Crown of Renewal Page 17

  “As he would,” Kieri said. “You heard this from—?”

  “Captain—Duke Arcolin as he is now. I arrived in time for the burial.”

  “Thank you for coming to tell me,” Kieri said. In the years since he had seen Stammel last, he had never been able to imagine him blind—he knew, but his mind refused to see anything but the same steady, tough, capable sergeant, brown eyes clear and keen. Now he thought back to the young Stammel, the Stammel of his recruit cohort. “I can’t … I can’t imagine him dying any other way than that.”

  A servant knocked then and brought in a tray with a pitcher and glasses and a plate of pastries. Kieri poured and handed a glass to Paks, then took one himself and a pastry.

  “So is that why you come?”

  “Not only that.” She looked at him. “I am in search of a Kuakgan; the Marshal-General was attacked by iynisin and suffers wounds that do not heal properly. Marshals and paladins have tried, but it is with her as it was with me. We know of no healing but through a Kuakgan, but there are none in Fintha. Most in Tsaia are bound to their Grove and do not travel far or long. Master Oakhallow will have her, if she will come there, but says he cannot go so far. He has asked some who wander to come to me here—it was the closest way.”

  “So it is not our need for a paladin? Glad as I am to see you again, Paks, it’s a relief to know it’s not our problem.”

  “No … but you seem especially happy. Is it the children? How old are they?”

  “Twins,” Kieri said. “Born today. You will have to see them, but not this moment. I hope Arian’s gone to sleep.” He took another swallow of sib. “Tell me, what does Gird think of the Marshal-General’s injuries?”

  “I cannot tell.” Her nose wrinkled. “It’s complicated. When I was a recruit, I had to learn to obey orders I did not understand, but Stammel taught us ways to understand them—the why of things we had to do. Now—I am sometimes given orders, very clear, and sometimes know why and sometimes do not. I know Gird wants me to find a Kuakgan, but it’s not in words. Just … feeling. And at times, I have nothing to do but … be.”

  “Hmm. As a king, I am supposed to know why I give the orders I do … I certainly did know, when I was a mercenary captain.”

  Paks looked at him, a penetrating look from those gray eyes; he wondered how far in she could see.

  “You have changed,” she said. “The seeming younger—that’s the elven blood, of course—but now there’s … it’s almost like … the Lady.”

  “You do know she died—”

  “I heard,” Paks said. “And how. But—are you then her heir? Is that what I sense?”

  “That is a very long story, but in short—yes, in a way that confounds both elves and humans. Not so much of the ability to form an elvenhome as my grandmother—the Lady—had. More than any human should have as far as elves are concerned, but since the choice was the complete loss of it or my lesser version, there are still elves in Lyonya.”

  “And the Lady had taught you how to do whatever it is?”

  “No,” Kieri said. “My mother wished me to have the elvenhome talent, and the Lady—did not. They quarreled, over that and other things. I discovered the talent last summer in the very place my mother died and I was taken.”

  “You found that place?”

  “Yes, by accident or the gods’ design.” Kieri took another pastry; he was suddenly ravenous. Through a mouthful, he said, “You did know that Arian’s father was a western elf, and his father the elf-lord somewhere near Kolobia?”

  “No!” Paks stared. “I knew such an elf had come to the Marshal-General and ordered her to remove the enchanted magelords from the hall there, but she did not know how. The iynisin who captured me had once been captive in solid rock, but the elf told the Marshal-General they escaped because of the magelords coming to Kolobia, mostly Luap. When whoever enchanted the magelords was done, the elves thought the chamber sealed—but it opened again when the expedition I was on went there to search for the place. We were able to use the elven transfer patterns, and that let the iynisin free again.” She stopped for a moment, her brow furrowed. “Do you mean the elf who came to the Marshal-General is actually Queen Arian’s grandfather?”

