Fires of Aggar (4 page)

“But she was not appointed, Gwyn. She has always been the Dracoon of Khirlan.”

Gwyn tipped her head aside in confusion. Then with a mental shake, she realized that because of the Sight, Bryana was so cognizant of the details of this Dracoon’s life that she could not comprehend Gwyn’s own lack of knowledge. Gwyn nearly laughed at that. Copper bright eyes returned to Bryana’s bemused figure. “All right, M’Sormee. If she was not appointed, how did she — with her Blue Sight — become Khirlan’s Dracoon?”

“Quite simply, no one knows she has the Blue Sight. Gwyn, this Llinolae holds her title by birth right. Her family has governed the Khirlan District for generations. As the eldest and only child fathered by Mha’del of Khirla, naturally she became the Dracoon when he died. No one had reason to contest it.”

“No one had reason? M’Sormee! How could no one notice? She has the Blue Sight. Her eyes are blue! Who on Aggar has ever had blue eyes without the Gift?”

“Children of the Clan folk occasionally are blue-eyed, and they have never possessed the Sight, Gwyn. And despite the Clan’s self-imposed isolationism of generations, there have been some minglings and marriages throughout Khirlan.”

“Some — but it’s been a guarded, reluctant mingling at best. And still — the off-spring with that mixed blood have never been blue-eyed without the Sight. M’Sormee, you know this!”

Bryana considered that a moment, vaguely realizing she had known of that fact but the young Dracoon’s belief had led her to forget the obvious. She smiled at herself in wry amusement, explaining, “The people of Khirla believe differently. Llinolae’s mother was a Clan refugee that Mha’del aided and eventually married. When Llinolae was born, no one found it strange that she had her mother’s eyes. When she displayed no obvious signs of the Gift, why should those of Khirla’s Court have questioned her lack of Sight?”

“Mha’del didn’t even know?” Gwyn pressed suspiciously.

“No one knew. To this day, no one outside dey Sorormin knows she has the Blue Sight.”

“That can’t be.” Gwyn was genuinely puzzled. “There would have been childhood accidents with illusions from dreams and nightmares? Or was her Clan mother of mixed blood and a Blue Sight herself?”

“No, her mother was not Sighted. Llinolae hid her own Sight — without aid from any other.” Bryana shrugged. “She did not wish to leave her family and home to study with strangers at the Council’s Keep. She preferred to study with her mentors, n’Shea and n’Athena.”

Gwyn was not satisfied. The inconsistency was still glaringly disconcerting to her, and she leaned forward urging her mother to see the anomaly for herself. “She was only a child, M’Sormee. The Sight begins to emerge even as a child begins to speak! How could one so young have the skill to hide anything?!”

“No, it was instinctive. It was… she wished to hide, Gwyn. She…,” Bryana broke off in frustration, unable to use words to describe such an amarin.

“M’Sormee,” Gwyn moved swiftly to her mother’s side, clasping her hands and bending to one knee as she forced Bryana to face her. “Show me… please?”

The solution became easy, and the older woman smiled with a gentle gratitude. Then fingers took Gwyn’s chin and held her lightly as blue eyes met copper, and gazes locked.

Gwyn shuddered.

Bryana blinked, releasing her immediately.

Gwyn shuddered again, shaking the shock away even as her mother’s hand steadied her. She drew a deep breath, only to loosen it with a rush and take another. She rose shakily to take a seat on the couch beside Bryana and forced a crooked grin, “Aye… I understand a little better.”

“She has a powerful Gift.”

Gwyn nodded, “And powerful motivation.”

Bryana agreed. “Even a lesser Gift would have been harnessed instinctually with that…”

“With that sort of desperation?” Gwyn supplied.

Bryana frowned, before cautiously allowing, “In the beginning, perhaps it was a sort of desperation. Yet as she grew, it changed. Perhaps Llinolae was not as desperate as she was desperately passionate in her beliefs — in her convictions? She trusted her parents’ love and their desire to give her the best by keeping her in Khirla with family.”

Convictions? Gwyn thought of that engulfing, consuming sweep of need that Bryana’s Blue Sight had allowed her to experience. Deep within her, the resounding chord of Niachero awoke, and she shivered all over again. There had never been a Blue Sighted Niachero — Gwyn’s heart went racing at the sheer thought.

She cleared her throat uncomfortably, and glanced at her mother. “Did these mentors she had — the n’Shea and n’Athena — did they ever challenge her choice of hiding?”

“Hmm… I don’t know.”

