Silver mage, p.49
Silver Mage, page 49
Vianor allowed his puzzlement to show. ‘I expected that you would have acted before now on this matter. Why wait so long? You cannot think to squander this chance to take control off all the North?’
She showed him a feral grin. ‘Ah, but I do not, uncle. I will take the North, but I will do it my way, not Darred’s. He wants chaos and enmity, he wants us divided and destroying ourselves, but I will give him peace and unity that will stick in his throat and choke him.’
The meeting took place in a private chamber. Sedaine’s servants had decked out the room with all the richness and elegance Rhiannas had to offer. It was designed to impress, to demonstrate the power of that great nation, and it did so. Lord Delgar’s envoy checked himself as he entered, his eyes drawn to the gilded furnishings and vibrant tapestries before settling on the woman whose presence they honoured.
He was a slight man, his face thin and unremarkable save for the sneer that curled his lips as he took in her lack of personal adornment. In such a grand setting, Sedaine’s plain attire seemed a studied insult, and he allowed himself to be fooled into believing that he dealt with someone unpractised in the ways of state. Rumours of Sedaine’s sudden return after years spent in obscurity had reached Elvelen and, like his master, Lord Olivan assumed that absence had rendered her unfit for royal rule. Relieved to be shown evidence of that, he clearly imagined that the coming talks would be completed swiftly, to his own and his people’s satisfaction.
With a flick of her wrist Sedaine dismissed her attendants, all save Vianor who stood silent and unobtrusive by the door. When they were alone she turned her attention on Olivan, dark eyes regarding him in silence, waiting.
‘Lady Sedaine.’ He greeted her with a brief bow, too brief for titled royalty.
Sedaine raised an eyebrow at the insult, holding out her hand for his kiss. The envoy ignored it, all insolence, while behind him Vianor bristled with anger.
‘Elvelen does not recognise my sovereignty?’ Lothane’s queen asked icily as she withdrew her hand and waved him to a chair. ‘This is not the spirit in which I had hoped to begin our meeting.’
The envoy sat, arranging his robes in courtly elegance that contrasted starkly with her peasant’s garb. Conscious of the difference, and misunderstanding it, the man answered her smoothly. ‘Elvelen recognises that you currently sit on Lothane’s throne. It is the legitimacy of that we question.’
‘Which brings us to the purpose of this meeting,’ Sedaine replied just as smoothly. ‘The execution of the usurper Nathas.’
The envoy’s eyes narrowed. ‘Your choice of language speaks very clearly your position, my lady. Yet Nathas was sanctioned for rule by Lothane’s own high council. We do not deny that you are who you say you are, but if you had wished to make your claim you should have done so before Nathas’s coronation.’ He leant back, coolly confident. ‘You took your country from the hands of its rightful king, and his murder at your hands has yet to be answered for.’
Vianor took a step forwards before a gesture from Sedaine brought him to a halt. She turned a brilliant smile on the smug Elvelian nobleman. ‘His execution,’ she corrected, ‘was a legitimate act of state. You say you do not deny that I am Kaefal’s daughter and his chosen successor. My claim did not need to be made, for it is a fact of my birth. You are the one in error, Lord Olivan.’
The envoy stiffened and began to rise. ‘I see that there is little point in prolonging this meeting. It was my belief that I came here to negotiate reparations for the murder of Lord Delgar’s kinsman. I see now that I was mistaken.’
‘Sit down,’ Sedaine said sharply. ‘Do not be the fool who plunges your country into war. For I assure you, should it come to that, you will soon be disputing my right to yet another throne.’
Olivan paused, finally realising that all was not as he had assumed. He looked from Sedaine to Vianor, his confidence visibly shaken.
Sedaine waited until he was seated once more, gesturing to Vianor to bring them wine. As the magician placed an ornate table by her elbow and poured the wine into crystal glasses, she continued to watch her opponent until he turned a sickly green and took refuge in the proffered wine with pathetic gratitude.
