Fires of Aggar (3 page)

But Gwyn’s thoughts were on the note M’Sormee’s eitteh had delivered to the Gate House for her. Her mother had heard from the contacts at the Royal Court and their discreet inquiries had only confirmed Gwyn’s suspicions; neither the King nor the Crowned Rule, his daughter, had received any news of the unrest in Khirlan. They were not ignoring the Dracoon’s pleas for help, the Royal House was simply unaware of her needs which supported the unsettling probability that there was a traitor among the Dracoon’s own scribes. Either that or the Dracoon was downright paranoid, and Gwyn’s mother would have Seen something odd if such were the case. But as Gwyn thought back to that evening with M’Sormee, she remembered her mother’s trust in the Dracoon. No, Bryana had Seen no amarin of madness, only of desperation…

The whitewashed walls of the garden were bathed in orange by the setting sun. The woman’s red hair was afire as well, though she was ignorant of its sheening colors. She’d bound it back in a thick braid to stay out of the way as she tended the rose bushes. Her hands were protected by thick gloves, but her movements were efficient and unhindered by either her gloves or her heavy apron. The emerald robes she wore beneath the gardening apron suggested that scrounging around on her knees in the mulch was not her usual pastime.

Shadows began to lengthen. The globe lamps along the walls and paths gradually brightened, subtly fending off the twilight just as the climate control kept the icy ting of the new spring away. Heedless of time, the woman worked on until finally a shadow did intrude. A faint smile creased the corners of her blue eyes, although she never stopped in her task.

“You’re working late, M’Sormee.”

“I started late.” She finished to her satisfaction and looked up at the tall, strong figure of her birth daughter. As always Bryana thought how like her Beloved this daughter looked, and as always she felt pride stir for those two Amazons of her family. Like Jes, this daughter possessed the height and strength of their foremothers — like Jes, Gwyn tanned lightly from the sun. The only thing that bespoke of Bryana’s own blood was the hair, but even that had become uniquely Gwyn’s. A fairer red and finer than Bryana’s, it tended to unruliness if the curls worked free from the short braid. That disarray was again more reminiscent of Jes’ dark locks.

That infectious, familiar grin challenged her silent assessment. Bryana relented and set aside her trowel. She accepted the offered hand as she went to rise, ruefully conceding how stiff age and gardening had made her this evening.

“I began late because the Ring met overlong this afternoon. Too many concerns for our Sisters who will be returning from the Changlings’ Wars. This summer season will not be an easy one for Valley Bay, I fear.”

“And as usual they expected the Ring Binder to magically provide all the answers.”

Bryana nodded, patient humor sparkling in her eyes. “There is a certain assumption that since the Blue Sight shows me what event is to happen, it must naturally also tell me how to deal with that event.”

“Yet it’s just the opposite,” Gwyn murmured. She gave her mother an arm to lean on as they turned for the house. Despite the creamy smoothness of Bryana’s face, her daughter knew how age-worn the seasons as Ring Binder had made this woman.

“It is a worry,” Bryana continued almost as if she were speaking to herself. “The Wars have robbed so many of them of limbs, of trust… of hope.

“We spent hours with the n’Shea crones of Home, searching for records and methods of dealing with these battle stresses. I believe our own House n’Shea found some of it useful. I hope so, anyway.”

“But it leaves you tired, using your Sight to cross that starry chasm of time and space.”

Bryana shrugged. Gwyn place an arm about her mother’s shoulders, and a grateful if amused smile appeared. “And who comforts who here?”

Gwyn only hugged her gently. “Then think of me as Niachero, not as your eldest.”

Bryana laughed beneath her breath. They entered the house, and as Bryana crossed the room to sink gratefully into the depths of the great couch, Gwyn unfolded the slatted doors that separated the house and gardens. She paused to be certain the outer lights were dimming off, then turned to kindle the wood laid in the fireplace.

“You sent for me,” Gwyn reminded her mother softly, settling back against the side of the hearth. She watched in silent concern as Bryana wearily shrugged out of the work apron. Not for the first time Gwyn thought that it was fortunate N’Sormee would be coming home this summer with the rest of the veterans; Bryana seemed to tire less easily when Jes was near to lend her strength. “Would you like some tea, M’Sormee ?”

“No,” Bryana raised a brow, irony touching some inner thought which she finally shared. “Do you know how many kettles of tea I’ve consumed today?”

