[Lanen Kaelar 03] - Redeeming the Lost (57 page)

I had finally managed to find my voice.

“Bloody hellsfire!”

I think I yelled that a touch louder than I
meant to, because there was a brief thunder on the stairs and Will, Maran,
Aral, and Vilkas all piled into the room, the Healers with their coronas
blazing, Maran with a hammer in her hand, Goddess only knew where she kept that
hidden.

“All’s well, all’s well, my friends,” said
Varien, grinning like an idiot. “There’s nothing to see. Not just now. Though I
will give a demonstration later for those who are interested.”

He told them then, in so many words, what had
happened.

I will never forget the stunned amazement on
all of their faces. Vilkas was the best. I never thought to see that
self-contained soul so lose his composure, he was an absolute picture.

“Varien, you’re not serious,” I said finally. “You—I
mean, it’s not possible—”

And Varien laughed, a great hearty laugh from
his belly that woke the babies.

“Lanen Kaelar, you never cease to amaze me. Of
all that has happened to us in the last year, how much is even faintly
possible?”

I smiled slowly. “Very, very little, to be
sure,” I said, kissing Irian, who yawned and went back to sleep.

“Quite right,” he replied, far more softly. He
gently rocked Trezhan until our son fell asleep again.

“Sweet Lady, Varien,” I swore quietly. “What
in all the world and time are you meant to do with that gift?”

“I have no idea,” he said, his face
transformed by utter joy. “But it will surely be a great adventure to find out.”

There is so much yet to say about those times.
The world and everything in it was changing around us, faster than we could
keep up with it. It took a very long time to truly understand all that had
happened.

The twins were born when the harvest was ripe
and the light was warm and golden, a little more than a moon before my own
birth-day at the Autumn Balance-day.

Despite all my fears they did not have either
wings or soul-gems, but they did each have a tiny bump in the centre of their
foreheads where a soulgem would have been. Believe me, I thought long and hard
about that over the next few years. And I only ever told Varien about this,
but—a few weeks after they were born, when we all were sitting outdoors and it
began to be a little chilly, I was sent what Mirazhe calls “a picture of their
thoughts,” in this case a sudden feeling of cold and fear, from the children.
Just like young Sherok’s first efforts. Perhaps he is not strictly the youngest
of the Kantri anymore, I thought very quietly to myself.

The news from all quarters was good. Kedra,
away in the
SuJkith Hills with his
dear Mirazhe and Sherok and that contingent of the Kantri that chose to remain
with them, bespoke us one day with the news that Kretissh and Nikis had
arrived. We laughed heartily, though I felt sorry for poor Nikis. It was not
her fault that she had been caught in the Weh sleep when the rest of the Kantri
had flown the Great Sea! Still, Nikis the Weary she was and remains. The others
have found chambers near the sea, and have tended the lansip trees on behalf of
our whole people. Farmer Timeth takes lansip leaves for his rent, plays with
Sherok, and bids fair to become quite disgustingly wealthy in a few years, when
the trees have grown a little more.

Idai left Beskin soon after the twins arrived.
She and a contingent of the Aialakantri have been working almost constantly
since the day of Shikrar’s death, seeking out the soulgems of those who died in
and around Lake Gand. It took them three years, but they eventually found every
last one. The first, of course, was Shikrar’s, lifted from the midst of Berys’s
cold ashes and cleansed with dragon fire. It gleams now a brilliant, untroubled
red. His soul rests upon the Winds, and hardly a day passes even now that
Varien and I do not miss him.

Varien has been much involved with the
resettlement of the Kantri throughout Kolmar. Idai consults him regularly, and
from time to time she comes to visit. When she arrived with Will and Aral and
stayed until the babes had been born, she of course wished us joy of our
younglings, and told us some of the best news yet. A number of the Kantri and
the Dhrenagan had taken mates in the last few months, and there were already
several younglings on the way. “We have even found a hot spring in the
mountains above Castle Gundar,” she said happily, “and are digging out a
birthing pool. The high mountains are riddled with caves perfect for Weh
chambers for those who require them, and there are many who do. All is well.
Oh, Akhor, all is well at last!”

“It is indeed,” he had said, smiling up at her.
I remember that daft grin of his. He had barery looked away from the twins
since their birth, I practically had to tear them from his arms to let them
sleep in those first weeks. I recall being heartily grateful to Idai, who at
least forced his eyes to focus on something more distant.

Before she left, though, she reminded him that
no matter what his shape, he was still their King. “Do not think that you are
released from your service just because the Winds have given you this
astounding gift,” she said, pretending to a severity she did not feel in the
least. “You are still our Lord and King, by acclamation, and you will not slip
out of your duties so easily.”

“You are Eldest, Idai,” he said. “This is
foolish. Let you call a full Council of our people and choose a new leader from
among you.” He grinned up at her. “Perhaps it is time that we had Queen Idai to
turn to, rather than King Akhor.”

She hissed. “Very well, Lord, if you so
command. A full Council must be attended by two-thirds of the Kantri then on live.
I suspect that enough will have wakened from their Weh sleep in, oh, perhaps
twenty or thirty winters. I will do my best to remember your wishes at that
time.”

Things had changed by then, of course—but that
is another story. Ever since the Kantri came to Kolmar they have insisted on
calling Varien their King. When the bards came to hear the tale of the wild
adventures of that time, they soon heard that part of the story, and the idiots
assumed that that must mean that I should be Queen Lanen. Ha! Never trust the
bards, for they will always change the truth to make a good tale.

