracting into a mass of red furrows.

“Ah, youngling.” Paks scooped up the girl, who was nearer her side of the bed. She nuzzled the baby’s hair. “You, littling, you are so lucky.” To Kieri’s surprise, the baby’s face relaxed, and Paks began to sing softly. “Sweet one, little one, your mama’s a queen, sweet one, little one …”

Kieri picked up his son, then sat on the edge of the bed. “All’s well, lad,” he said, and yawned deliberately. “Oh, we’re sleepy, all of us, aren’t we … or are you hungry?”

“They’re probably hungry.” That was the midwife in the doorway, hands on her hips. “I came up to wake the queen and find a roomful of chatter—”

“I wasn’t asleep,” Arian said. “And
I’m
hungry.”

“I’ll tell them to send something up,” Kieri said, handing his armful to the midwife. “Come on, Paks.” Paks grinned and laid the girl in Arian’s arms.

“Has anything been found in Kolobia to explain how the magelords were enchanted or by whom?” Kieri asked as they made their way downstairs.

“Not that I know,” Paks said. “But I haven’t looked at everything. I would expect the elves to know. You said they talked about three kinds of magery.”

“They don’t know who, or how, but the magery—I suppose they can sense it. I can tell if magery’s being used.” He told the first servant he saw to send a meal up to Arian’s chamber and another to prepare a room for Paks.

Near sundown, a man in a Kuakgan’s dark green leaf-patterned robe came to the palace gate while Kieri was on his way back from a trip to the King’s Grove to give thanks for the births.

“It is not more poison, is it?” he asked Kieri. “You must be the king, with this retinue.” He glanced at the King’s Squires.

“I am the king,” Kieri said. “Kieri is my name. And no, it is not more poison. The paladin Paksenarrion asked Master Oakhallow to find a Kuakgan who could travel to meet her here. The Marshal-General of Gird has been wounded by iynisin. Come inside; Paks will be glad to see you.”

“I was not sure how hard it would be,” the Kuakgan said. “Usually the elvenhome repels us.”

“I have no quarrel with Kuakkgani,” Kieri said.

The Kuakgan looked at him, brows raised. “You—but it’s not your elvenhome; you’re but half-elf—”

“Yes, it is, now,” Kieri said. “It is complicated and I will be glad to tell you about it later, but you need to talk to Paksenarrion first.”

They went inside together and found Paks sitting with the same doorward, demonstrating how to darn holes in the man’s socks. He was barefoot, working on one sock while she did the other. “Now if you reinforce the heels when you knit them—”

“I don’t knit my own socks,” the doorward said. “I don’t have time.”

“Do you have time to darn? It takes longer than knitting something the same size.”

The doorward caught sight of Kieri and the Kuakgan and jumped up, dropping the sock. Paks reached out and caught it. “Sir king, I’m sorry—”

“Finish your darning lesson,” Kieri said. “Paks, here is a Kuakgan come looking for you. Master—?”

“Sprucewind. Like Master Elmholt, from whom I heard about the poisoning done here, I am a wanderer, not having bonded to a Grove. I had word by root from Oakhallow that I was needed here.” He turned to Paks. “And I am told you come on behalf of the Girdish Marshal-General, wounded by iynisin.”

“Indeed,” Paks said. She had given one sock back to the doorward and still worked on the other. She told him what she had told Kieri. “It happened to me, as well. Wounds that faded and then flared, exhaustion and weakness, and no other healing seemed to work. I remembered Oakhallow and what he did for me, but he does not travel so far.”

“Hmmm.” A hum like a hive of bees trembled on the air. “Are you sure all the fragments of the weapon are out of the wound?”

“We think so, sir, but one was stuck right in the bone, high on her arm. We could not tell if all came out or if it broke off.”

“And where is she?”

“In Fin Panir. Do you know where that is?”

“West of Tsaia, in Fintha … Tell me, what trees are there?”

“Not many. Pickoak, a scrubby ash, juniper … it’s dry there, you see.” Then, to the doorward, “No, pull that back out—it goes in the other way … yes … and then out there. Now another one.”

“No stretches of forest? No spruce?”

“None.”