  “Yes. There’s a very long, tangled tale involving my grandmother and her grandfather—not a tale to tell on a happy occasion, as there was no happy outcome. But he came to me and told me that I am the one who must remove the magelords, supposedly because the elves can tell that the magery used to enchant them contained elven, magelord, and Old Human components. How I am to do that, I have no idea. I’d studied elven magery before the Lady was killed, and Dorrin Verrakai has agreed I have some magelord talent, but … I don’t even know what spells were used.” He shook his head, running his hands through his hair. “Arian’s grandfather—privately we call him Grandda Elf, though I suspect he would not like that—agreed I should not do any great magicks around her while she was expecting or while they were too young. He did not define ‘too young,’ and I hope he doesn’t come back for years and gives us some peace.”

  “But more and more iynisin are emerging,” Paks said. “Something must be done.”

  “We had them here; that’s how the Lady died,” Kieri said, nodding. “I agree it’s important to do something, but first I must learn how. Without endangering Arian or the babies. And while doing everything else I need to do as king of Lyonya.”

  “When I was a girl in Three Firs—” Paks began.

  Kieri interrupted. “Have you ever gone back to see your family, Paks? I know you wanted to.”

  “I did want to. Sometimes now I want to. But … I don’t know why, but I know I mustn’t go until I’m told to go.” She looked sad for a moment, then brightened. “It’s for their safety, I think. My being there would bring trouble to them.”

  “You started to say something else,” Kieri said.

  “Oh. Yes. Well, when I was a girl in Three Firs and heard the old tales about kings and queens and elves and witches and such things, I thought kings sat on a golden throne and did nothing all day but give orders.”

  “What did you think of that?”

  “It sounded boring. Sit all day and tell people what to do? I would rather do things myself. You do, don’t you?”

  “Indeed. Ride, fence in the salle, hold Council with the Siers … though that is sitting and talking, I admit.”

  “Sir king?” That was one of the Queen’s Squires at the door.

  “Yes—is Arian all right?”

  “Oh, yes. She wants you to bring the guest up to see the babies.”

  Paks greeted Arian and looked closely at the two sleeping babies.

  “They’re twins, but they’re not alike.”

  “No. The dark-haired one’s the boy. We named him Falkieri, for Kieri’s father, and Dameroth, for my father. The girl’s name is Estil for Estil Halveric and Merrandlyn for my mother and Kieri’s—the names combine well.”

  “Will they have Kieri’s talent?”

  “Perhaps,” Arian said. “We hope so.”

  “Though I don’t think the western elves have that hope,” Kieri said. “Perhaps they’ll get used to it.” He touched Arian’s cheek. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

  “That’s what everyone says. And I’m wide awake. The midwife and Estil Halveric tiptoed away thinking I was asleep … but I’m not.” She looked at Paks. “Did you come just to see the babies?”

  Paks explained her errand.

  “Good,” Arian said. “I’d like to see a Kuakgan again myself. Last year, when we were trying to find the source of the poison, I was so upset—I would like to learn more about them. Maybe we could do something to heal the enmity between elves and Kuakkgani.”

  “I don’t think that’s likely,” Kieri said. “Lessen it, maybe—with my elves—but ending it would require them to change long-held notions about the proper way to interact with the taig.”

  “Maybe that’s not the only proper way to interact with the taig,�
� Arian said.

  “If it was, elves could heal iynisin wounds,” Paks said. “And they can’t, can they?”

  “No.”

  “Yet what Master Oakhallow did for me, besides removing the bit of iynisin weapon left in me, all involved the taig. I don’t understand it; I was asleep for some of it.”

  “Dorrin told me about the Kuakgan healing one of her squires’ injuries,” Kieri said. “The lad’s father had the same objection to that healing as the elves: mixing the natures of plants and other living things. And from what I hear, the boy’s thumbs did look woody at first. But the tendons healed in his legs, and he has thumbs. Finally his father accepted it … what else could he do? Cut the lad’s thumbs off again?”

  “What was the poison?” Paks asked.

  “Last year? Melfar, hidden in a cake of farran. It was a wedding gift; cooks had used it to flavor pastries for the feast.” Arian’s head drooped. “Every pregnant woman who ate it lost the child.” When she looked up again, her expression was angry. “It was an elf who did it. An elf who tried to kill Kieri later.”