Gwyn noticed the idea intrigued Bryana and prompted quickly, “Could you ask them? Perhaps find out a bit more about her abilities and—”

“Jes suggested too that I try and reach them,” Bryana interrupted with quiet amusement, knowing she was guilty of being a mother who’d forgotten just how old her daughter had become. “But only after Jes scolded me.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. She first reminded me that there are two Marshals in this family. And that you’re the one with the experience when it comes to civic, district duties — she’s the one with the tarnished battle sword from the north!”

A brief grin flickered across the Niachero’s face, before “You’ve already talked to Llinolae’s mentors then?”

“No, I could not.” Bryana sighed, wearied again by the limitations of her earlier work with the Ring — and now by this. “She is a powerful Blue Sight, Gwyn — perhaps even more so than I. She’s been successful in hiding her Gift from the Seers for more than thirteen seasons! She reached our home world using her out-of-time Seeing without anyone’s guidance — and she did it as a mere child! To follow her… Gwyn’l, I couldn’t even find her in Khirla when I went searching. I know she’s there! I know her amarin — her harmon! And yet still she can hide from me! Her ability — the scope of her raw talent is — amazing.” Bryana finished in a helpless shrug. “Gwyn, I don’t know of any Sister who has ever trained a woman like this. I have absolutely no idea who she’s been tutored by. That they are n’Shea and n’Athena, I do not doubt — her Sororian is too flawless — but there are small oddities in some of her dialect that I can’t place with any Sororian I know.”

“Which means the dialect’s either very, very old or not yet used,” Gwyn saw the problem finally. “Her out-of-time Seeing allowed her to reach across the stars to dey Sorormin, but she’s not necessarily speaking with mentors of our time. Is she?”

“Aye…,” Bryana agreed. “It’s more likely that her mentors are long dead. And counter to our neighbors in the Council’s Keep, many of our Blue Sight Sisters do not believe in influencing future generations by documenting visits from out-of-time harmons.”

“Understandable,” Gwyn nodded at the familiar concept; neither M’Sormee nor Selena had ever liked discussing those occasional glimpses of future possibilities. Still, in regards to Llinolae she could have hoped for more… or perhaps not. Gwyn straightened, mentally sorting through all Bryana had told her… and in the end, everything became very simple. Somewhere, sometime on the home world Llinolae had earned the acceptance of two Sisters and she now asked Bryana for help — as an Amazon, Gwyn could not refuse her plea. In this time on Aggar and in their neighboring realm, the Dracoon of Khirla needed help — as a Royal Marshal in the hired service to Ramains’ Royalty, Gwyn must answer the Dracoon’s call.

Abruptly, she turned back to Bryana. “I’ve still got two questions.”

The older woman nodded for her to continue.

“What, if anything, does the Royal Family know of their Dracoon’s plight in Khirlan?”

“Llinolae believes those in Churv ignore her pleas. Initially, she reasoned the Changlings’ Wars were responsible for their silence, since so many of the Ramains’ resources had to be committed to that defense. Yet now that the Wars are over, she still receives no response.

“Gwyn, I do not understand this! It made no sense to me nor to Jes that the Crowned Rule shouldn’t at least send her advisors. You yourself are testimony to the fact that the Royal Marshals are still available — have been available throughout the Wars — to aid and advise in all disputes. It makes no sense.”

Gwyn agreed; there was no reason for the King’s daughter to isolate Khirlan. Unless…? Gwyn asked abruptly, “Did you think to speak with your Sighted contacts in Churv? Can they tell you if the Royal Family is getting anything from the Khirlan Court? The usual records, their tax monies — anything at all?”

“Yes, I did. Jes had me talk to them. They say, there are regular reports still arriving from Khirlan. There’s been no word nor rumor in Churv that Llinolae is in need of any help, though. I’ve some discrete inquiries being made for us, but it will be a few days before I’ll See more.”

There was probably nothing more to find in Churv, Gwyn mused. If there was not even a rumor that Khirlan was having difficulty with the Clan, it seemed pretty clear that the reports were being tampered with long before they reached the Royal Family. And that meant Llinolae had a traitor somewhere very close to home — most likely within her Scribes.

“All right,” Gwyn drew a deep breath, “that answers my second question — what kind of help does she want? Obviously, she needs to uncover the traitor in Khirla’s Court.”

“No.” Bryana shook her head decisively. “She asks for aid in establishing a new balance with the Clan folk.”