“Then she will have to come nearer or I must find a spruce—at least a fir—willing to come with me. My powers of healing depend on the trees. It is so with all of us. How bad are her wounds? Can she travel at all?”

“Not when I left,” Paks said. “But if hers are like mine were, her strength will vary—she will grow stronger again and then weaker. I think she will not travel this far, sir. She has duties there; she will stay.”

“Then I must find a tree,” Sprucewind said. “It will take some time. I will go to Fin Panir as soon as I find one.”

“Wait,” Kieri said. “Will you not stay the night at least?”

“I travel mostly at night,” Sprucewind said. “It is cooler then.” He smiled at both of them. “Fare well, king of Lyonya, and thank you for the welcome of your elvenhome. Paksenarrion, I smell fir upon you, a gracious scent and kin to my birth-tree. May the firs you left behind grow tall and straight.” Then he turned and walked out into the dusk.

“There are firs in Three Firs,” Paks called after him. She was not sure he heard.

“You will stay a night or two at least, won’t you?” Kieri asked.

“Until I’m called away,” Paks said. “It feels peaceful here. I think it’s your magery.”

“Elvenhomes are supposed to be peaceful,” Kieri said. “But I’m not sure about one with a soldier for a lord.”

A day or so later, Paks asked Kieri about how he had come to create an elvenhome. He told her in more detail about finding the place where his mother had died, the relics risen from the ground, and all the elven woman, the traitor, had told him. “That night she used elven magery to lure me away from the others and would have killed me if I had not killed her.”

“You killed a full elf? In spite of her magery?”

“Yes. And after that, I realized that the taig recognized me. I was surrounded with elvenhome light. When I collected the branches to lay on her, they fell into my hands.” He sighed. “And with that death ended the mystery that has haunted my life. A waste, all around. But I need not fear anything like that again. The taig itself tells me that none of the other elves here are traitors. My children will never be in such danger as I was.”

“So—the man who tormented you is dead?”

“He must be,” Kieri said. “He was not young when I was his captive, and he was human, not even part-elven. He boasted of that.”

“But he was a mage—you said he had great powers—”

“Yes, but not immortality. Why do you ask?” His heart began to pound, and suddenly he remembered. “You think he—he might be one who could—transfer bodies?” The very thought made him sick; his stomach churned.

“Is it not possible?”

He didn’t want to imagine it. Sekkady alive? In a body he would not even recognize? His children, those sweet infants, stolen to become slaves, tormented as he had been? He struggled to find an objection. “Why would he come here? He had … I heard him say … he had never traveled over the sea and never meant to.”

“Perhaps he had not … perhaps he would not … but you escaped him. He must have been angry when he found you gone. Are you certain he never looked for you?”

“No.” He had not thought about it once safe in the great forest; he had known somehow that it would protect him. Now he knew that was because of his elven heritage; the taig knew him for the Lady’s grandson. And once he reached Halveric Steading, and Estil took him in, and then Aliam taught him to fight … he had known he would never again cross the sea, and he had believed Sekkady would never come.

“If he is alive, if he knows that you are now a king, and a father—” Paks went on,

He started to say Sekkady would have no way to learn either, but the sea trade the Pargunese and Kostandanyans carried on had brought him to this safety and could as easily carry word back. A cold chill ran up his spine, born of the old terror and pain.

“It was not my intent to upset you,” Paks said, leaning forward. “You are not a child now; you are a seasoned warrior, and you have elven magery and the elvenhome’s protection.”

“No—no, you did right to mention it. I should have thought—” But his eyes were shut tight, and the images that filled his mind were all horror and despair. The elvenhome had not protected his mother, a full elf, the day she died or the Lady herself from iynisin attack. “I will take … precautions,” he said at last. He forced himself to look up into those candid gray eyes and smile at Paks. “But for tonight, I think it’s time we both sought our beds.”

“Of course,” she said.

Paks did not bring up the subject again, to Kieri’s relief, and he buried himself in his duties as king and his study of elven magery as the days passed. He was uneasily aware that he was still expected to
wake the sleeping magelords in Kolobia, and he still had no idea how he was going to accomplish that.