  “And who, I’m certain, arranged my mother’s death and my capture,” Kieri said. “But she is dead now, and we are here with two healthy babies and a paladin. Who should not be hearing such dark things.” The babies had waked, their little faces contracting into a mass of red furrows.

  “Ah, youngling.” Paks scooped up the girl, who was nearer her side of the bed. She nuzzled the baby’s hair. “You, littling, you are so lucky.” To Kieri’s surprise, the baby’s face relaxed, and Paks began to sing softly. “Sweet one, little one, your mama’s a queen, sweet one, little one …”

  Kieri picked up his son, then sat on the edge of the bed. “All’s well, lad,” he said, and yawned deliberately. “Oh, we’re sleepy, all of us, aren’t we … or are you hungry?”

  “They’re probably hungry.” That was the midwife in the doorway, hands on her hips. “I came up to wake the queen and find a roomful of chatter—”

  “I wasn’t asleep,” Arian said. “And I’m hungry.”

  “I’ll tell them to send something up,” Kieri said, handing his armful to the midwife. “Come on, Paks.” Paks grinned and laid the girl in Arian’s arms.

  “Has anything been found in Kolobia to explain how the magelords were enchanted or by whom?” Kieri asked as they made their way downstairs.

  “Not that I know,” Paks said. “But I haven’t looked at everything. I would expect the elves to know. You said they talked about three kinds of magery.”

  “They don’t know who, or how, but the magery—I suppose they can sense it. I can tell if magery’s being used.” He told the first servant he saw to send a meal up to Arian’s chamber and another to prepare a room for Paks.

  Near sundown, a man in a Kuakgan’s dark green leaf-patterned robe came to the palace gate while Kieri was on his way back from a trip to the King’s Grove to give thanks for the births.

  “It is not more poison, is it?” he asked Kieri. “You must be the king, with this retinue.” He glanced at the King’s Squires.

  “I am the king,” Kieri said. “Kieri is my name. And no, it is not more poison. The paladin Paksenarrion asked Master Oakhallow to find a Kuakgan who could travel to meet her here. The Marshal-General of Gird has been wounded by iynisin. Come inside; Paks will be glad to see you.”

  “I was not sure how hard it would be,” the Kuakgan said. “Usually the elvenhome repels us.”

  “I have no quarrel with Kuakkgani,” Kieri said.

  The Kuakgan looked at him, brows raised. “You—but it’s not your elvenhome; you’re but half-elf—”

  “Yes, it is, now,” Kieri said. “It is complicated and I will be glad to tell you about it later, but you need to talk to Paksenarrion first.”

  They went inside together and found Paks sitting with the same doorward, demonstrating how to darn holes in the man’s socks. He was barefoot, working on one sock while she did the other. “Now if you reinforce the heels when you knit them—”

  “I don’t knit my own socks,” the doorward said. “I don’t have time.”

  “Do you have time to darn? It takes longer than knitting something the same size.”

  The doorward caught sight of Kieri and the Kuakgan and jumped up, dropping the sock. Paks reached out and caught it. “Sir king, I’m sorry—”

  “Finish your darning lesson,” Kieri said. “Paks, here is a Kuakgan come looking for you. Master—?”

  “Sprucewind. Like Master Elmholt, from whom I heard about the poisoning done here, I am a wanderer, not having bonded to a Grove. I had word by root from Oakhallow that I was needed here.” He turned to Paks. “And I am told you come on behalf of the Girdish Marshal-General, wounded by iynisin.”

  “Indeed,” Paks said. She had given one sock back to the doorward and still worked on the other. She told him what she had told Kieri. “It happened to me, as well. Wounds that faded and then flared, exhaustion and weakness, and no other healing seemed to work. I remembered Oakhallow and what he did for me, but he does not travel so far.”

  “Hmmm.” A hum like a hive of bees trembled on the air. “Are you sure all the fragments of the weapon are out of the wound?”

  “We think so, sir, but one was stuck right in the bone, high on her arm. We could not tell if all came out or if it broke off.”

  “And where is she?”

  “In Fin Panir. Do you know where that is?”

  “West of Tsaia, in Fintha … Tell me, what trees are there?”