‘My terms,’ she said at last. ‘Elvelen stands down, forgets this nonsense of war, and offers fealty to me as high queen of the North. In return I will allow your own king to remain in power as my sworn vassal, and remove the levies raised on goods passing between both our countries.’
The envoy choked, spluttering wine all over his fancy robes. ‘High queen of the North? My lady, this is madness! Why in the Maker’s name should we agree to your sovereignty over us?’
‘Because if you do not, I will simply take it,’ Sedaine replied with a smile that was all sharp edges and little warmth. ‘Let me make myself clear, my lord. I intend to bring Elvelen under my rule, just as my father did with Naveen, but I would rather not waste lives to do so. We will be needing them soon enough.’
The envoy shook his head in astonished disbelief. ‘You intend? My lady, we care not for your pretensions, nor your threats. You cannot simply decide to take what you please and expect us to capitulate. Your claim to Elvelen will never be upheld in the South. They would cease all trade, cut off your supplies, as they would any other usurper. Even if you could take my country, you could never hold it.’
Sedaine shrugged. ‘The South is unimportant,’ she declared, stunning him once more with the depths of her audacity. ‘It is already lost. No, my lord. The southern states no longer signify. Only the North can be saved, and I will do all that is in my power to ensure that it does. United we may give ourselves a chance of survival but divided and warring we will be crushed just as surely as the South will be.’
Olivan set down his glass with nerveless fingers to hide his sudden lurch from composure. ‘I do not understand you, my lady. What is this threat that demands such action? What enemy is powerful enough to swallow the South and threaten us?’
Sedaine nodded to Vianor who stood patiently by her elbow, and the magician related in brief phrases the imminent attempt at conquest from beyond the great sea. He spared none of his people’s involvement with the Kas’Talani priesthood, for Sedaine had been quite clear on that point. There would be no more deception. Elvelen was to be left the autonomous choice to resist or not, and they were to have all the dirty, unpleasant details.
When he had finished, Lord Olivan was ashen. The slight shake had progressed to running tremors. He turned on Sedaine. ‘You? You abetted this?’
She inclined her head, unapologetic. ‘Not knowingly, not willingly, but yes, I played my part. We were all of us used, Nathas most of all. Perhaps now you can understand that, regrettable as it was, his death was necessary.’
‘Necessary?’ the envoy squeaked. ‘I see that it was necessary for their plans, not yours, if you truly wish to undo the harm these foreigners have done.’
‘And I should have let him live?’ Sedaine demanded, her patience beginning to wear thin. ‘Tell me, my lord, I should have allowed a wrongly-sanctioned and crowned king alive to contest my rightful claim? I should have let him live and return to Elvelen, to incite rebellion against this land? If our only hope lies in unity, I should have allowed a living symbol of disharmony free to threaten that?’
Olivan was silent, shaken by her words. He realised for the first time the distaste with which she herself regarded the expedient of Nathas’s death, and caught a glimmer of the desperation underpinning her current stance. Half an hour earlier he would have seized on this, tried to turn it to his advantage, but now it merely made him quake with fear. That this woman, who already held the largest and the richest of the northern kingdoms in her power, was desperate in the face of the threat the magician had outlined, convinced him of the immediacy of the danger.
He stood, hiding his unsteadiness behind the adjustment of snarled robes. ‘You have given me much to consider, my lady,’ he told her, forcing himself to meet her piercing gaze. ‘And much that I must report to my own king. I beg leave to return to Elvelen and put these matters before his Majesty’s council. You will have an answer, I promise you that, though what it will be I cannot say. I fear that the king and his lords will be unwilling to surrender their autonomy, no matter the stakes.’
‘Then you must convince them,’ Sedaine replied, as she also rose. ‘I will not shy from war should it come to that.’
Olivan bowed. ‘That I understand most clearly, my lady.’
She nodded, and when she held out her hand this time he hesitated barely a moment before offering her due courtesy. ‘I will expect your answer before the winter solstice,’ she told him. ‘We do not have time to waste in pointless bargaining. My position will stand unaltered for you to accept or refuse, as you choose, in full understanding of the consequences of either choice.’
