“And perhaps invading Luap’s mind, making him prey on your power—” Seri shivered, and shook her head. “Which still leaves us with the practical problem of what do we do? They won’t listen to us; we can’t get them away, even if that is the right answer. I can try to cajole Luap into letting me double the guardposts, make some patrols, but it won’t be enough if what I suspect is coming.”
Aris looked at her. “We can either leave now—as soon as we can—and hope to strengthen ourselves enough at a distance to come back in force—or we can stay, and try to resist the influence here. It depends on how long we think we have; I suspect we have very little time.”
“Yes.” Seri gnawed on the side of her thumb like the child she had been, raked at her unruly hair, and sighed. “I should have realized earlier—”
“No.” Aris was as surprised as Seri when his light came and flooded the space between the trees. “We don’t have time for that; we must put aside regrets and guilt and do what we can now.”
For the first time in many years, her light matched his; he watched the old confidence and courage flow back into her, the old enthusiasm kindle.
“They know,” the black-cloaked spy said. “That Girdish woman Marshal—”
“I told you we should have killed her before now—” hissed one of the watchers.
“And I forbade. She kept the healer happy, unaware. What does she know?”
“That their prince has not aged, and that the power for that came from the healer, and not from the prince. That some magery prevented anyone noticing.”
“And the healer?”
A soft unpleasant chuckle. “The prince had a sudden urge to go here, and then there—where the healer and woman did not think to seek. And we arranged a diversion—”
“Without asking me?” the edged voice of their leader brought absolute silence to the chamber.
“Lord, we had to do something.”
“So. And you did what?”
“Loosened a stone beneath a child’s foot; he fell, and required the healer. Such things are easy now, the way the mortals have burrowed into the stone. They have prepared their own doom, even as you, lord, said they would. We sapped more energy from the healer as he worked, and no one knew. He will sleep long, and waken tired and confused. It will give us a day, perhaps two.”
“So . . . now, now at last we may act. True, the game has lasted just over a score of years—but for some of them it has been a lifetime.”
A shiver of delight, hardly audible, disturbed the silence with the faint rustle of black robes. Eyes and teeth gleamed. They knew already which would go where, and do what. Immortal hatred burned in their eyes, immortal pride. Vengeance at last on the proud sinyi who had imprisoned them; vengeance at last on the mortals who had dared to meddle in immortal quarrels; vengeance on the foolish prince, and his more foolish followers. Through the stone itself, rotted from their malice, they moved in darkness and silence.
Chapter Thirty
The guard on the eastern post saw the smoke dark against the first glow of dawn, and sent for Seri, who sent for the Rosemage. By then the light had strengthed; they had to squint against the glow of the rising sun. The Rosemage eyed the smoke columns and said nothing. Seri said, “That’s all the way to the head of the canyon, lady. Duriya and Forli are up that far. . . .”
“And the others?”
“The caravan route, the upper valley. Probably the other part of it, where we’ve been pasturing the horse herd.”
“And your assessment?”
Seri scowled. “If we had enemies, if someone wanted to cut us off from the east, that would do it.”
“And if they wanted to move on us, they’d be coming down, from higher ground. Like a spring flood.”
“But we don’t know yet it is an enemy. Or who?”
“You smell trouble as clearly as I do, Seri.” The Rosemage, in morning sunlight, looked like an image made of silver and ivory, her hair concealed in a shining helm. “And I, since our lord Luap is not qualified in this, at least, will take a troop up the canyon to see what it is.”
“Not alone,” Seri said.
“No—but if it is magery of some sort, I will know it. I will send word.”
“If you can,” Seri muttered. “They haven’t, unless that smoke is their warning.” She meant those who had chosen to live at the head of the canyon, carving their home where the seasonal waterfall could make a glittering curtain for its porch. And those who lived in that first valley along the caravan way.
“Perhaps that danger surprised them,” the Rosemage said. “It won’t surprise me.” She strode away, to the entrance of the stair down to the great hall. Aris, ignored in this exchange, sucked his cheeks.
“She is a warrior,” he said to Seri. It was half-plea, half excuse.
“She is,” Seri said, “but she’s a long stretch of her life from a war. As are we all.”
“She’s the best we have,” Aris said. Then, with a look at the expression on her face, he added, “Barring you, of course.”
Seri turned on him. “Me! Don’t be ridiculous. Aside from grange maneuvers, I have never been in battle, or commanded; I have the training, yes, but that’s all. What I know—what I feel—” She stopped, brooding away eastward toward the distant columns of smoke. “I could have, Ari—and I can’t tell you how I know, but I’m right in this. It was my parrion, but no one wanted it, and I had to find my own way to it . . . and now, when I’m older than Gird was when he commanded, now our lives may depend on it. Because you’re right, even though it is ridiculous: I am the best we have. Better than the Rosemage, because like Gird I know what I don’t know.”
Aris touched her arm. “Seri—it’s all right. It will be all right. It could be a fire, some child careless in learning magery—”
“No. Three fires, the same day, almost the same time? Have you forgotten our talk yesterday? No, it’s an attack, from whom or what we can’t know. But we had best find out.”
Far below, the clatter of horses’ hooves echoed off rock walls, coming to them as a confused stutter. A thin shout and the sweet resonance of a horn call reached them: the Rosemage must have flown through the halls, he thought, and put a flame on someone, to be out and moving so quickly.
“Find me a replacement,” Seri said. “She’s our commander, but if she doesn’t come back—” Aris made a warding sign without thinking; she scowled at him. “This is not a child’s game, Aris. Hurry.”
Whatever the Rosemage had said, as she passed through, had affected the mageborn as a stick would an anthill. Aris heard the noise before he was well down the stairs, and met half a dozen on the way up. One only had the armband of a trained lookout; that one he grabbed and held until the boy actually met his eyes. “Go up, and do whatever Seri tells you,” he said. “You’re on duty now.” Then he himself went on down. He knew what she would want; he could start seeing to it. And he could prepare himself for the healing that would be necessary.
In the great hall, no one ran: it never occurred to anyone that running was possible. But Aris hurried, stretching his long legs, and then jogged steadily along the corridors, dodging those who tried to grab his sleeve and ask questions. He caught a glimpse of Luap, who was surrounded by a sea of bobbing heads and waving arms. He saw a sturdy yeoman, half-mage, whom Seri respected, and waved him over. “Seri’ll be coming down,” he said. “She’ll explain; wait for her, but tell anyone she would want.”
In the kitchens, the cooks were heading toward the lower entrance; Aris called them back. “We’re going to need food,” he said firmly. “We’ll have people coming in; we’ll have marching rations to prepare—”
“The Rosemage took all we had—” grumbled one.
“Then start making more. In case of wounded, I’ll want broth and soup, and I’ll need space at one hearth for a row of small kettles of herbs.”