One other thing did take me by surprise. When
the twins were a few years old, Varien spoke long with one of the bards and
bought the man’s second-best harp from him. In the years between, he has worked
hard to learn the old tales and has created any number of new ones. My Varien
is well on his way to becoming an extraordinary bard, but then he has an unfair
advantage to begin with. After all, the Kantri are the best singers in the
world.

Trezhan and Irian ta-Varien grew and
flourished as children will, though of course they were the most glorious
children who have ever lived. Varien says that Shikrar always said that about
Kedra, from the moment of his birth.

I think I understand Shikrar a little better
now.

This is the true tale of the Redeeming of the
Lost and the Second
Death of the
Demonlord.

There is more to tell, but then there always
is.

True stories never really end.

First and foremost, I must acknowledge the
usual huge debt of gratitude to my wondrous editor, Claire Eddy of Tor Books.
She has put up with writing delays due to my iffy health, and my getting
slighdy married, with a kind understanding that I probably don’t deserve, and
her sharp insight has, as ever, improved this book vastly.

My sincere thanks again to Deborah Turner
Harris, dear as a sister, whose clearheaded advice and experience have gotten
me out of any number of writing dilemmas—without your help, kiddo, this book
would have been a darn sight more boring, and you may not realise it but your
support and friendship have kept me going when I was ready to throw either the
computer or myself out the window. You’ll never know how much you’ve helped,
Debby. Bless you.

Margaret Lynn Harshbarger for plotting
sessions above and beyond the call of duty, for kicking me when I needed it,
for hauling me back into the path of myth when I was getting lost in mechanics,
and for her eye-opening insights into—well, too much to mention here. Much of
life, actuairy.

Sandy Fleming, friend of many years’ standing,
for chatting to me when I just had to talk to someone, for reading a few
snippets in the interests of a reality check, and for being my Webmaster out of
the kindness of his heart.

Dr. Frank Prior, for stopping me from killing
off the Kantri through ignorance, and for generally keeping me straight on
matters of basic physiology—although to protect his professional reputation he
has refused to let me quote specifics about which I have consulted him. Understandably.
However, any medical idiocies perpetrated herein are my own doing, and have
occurred despite Franks kind assistance rather than because of it.

Catherine and John Mac-Donald, for their
generous willingness to be interrupted and keep me right on matters of
midwifery and pregnancy, and to Kirsty Nicol, dear friend, for information
about being on the sharp end, as it were, of pregnancy. Again, any missteps are
my own entirely.

Christopher, as ever, for putting up with
frantic calls at all hours, for staunch friendship, for his delight in the
language, and for being the voice of reason for me when I couldn’t think in a
straight line.

And finally, ever and always, my deepest
thanks go to my best-beloved, Steven Beard, dear friend for many years and now
my treasured husband, who has carried an infinite number of cups of tea up the
stairs over the last three years and never once threw one over me, richly
though I may have deserved it. The man brings me toasted apple and cinnamon
bread to keep me going, for goodness’ sake. What more could a girl want?

I couldn’t have done it without you, my dears.
I hereby owe you a beer. Each.

—Elizabeth

Aialakantri—OS for the Awakened Kantri, who were the
Lesser

Kindred. Ceat—OS, a thousand years. Chelan—name of a
plant and the brew made from it. It is drunk

as a stimulant. We would say it tastes rather like
mate with a

hint of cinnamon. Dhrenagankantri—OS for the Restored
Kantri, who for five

thousand years were the Lost. Ferrinshadik—the
longing felt by (esp.) the Greater Kindred to

join in fellowship with the Gedri, though it is
described more

generally as the desire to speak with other races.
Gedrishakrim—humans. Usually shortened to Gedri. OS, “the

silent people.” Kadreshi na—“beloved of” is the
nearest translation in English.

An endearment between lovers. Kairtach—a curse that
is also an intensifier. I refuse to translate.

The Kantri would not be pleased if I did, and it
would not reflect well on them. Kantriasarikh—the OS word for the language of
the Kantri—

shakrim.

Kantrishakrim—the Greater Kindred of Dragons
(originally all dragons). OS “the wise people.” Usually shortened to Kantri.

Kell—OS, a hundred years.

Khaadish—OS word for gold.

Language of Truth—the telepathy natural to the
Kantri. It also has elements of empathic awareness. The Gedri call it
Far-speech.

Lansip—name of a tree and the brews made from it. It
grows only where dragons dwell, all attempts at transplanting to solely human
regions have failed. Made into tea it is a tonic and general remedy for minor
ailments, from headache to heart’s sorrow; taken in quantity, it is an elixir
of youth. Lan fruit, the precious and rare fruit of the lansip tree, is a
sovereign remedy, and when eaten fresh will heal nearly anything short of
death.

Lesikrithic—a cripple among the Kantri, one who has
lost a limb or sustained a wound that cannot be healed by Weh sleep and yet
lives.

Old Speech—(OS) the name in the common tongue for the
language created by the Kantri and used by all the peoples before the Choice.
Since that time it has developed into distinctly separate languages.

Rakshadakh—demon droppings (that is the polite
translation). It is the ultimate insult as far as the Kantri are concerned, and
generally refers to a demon master or one who is tainted by the Rakshasa.

Rakshasa—(obs. form Rakshi) demons. Singular, Raksha
(greater demon) or Rikti (lesser demon). OS: “people of chaos.” This is plural
because, at the time of the Choice, the Rakshasa were already differentiated
into two distinct peoples.