Gwyn laughed quietly. “We should ask Kimarie to send down a few kegs of her orchard juices. Offer you a change of taste.”

“Your little sister has enough to worry about right now. Calving season is beginning for our beasties, remember?”

“Aye — no,” Gwyn stretched out her booted feet, with a deliberate slowness to the motion that was not lost on her mother. “I’d forgotten.”

“You are treating me — like I’m made of fragile glass.”

“Sometimes, perhaps you are.”

“Sometimes, perhaps I’m not.”

Gwyn acknowledged that with a tip of her head. “I’d never contest your strength.”

A rich, soft laugh eased much of the weariness in the older woman. “In some ways, you are very much my daughter. Always the diplomat!”

Eyes widened in mock surprise. “M’Sormee! Am I not always your daughter?”

“No.” A quite composed, blue gaze fell to Gwyn, though Bryana was careful as always with her Blue Sight not to actually lock glances. “Often you are Jes’ own.”

“Never!”

They laughed together at that, companionable in the way loving seasons and simple respect had created. Then slowly, the stillness came to wrap about them. Gwyn bent a knee and rested her chin atop it. Hands folded about her ankle and her copper eyes studied her mother. Once more, she prompted. “You sent for me. Was it because of something that happened within the Ring? Or something that comes from our Sisters of the home planet?”

“Neither really. A few days ago I had a visitor. Well, not precisely a visitor — a harmon. And now I find I have need of a Royal Marshal.”

That startled Gwyn a bit. There weren’t many Blue Sights talented enough to project their harmon — that ghost image of themselves — across great distances to another, Blue Sight receptor. It was a necessary talent in the Ring Binder who was often the sole link between the Sisters of Aggar and their distant home world, but even the Council Seers were not always so gifted. Curious, Gwyn pressed, “The visitor was from the Council? No? From the Royal Family in their western Palace — or the Prince’s northern field camps?”

“From Khirlan.”

“Khirlan? The most southeastern district of the Ramains?” Gwyn’s chin dropped with a contemplative frown. “I’ve never heard of any trouble from them. But they have been pretty isolated during the Wars. Being so far south and inland, it’s always been more economical for them to provide extra tax monies rather than armed support for the Prince. I don’t think they’ve even got a standing regiment among his northern troops. But then the King and Crowned Rule still endorse the Old Law for border Districts and with the Clan’s Plateau being Khirlan’s neighboring — the Clan!”

Understanding dawned as the Amazon sat bolt upright. “The Old Law exempted Khirlan from Royal Conscriptions, specifically because of the Terran Clan’s threat to the Ramains’ Realm. They send Churv money instead of sword carriers, because the swords are simply needed in Khirlan. Between the continual raids and the occasional invasions of the Clan, the Khirlan folk are in a constant struggle and have always had to maintain an active militia.”

“Well apparently…,” Bryana amended somberly, “the last few seasons have only seen Khirlan’s struggle grow worse.”

With a grim frown, Gwyn nodded. She knew all too well what must have happened. “The Clan finally capitalized on the fact that the Prince’s troops were occupied on the northern borders. The Clan Leads realized the Royal Family wouldn’t be able to send reinforcements and decided to see what they and their fire weapons could gain from it.”

“So it would seem.”

“M’Sormee?” Curiously, Gwyn glanced at her mother. It was odd that Valley Bay’s Ring Binder had become involved in this sort of matter. “Who was this visitor?”

“The King’s Dracoon of Khirlan.”

“She or he?”

“She. Her name is Llinolae.”

“She came to you and not to the Crowned Rule? Or even to the Council of Ten? Surely the Council has jurisdiction over the Clan’s affairs. We’re only interested bystanders.”

“Ones which the Clan would prefer did not exist,” Bryana concluded succinctly.

“So why does the Dracoon seek you out?”

“It was unintentional.”

Her brow creased in a scowl, and Gwyn sat forward in disbelief. “Her Blue Sight erred? That’s not possible, surely? Only the Council’s own Seers know Valley Bay well enough to find you here in this place. And they would never mistake here for the King’s Court.”

“Her Blue Gift erred,” Bryana returned calmly. “Her own, not a Seer’s Apprentice stationed within her court.”

