“People of Avonar, brave warriors, defenders of the Vales, of the city, of the last hope of the worlds, I have called you here in grief and in hope, to tell you of great changes in the world.”
The hair rose on the back of my neck. Though his speech was not shouted in the usual harshness of public oratory, I could hear him as clearly as if he stood three paces from my seat.
“Four years ago I swore an oath to break the bonds of terror forged by those who rule in Zhev’Na. I promised to serve you in the ways laid down for D’Arnath’s Heirs, to heal the wounds of war, and to nurture my son to follow after me, so that life could thrive in all the worlds that have been given into our care. In all of these things I have failed.”
No breath, no cry, no whisper of sound muted the stark clarity of his judgment.
“Every man and woman within sound of my voice has lost someone to the evil that is Zhev’Na; you have seen your sons and daughters, your parents, brothers, sisters, and cousins enslaved, tortured, driven mad, or slain. You know that my family has suffered alongside yours, and that only by the talent and skill of your Preceptors do I live to walk the beauteous hills of Avonar. Tonight I have come to tell you that with me, the line of D’Arnath will end.”
My body, mind, and spirit turned to stone, while throughout the commard the long-held breath of rumor and speculation was released at last. From here and there a mournful wail arose, only to be quickly hushed when Karon began to speak again.
“My son, who was acknowledged five years ago before the Preceptors of the Dar’Nethi, has been corrupted by the Lords of Zhev’Na. By his own hand was his mother, my beloved wife, struck down, and by his acts were the Preceptors Jayereth and Gar’Dena and the Circle of our most brilliant Talents destroyed. His guilt is clear, his subjugation to the Lords indisputable, and at one hour past dawn tomorrow, he will die for these acts. My own hand must accomplish this terrible deed, for only the Heir of D’Arnath can judge a Dar’Nethi life too evil, too dangerous, too broken to continue. This is a bitter sorrow for Gondai as well as for me, and I will need all of your strength to enable me to encompass such grief.
“But you must not lose heart, for the crooked paths take us to the most unexpected places, places beyond our dreaming, and for those who follow the Way, our sorrows bring us power. In the choosing of my new successor have I been forced to give thought to all our troubles, our life, our history, our strengths, our failures, all that I - and you - have become in this interminable war, and I have come to the conviction that the changes thrust upon us by these dread events will be the key to our future. For too long I have been so absorbed in my own distress, in my anger, and in my determination to right every evil according to my own lights that I lost sight of the Way, lost the clear vision that it offers us. Many of us have lost the Way over the past thousand years. It is the greatest evil the Lords have done to us - to make us destroy our best selves.
“The Preceptor Ce’Aret has taught me how the Heir can name a successor not of his own blood, and at dawn tomorrow so I will do. Avonar is graced by a community of worthy men and women, every one of whom has the welfare of our people at heart, every one of whom is unyielding in vigilance against the depredations of Zhev’Na, every one of whom is undisputed in courage and devotion. But only one man’s vision has allowed him to see the true threat and to hold steadfast through slander and dishonor and false accusations to prove his mettle. He it is whom I have judged most worthy of D’Arnath’s legacy.”
Those seated on the balcony had been nodding solemnly all during Karon’s words, but now several of them began to shift uneasily. Old Ustele leaned toward Men’Thor, poking at his son’s chest while he whispered in his ear. But Men’Thor pushed the old man’s hand away and arranged his robes to his liking once again, looking as if he were already breathing the rarefied air of royalty.
Karon took no note of those behind him. “When my day is over and a new Heir must take my place, his hand will guide you with wisdom and serve you with grace, and he will lead you to the renewal, not only of the Wastes, but of yourselves. Thus from all of us, not from the Heir alone, will come the power to maintain D’Arnath’s Bridge and restore our world. From midnight tonight will my successor stand alone in vigil at the Bridge, and at dawn tomorrow will he be invested with the knowledge of the Heir, to hold in trust until such time as I can no longer serve. On this night, in the presence of the host of Avonar, do I, D’Natheil, the only legitimate Heir of the mighty D’Arnath, name as my successor Ven’Dar yn Cyran. Ce’na davonet, Ven’Dar, teca Giré D’Arnath!”
From the crowd swelled murmurs of wonder, of disbelief, of confusion and dismay that the Prince had gone mad to name one that two days of rumors had claimed dead or disgraced. But when Ven’Dar stepped through the door at the back of the balcony, opened his palms, and knelt to Karon, the murmurs erupted into cries of joy and approval, of hope long held close and faith renewed, until the sound rolled through the city like a hurricane. Discontent rumbled beneath the wind, not a few jeers and shouts of anger invoking the name of Men’Thor. But when Karon raised up Ven’Dar and embraced him, the roar from the people came almost as one, “Ce’na davonet, Ven’Dar, teca Giré D’Arnath!” All honor to you, Ven’Dar, next Heir of D’Arnath. “Ven’Dar! Ven’Dar!”
Mem’Tara rose immediately and bent her knee to Ven’Dar, and Ce’Aret, after a stunned moment, embraced the Word Winder as if he were one of her long-lost sons. But Ustele folded his arms and maintained his seat, while Men’Thor and Radele and two or three others abruptly disappeared from the balcony through the doors at the back.
“He’s killed him,” I said to no one and everyone.
“Did he not say tomorrow?” said Bareil, softly, from behind me.
“No, not Gerick - not yet - but Ven’Dar. He has purposely humiliated Men’Thor before the host of Avonar. He cannot believe Men’Thor will accept it. Ven’Dar’s life is at terrible risk.”
“Surely then, the Prince will watch.”
Surely… Of course. Enrage Men’Thor so he’ll make a mistake. Remove his threat by catching him in undeniable treachery. And name Ven’Dar as the successor, so that when Gerick is dead…
As thunder follows the lightning flash, I saw the truth at last. I did not know Karon’s plan, but I knew what was to be its result. He was going to die, too - and not just the part of him that was my husband. At some time in the past hours, he had decided he was not going to leave D’Natheil behind to destroy Avonar.
“My lady, I must… are you all right? You look unwell.”
Wordless, I waved off Bareil’s hand. I was very much not all right.
“I must go to the Prince, my lady, as I was commanded. Is there a message I could carry for you?”
There was far too much, even for a Dulcé, who could bear the knowledge of a hundred libraries at once. What could be said?
“Just tell him… I understand the implications of his choice.”
And at last I also understood why it was so important that I remain hidden. I was evidence against Men’Thor. If Men’Thor detected Karon’s trap or decided to bide his time, Karon needed evidence to indict him anyway. He would want to leave Ven’Dar free to teach and to guide the people of Avonar without the threat of Men’Thor’s meddling. And I had left Roxanne in the Precept House, carrying the knowledge of my existence and my whereabouts. Fool of a woman, why didn’t you think?
And in all my newfound understanding, I found no hope for Gerick. In his attempt at Calle Rein, Karon had discovered something that precipitated this convoluted strategy, and I could unravel no twisting of plot and no cleverness of words that was going to keep Gerick alive. Vaguely I considered making my way down to his prison again, but his cell had no visible lock, and I had no shred of power. I had come to the limits of my abilities and understanding.