  “Not many. Pickoak, a scrubby ash, juniper … it’s dry there, you see.” Then, to the doorward, “No, pull that back out—it goes in the other way … yes … and then out there. Now another one.”

  “No stretches of forest? No spruce?”

  “None.”

  “Then she will have to come nearer or I must find a spruce—at least a fir—willing to come with me. My powers of healing depend on the trees. It is so with all of us. How bad are her wounds? Can she travel at all?”

  “Not when I left,” Paks said. “But if hers are like mine were, her strength will vary—she will grow stronger again and then weaker. I think she will not travel this far, sir. She has duties there; she will stay.”

  “Then I must find a tree,” Sprucewind said. “It will take some time. I will go to Fin Panir as soon as I find one.”

  “Wait,” Kieri said. “Will you not stay the night at least?”

  “I travel mostly at night,” Sprucewind said. “It is cooler then.” He smiled at both of them. “Fare well, king of Lyonya, and thank you for the welcome of your elvenhome. Paksenarrion, I smell fir upon you, a gracious scent and kin to my birth-tree. May the firs you left behind grow tall and straight.” Then he turned and walked out into the dusk.

  “There are firs in Three Firs,” Paks called after him. She was not sure he heard.

  “You will stay a night or two at least, won’t you?” Kieri asked.

  “Until I’m called away,” Paks said. “It feels peaceful here. I think it’s your magery.”

  “Elvenhomes are supposed to be peaceful,” Kieri said. “But I’m not sure about one with a soldier for a lord.”

  A day or so later, Paks asked Kieri about how he had come to create an elvenhome. He told her in more detail about finding the place where his mother had died, the relics risen from the ground, and all the elven woman, the traitor, had told him. “That night she used elven magery to lure me away from the others and would have killed me if I had not killed her.”

  “You killed a full elf? In spite of her magery?”

  “Yes. And after that, I realized that the taig recognized me. I was surrounded with elvenhome light. When I collected the branches to lay on her, they fell into my hands.” He sighed. “And with that death ended the mystery that has haunted my life. A waste, all around. But I need not fear anything like that again. The taig itself tells me that none of the other elves here are traitors. My children will never be in such danger as I was.”
/>   “So—the man who tormented you is dead?”

  “He must be,” Kieri said. “He was not young when I was his captive, and he was human, not even part-elven. He boasted of that.”

  “But he was a mage—you said he had great powers—”

  “Yes, but not immortality. Why do you ask?” His heart began to pound, and suddenly he remembered. “You think he—he might be one who could—transfer bodies?” The very thought made him sick; his stomach churned.

  “Is it not possible?”

  He didn’t want to imagine it. Sekkady alive? In a body he would not even recognize? His children, those sweet infants, stolen to become slaves, tormented as he had been? He struggled to find an objection. “Why would he come here? He had … I heard him say … he had never traveled over the sea and never meant to.”

  “Perhaps he had not … perhaps he would not … but you escaped him. He must have been angry when he found you gone. Are you certain he never looked for you?”

  “No.” He had not thought about it once safe in the great forest; he had known somehow that it would protect him. Now he knew that was because of his elven heritage; the taig knew him for the Lady’s grandson. And once he reached Halveric Steading, and Estil took him in, and then Aliam taught him to fight … he had known he would never again cross the sea, and he had believed Sekkady would never come.

  “If he is alive, if he knows that you are now a king, and a father—” Paks went on,

  He started to say Sekkady would have no way to learn either, but the sea trade the Pargunese and Kostandanyans carried on had brought him to this safety and could as easily carry word back. A cold chill ran up his spine, born of the old terror and pain.

  “It was not my intent to upset you,” Paks said, leaning forward. “You are not a child now; you are a seasoned warrior, and you have elven magery and the elvenhome’s protection.”

  “No—no, you did right to mention it. I should have thought—” But his eyes were shut tight, and the images that filled his mind were all horror and despair. The elvenhome had not protected his mother, a full elf, the day she died or the Lady herself from iynisin attack. “I will take … precautions,” he said at last. He forced himself to look up into those candid gray eyes and smile at Paks. “But for tonight, I think it’s time we both sought our beds.”