‘My lady, you will have an answer before then,’ the envoy assured her. ‘I will see to that.’
‘Well?’ Sedaine asked as the doors closed behind the sweating, obsequious envoy. ‘Can we trust him to convince them?’
‘Here, in your presence, I would say yes,’ Vianor replied, easing himself into the chair recently vacated by Olivan. ‘But once he has returned to his own court and is surrounded by his peers and their guards and garrisons?’ He shrugged. ‘I think he is convinced of the danger, but he is one man. His voice alone will carry little weight in their council.’
‘You think they will resist? We must achieve this peacefully.’
The magician shrugged. ‘You must prepare yourself to do otherwise, my queen.’
Sedaine slammed her hand down on the arm of her chair. ‘To do otherwise is to throw ourselves wide open to conquest! You know this. We must convince Elvelen of the same.’
‘Had you acted sooner –’
‘No!’ She stood, pacing to the window. ‘Had I acted sooner hundreds would already be dead. I had to take this chance, and it is too late for discussions of what might have been. I need your wisdom, uncle, and I need your support. What else can I do?’
Despite himself, aware that she flattered him now to draw the best from him, Vianor felt a surge of pride. ‘Sedaine, you underestimate yourself. I offer you a bleak assessment so you can plan for every contingency. Yes, there is a chance Olivan will fail to convince his betters of the necessity of the price you ask, but there is also a chance he will succeed. My advice to you in the meantime is to begin recruiting. Expand your armies, train them, and have them standing ready for whatever comes, be it war with Elvelen, the South, or the Kas’Talani. Let them see the strength you can bring to bear, and perhaps you will hasten their decision.’
‘Or they may suspect treachery,’ she countered. ‘A show of force now could ruin everything.’
‘Then strike elsewhere while their attention is on Rhiannas,’ he suggested, and saw the sudden stillness of her listening concentration. ‘We both know that Delgar is the true power in Elvelen, the presence of his envoy rather than the king’s only confirms this. Send overtures to him in secret. Let him think you will reward his help by removing King Elian and setting him up in his place. A vassal-king in name, but with your promise of virtual autonomy.’
‘And when he gives me his assistance in expectation of his reward?’
‘You have two choices. Elian dies, or Delgar does. Elian is little more than a boy, while Delgar is a man in the prime of his life. He is strong, but he lacks subtlety. Of the two he would be easier to control, but Elian gives you the greatest chance of stability in Elvelen.’
She turned, looking at him with both admiration and distaste. ‘Your mind is more devious than I suspected, uncle. Your plan has merits, but I cannot be party to the murder of a child, nor a man whose only true fault lies in an ambitious nature and a lack of common sense.’
‘Delgar is more than that, as you know well. Neither is Elian an innocent child. You are well aware of the unpleasant practices that have been resurrected under his brief rule. Slavery for condemned criminals, torture for his enemies. In all this Delgar has supported him.’
Sedaine sighed. ‘So, they are not perfect. No one is. Yet it is not my place to judge them for it.’
‘No yet,’ Vianor replied. ‘But once you are high queen over Elvelen they become your subjects, and if you were to discover some of their more unpleasant secrets, which you would of course make public, who would blame you for acting to remove such cankers from your land?’
This time she laughed. ‘More devious still. I am glad indeed that you are on my side, my lord.’
And, fool though he knew himself to be, Vianor basked in the compliment. ‘Shall I call the scribe?’ he asked. ‘If you send your messages by courier this very day they will reach Delgar before Olivan does. The better for you to have the Valan Lakes in your pocket before the council meets to discuss your terms.’
Part Three
Ephenor
Tesseria
The Second Age
My son is dead.
The words were hollow, meaningless. They could not encompass the enormity of his loss but neither could he move beyond them to confront the gaping hole of Medelin’s death.
Another thought kept intruding.
He killed my son.
Aarkan was his enemy and they were at war. But for hundreds of years before they had been friends.
He had stood as second father to Medelin at his naming.
He had loved the boy as his own.