“A new balance? A peace treaty?” Gwyn scowled and tipped her head aside. “How does she propose going about that? The Clans haven’t acknowledged counsel with anyone in nearly three generations.”

“She knows. She is proposing one of two things, either a peaceful exchange of land or resources—”

“It’s bad enough to consider giving the Clan more territory?”

“Aye, they’ve taken to burning whole villages with their fire weapons, Gwyn’l. The Clans closed the northeast trade route seasons ago. Since then they’ve cut deeper west, strangling off nearly all of the northern exchanges. And last summer, they began to harass even the western routes.”

“Mae n’Pour, it has become bad. Yet if a peaceful exchange can not be negotiated, what does she hope to try?”

“She’ll destroy their cache of fire weapons.”

Gwyn balked at the enormity of that idea. The most audacious attempts in the past had never even discovered the location of the Clan’s armory! Certainly the Council Seers could discern that easily enough, but the Council had always refused to aid in an assault against the Clans. The Council usually refused to aid in any kind of aggressive assault, not just those against the Clan. Instead, the Council kept gently suggesting to the Clan folk that they melt down their alloys and use it for more prosperous trade ventures. But culturally, those fire weapons had become a symbol to the Clan folk of their strength and off-worlder heritage. A symbol of bullies — Gwyn thought grimly — a symbol that their mounted warriors had come perpetually to abuse in pillage and plunder.

“It would not be an easy task,” Bryana observed quietly.

“But it’s one Jes has agreed to… as do I,” Gwyn returned. “The northern folk didn’t deserve the Changlings’ attack, and the people of Khirlan do not deserve the Clan’s renewed abuses. No, if there is no success in arranging a peaceful balance, then perhaps it is time the Clan forfeit their precious horde.”

“So you will ride to join Jes in Gronday?”

“And then south with her to Khirlan.” Bryana nodded as her eldest stood, and Gwyn brushed a kiss of farewell along her mother’s brow. “I must tend to packing.”

“I know,” Bryana smiled with a gentle amusement that tempered the rising amarin of her melancholy. “You have the same shimmer of excitement and tension Jes so held in her youth. This season has been an overly long winter in Valley Bay for you, hasn’t it?”

Gwyn flushed a faint brown in admission. But her mother had taken no offense in the truth, and they had parted with that gentle understanding.

Gwyn came out of her memories with a crooked smile and a chuckle. Ril’s head lifted in a curious query, and Gwyn admitted, “She always knows, doesn’t she?”

The sandwolves tilted their heads, attentive and encouraging.

“Bryana — she’d noticed how restless I’d become. We all three had. I hadn’t quite realized it yet, but I’d been looking forward to getting out of Valley Bay. I’ve missed the woods, the travel….”

Ril whined and nuzzled under Gwyn’s arm. Her human gave her a hug, amending gently, “And our time alone together, Dumauz.”

Ty turned about, pushing into Gwyn’s lap from the other side. The knife and wood were set aside as she was welcomed into the embrace.

“Aye, it’s been a long, quiet wintering for all of us… a nice respite. But much too quiet and I get to feeling rather useless. Our skills are better suited to helping these outside folk than dey Sorormin, it would seem.”

In response, Ril sniffed; Gwyn was threatening to become much too serious, much too early in this trip. Ril exchanged a glance with Ty — they’d stop that! The two sandwolves suddenly clambered into Gwyn’s lap, their wet tongues in her face. Laughing, she went over backwards beneath their furry heap.

Ril sneezed with a shake of her head, and the fur at her ruff stood up in little, wet spikes. The silver-green leaves of the drooping trees drenched her again as she pushed through the underbrush, and the dense fur at the crown of her head shed the water, sending trickling streams down across the mud-brown of her face hide. The tips of her small, pointed ears sagged amidst her coarse curls, and her pads made sucking plops as they plowed through the road’s mire.

This was not the sort of weather to be dragging one’s packmates about in, Gwyn thought with a twinge of conscience as she watched her beloved friend trudge along. The two mares on lead behind them didn’t look very happy either. A vagrant breeze stole in past her cloak and Gwyn shivered, correcting her opinion to include herself. This was not the sort of weather anyone should be trudging about in.

She sighed and the saddle creaked as she shifted. Of all the things the ancient Founding Mothers had blessed the Niachero with, the one thing Gwyn did not appreciate was this ultra-sensitivity to cold and damp. It was enough to make one retire from travel permanently. At the moment, it was not an option — which left them all wet and plodding on towards the Marshals’ lodgings in the Gronday Traders’ Guild.