"Your questions deserve answers, not platitudes or religious cant. But he must decide for himself what is right. I cannot give him answers, nor can you." He shrugged expressively. "I do not know what his answers will be, nor can I say what he will do once he finds them. That will come as Vkandis wills."
The Herald watched him with narrowed eyes, gray eyes, which marched well with his straight brown hair, the color of old leaves. You would never notice him in a crowd, so long as he was not wearing the expression he bore now. Which, Tirens supposed, was the point....
"How did you know?" the Herald asked, his voice low and potent with threat.
"That you are a Herald?" The old man grinned. "I did not know it until this visit, when I had need to know. I have the sight, at need. At those times, I can sense things that are not apparent."
His guest was not in the least mollified. "Why did you grant me guest-right, Tirens Mul-Par, if you knew what I am?" he demanded harshly.
Tirens sipped his wine. "I have a granddaughter," he said. "A little above damn's age. She has a daughter, a lovely child in my eyes, who laughs at the stories of her greatgrandsire, and who loves him as much as he loves her. She is only nine years old. A dangerous age, in Karse."
The Herald relaxed, just a trifle. "They test children in the temple at their tenth birthdays...."
"Exactly so." He allowed his smile to fade. "She tells me stories as well, of dreams in the night. At times, those dreams come to pass.'.'
The light of understanding blossomed in the Herald's eyes. "Dreams can be dangerous — in Karse."
The old man nodded, curtly. "I wish her and her mother to be taken someplace where dreams are not so dangerous. Before we have visitors in the night."
The Herald tilted his head to one side. "Her father may have something to say about that," he ventured.
Tirens waved his hand hi dismissal. "Only if he chooses to return from the hosts at Vkandis' right hand, where the priests pledge me he has gone," he replied.
The Herald chuckled at that, and relaxed further. His hand made an interesting little movement, that told Tirens the dagger had returned to its home. "When?" he asked only.
"Tomorrow," the old man said firmly. "I have already made the arrangements. My granddaughter is privy to them, and just as anxious as I for her daughter's safety. They will not inconvenience you. In fact," he allowed a twinkle to creep into his eyes, "a prosperous scholar, with a Karsite wife and child, returning from visiting relatives, is not likely to be questioned by anyone, so long as be is careful to stay within law and custom. Which his Karsite wife will be sure to impart to him."
The Herald coughed gently. "I can — ah — see that."
Tirens still had not heard the promise he wanted.
"Please," he said, resorting to beggary. "Please, take them to safety. You will have no cause to regret this."
But the Herald had not been reluctant after all. "Of course I will," he said, a little embarrassed. "I was just — thinking for a moment! Rearranging my trip to account for a new wife and child!" But at Tirens' chuckle, his gaze sharpened. "But what of you, old owl?" he asked, using the name Clarrin had used hi affection.
The old man leaned back in his seat on the couch and sipped his wine. "Oh, I shall enjoy my garden until I die," he said casually. "Life has been ... interesting. But I do not fear to leave it." And before his visitor could ask anything more, he leaned forward with an eagerness that was completely genuine. "And now, Herald of Valdemar, since your other tales have been so fascinating — tell me of the land that my dear ones will live in!"
Clarrin put aside his doubts long enough to bid farewell to his family. It would be many more months before he had another chance to visit them, and without a doubt, by then his niece Liksani would be almost a woman. Already she had the look of his sister Aldenwin about her, and he could not help but remember all the times when it had been Aldenwin who clung to his stirrup and begged him to stay "just one more day."
But when he told Liksani, with a playful shake of his head, that there were no more days left in the visit, she let go and let him mount.
"Uncle Clarrin," she said, her pretty, dark-eyed face solemn, "I almost forgot. I dreamed a tale for you this morning, in the women's garden after sunrise prayers."
He bent down to ruffle her hair. "And what did you dream, little dreamer?" he asked, lightly, thinking it would be a request for a doll, or some such thing.
"I dreamed that a man in armor so bright I could not look at him told me to tell you something," she laughed up at him.
Clarrin went cold inside but managed to keep smiling. "And what thing was that?"
"He said to tell you that — " she screwed her face up in concentration. " — that 'the light is the life and the breath, the flame is the blessing and not life's-ending' ..." she faltered for a moment, then smiled, "... and that 'children should live and laugh and play!' Then he told me to go and play in northern flowers!" she finished, giggling.
A weirding chill raised the hackles on his neck, but somehow Clarrin managed to lean down from his saddle to hug her firmly, lifting her right off her feet as she put her arms around his neck.
"Be happy, Liksani," he ordered gently. "Live and laugh and play, like the shining man told you."
"I'm always happy, Uncle Clarrin. You know that," she giggled as he set her back down on the ground.
Sunlord, keep her happy, he prayed silently, turning his horse to the gate, and leading his seven guards back toward his duty. Sunlord, keep her always happy.
Tirens watched as his grandson rode off down the road to the south. And two candlemarks later, he watched as his granddaughter, Liksani, and six of his seven servants rode off down the road to the north and west. With them, rode the Herald, whose true name Tirens still did not know.
He knew that the Herald was a man of honor. That was all he needed to know.
The sun was directly overhead, the birds singing all about his favorite pavilion, as his one remaining servant served him his finest wine from a fragile crystal goblet. He sipped it with appreciation as he turned the crystal to admire the way it sparkled in the sunlight. This had been one of a set of two, from which he and dear Sareni had drunk their marriage-wine. The shards of the other lay with Sareni in her grave.
Sareni would have approved, he thought, as he drank the last of the wine, and slipped his frail old hand into the bowl of figs where a tiny, rainbow-striped snake was curled. He stirred the figs until he felt a slight sting on his hand, then a sudden lethargy. The goblet fell from his nerveless fingers and shattered on the pavilion floor. He lay back in his couch, watched the snake slip away under the rosebushes, and wondered if Vkandis liked gardens.
Clarrin stirred his noodles with his fork, and stared at nothing at all.
"Captain!" his Corporal-Orderly said sharply, making him jump.
"Yes, Esda?" he replied, wondering if he looked as guilty as he felt.
Evidently not. Esda pouted at him, hands on side-cocked hips, a petulant expression on his face. "Captain," he complained, "you've hardly touched your meal, and I worked very hard making it! What is bothering you?"