He had hunted him down and killed him.
He killed my son.
My son is dead.
Lorrimer knew then that there was no way to win the war. There was no outcome they could hope for that would undo the damage already done. They could not win, and Aarkan had already lost.
The doors were flung open and someone entered his sanctuary. He turned slowly, unwilling to let another intrude on this instant of raw pain, and saw Riah. For a moment she stood poised as she searched for him, her body taut with anger, her own pain held numb under tight rein, and his heart mourned anew for the necessity that had forced his people to become warriors. To become killers.
He stepped out of the shadows and she spun towards him. Hair deep red like the autumn leaves framed a face hardened by trials no one should have had to bear. For she was the daughter of Aarkan, and the son Lorrimer had lost had been her lover.
She dropped to her knees, her head bowed in acknowledgment of their shared loss. Lorrimer took her hand to raise her to her feet and he saw in her face what he most feared to see and again the thought came to him. He killed my son. We cannot win this war.
‘Daughter,’ he murmured, breaching her unspoken thoughts. ‘Grieve for Medelin as you will, but do not seek vengeance for his death, I beg you.’
Riah jerked back from his touch, grey eyes blazing. ‘He was your son!’
‘And for that he died. My dear, don’t you see? Medelin was killed for the power his death would have over me. My love can cause no more of my people to die.’
He held out a hand to her as he spoke, but Riah would not even look at him. Her fury singed the air around them into crackling waves of power. Elemental Fire flowed through her, fanning her rage.
‘Coranu stands ready,’ she told him coldly. ‘If you are not prepared to act, we will. I will fight to avenge the man I loved, as you would if you truly loved him!’
She chose her words to wound, but Lorrimer understood that she sought action as an outlet for the turmoil of her emotions. Even so, he could not let it stand.
He felt so old, the weight of the world resting on his shoulders. As he watched Riah struggle against the peaceful tenants of her upbringing to embrace a violence that was never in her nature, he knew that the danger posed by the madness of Aarkan was too great. Even though they fought now to preserve the purity of the world’s elemental harmony, his people could not help but become corrupted by the conflict. Riah’s desire for vengeance against the father who had robbed her of her love was but a natural expression of the hatred nurtured on slow burn to deflect a people’s grief too unbearable to shoulder.
‘He is my father,’ Riah broke in, her words falling like an axe on the splinters of his hopes. ‘It is my right!’
She turned to leave, her intent set in her mind. Spurred to action by the unthinkable consequences of her choice, Lorrimer reached out and touched her mind to stillness. His contact was deft and gentle, and she gave way before him with only the barest flicker of resistance. He had hoarded his secrets too long.
He did not disturb Riah’s active link with Coranu. The dragon was wise beyond human comprehension and she would help steady her rider through the revelations to come. As he slipped into the swift-flowing stream of her consciousness he spun for her the possible futures of the world in harrowing detail.
The war raged on. Fire-blackened, barren landscapes stretched out before them, and a withering pall of despair hung over the land. A dry, cracked riverbed threaded a scar across the country, wending its way towards a shrinking sea. As the land rolled by a fortress appeared, its outline blurred to the eyes by magic twisted to malevolence. The foreground was littered with bleached bones, and from within mindless creatures gave voice to their agony. In the skies above flew horrors to send a man witless—neither human nor dragon, but a soulless embodiment of every selfish impulse in those two races. The human traits that had tempered the wild nature of the dragons were lost, burned away by the terrible course of their merging. Sentient awareness was buried deep past recall and primal instincts scoured the land as magic grown powerfully strong was engaged without conscious restraint.
And yet for all their seeming omnipotence, these creatures were not alone in the world. Small pockets of life existed in resistance, but as her vision surveyed their outposts and scouts, Riah recognised that those who still fought had lost their understanding of their cause. She saw in them the ruthlessness of men and women forced to fight every day to survive, and the magic they raised was kinked and snarled, corrupted by fear and hatred. And she understood that they no longer fought for the survival of the world, for what they had become was no more than a reflection of the evil they opposed.