“There’s a Dracoon gifted?” Gwyn had never heard of King nor Council arranging such a thing. “It’s certainly a novel idea. I can imagine where it might be useful in foreseeing some of the Clan’s antics. But still, M’Sormee, you are always reminding us that the Sight’s talents lend information rather than knowledge. Having a Dracoon incapable of strategy or deduction is somewhat limiting, isn’t it?”

The subtle curve of an almost secretive smile was Bryana’s only response. Gwyn recognized that expression. She sighed. Often when her mother saw something of the future that was best left ambiguous, she got that vague, pleased look. It was useless to press further. Instead, Gwyn changed tack, “Who had she been trying to reach, M’Sormee ?”

“Dey Sorormin of our home world — a Sister n’Shea and one n’Athena.”

“Of home?! She’s a Sister then?!! How — there’s never been a Sister governing as a Ramains’ Dracoon!”

“She is not a daughter of Valley Bay, Gwyn. But she has been accepted by both her mentors n’Shea and n’Athena as a foster daughter… she has some claim to us and our help.” Bryana let her daughter absorb that for a moment, then elaborated. “My garden with its roses and greens of home is apparently very similar to the garden of her mentor n’Shea. As happens when we grow tired, however, she found she could not See across the stars. So this garden which is so very foreign to Aggar — and my own Blue Sight — drew her here instead.”

A wry grin sprouted as Gwyn muttered, “Wager she was shocked to find herself still under blue skies and not beneath lavender.”

“She was frightened, a bit.”

“Of you? And she with the Sight?” Gwyn was genuinely alarmed. “M’Sormee, what were you doing?”

“Snipping the winter roses back… no, it was not my amarin that dismayed her. It was the risk that the Council might learn of her visit. She has asked me not to involve them. I chose to respect her reasons, although she did not explicitly share them.”

“Which means she impressed you… and we should trust her.” Given her mother’s Blue Gift, Gwyn didn’t question that decision. “So now, you send for me instead.”

“You are a Ramains’ Royal Marshal, Daughter, one of the Crowned Rule’s emissaries — judge and protector. I had assumed you’d be riding out for duties again this spring…? Ahh, and I See I am right. As a Marshal, I thought… well, it occurred to me that the problems of Khirlan’s Dracoon is foremost the Royal Family’s business. Clan raiders are threatening the welfare of the Ramains’ realm. The people’s safety is more important than Council’s policies, is it not? Wouldn’t it be prudent for a Royal Marshal to investigate?”

“Do you know how well the Crowned Rule has been kept informed of these Clan troubles?”

“Does it matter?” Bryana was not ignorant of the neighboring realm’s politics. “When the Crowned is preoccupied, the Marshals tend to the important matters as things arise. Since when do they wait for royal directives?”

“We don’t.”

“Then you wonder at something else.”

For a moment Gwyn considered that uneasy feeling inside, her chin once again atop her knee. Finally her thoughts ushered themselves together, and she found the inconsistencies that teased her.

“You want to know more of this Dracoon Llinolae.”

“Yes, I do.” Gwyn gave a wry grin. Her mother’s Blue Sight was as perceptive as usual. “You say, she wants no involvement of the Council in this? That’s fair. They are certainly passive enough with their patient diplomacy to try anyone’s nerves — especially when one is dealing with a military threat! And I don’t know of anyone who’d deny that the Clan and their horde of fire weapons could create a military nightmare! But what I don’t understand is how a Blue Sight came to be Dracoon of Khirlan, if the Council wasn’t involved? I mean, M’Sormee, I intend no disrespect, but you are the Ring Binder and not an appointed official for a reason!”

“Aye,” Bryana smiled indulgently. “I See details upon details in the ever-flowing life cycles around us. I bind the Ring of Valley Bay to our home world by traversing the glowing paths of amarin that connect the Blue Sights of Aggar to Home. I read the pieces and share the images, the impressions of life. And rarely can I be objective about those things that I See, because I Feel them in the perceiving. It would make me a very poor leader, in many circumstances. I would forever be biased in favor of the stronger personalities.”

“Although that sensitivity makes you an excellent judge of character, it would be a tremendous liability in a leader.”

“Ahh…,” Bryana nodded, “I understand your uneasiness now. You trust that she is of admirable character, because I can See this in her amarin. But you question the sanity of those who appointed her Dracoon, because of her Sight she could so easily fall prey to bad advice from trusted advisors.”

“Yes! Because of her Sight — even the most obvious threats could be disguised by passionate, righteous intentions. And yet she was appointed as a District’s Dracoon?”