Kingmaker's Sword (Rune Blades of Celi) (34 page)

“Be truth?” Jeriad asked.

“Be truth,” I replied. “I swear by the Duality, and by all the seven gods and goddesses.”

“Be swearing by that sword, too?” He gestured toward the sword hanging on the wall behind me.

“By the sword, too,” I said. “What is it you didn’t want Kerri to tell us?”

Jeriad dropped his gaze and knotted his hands together. I could have sworn he looked ashamed of something. “She be telling,” he muttered. “If ye be needing me, I be out there. I be needing more snowberry root.” He ducked quickly through the hide curtain.

Kerri sighed and shook her head. “Poor, sad little man,” she said softly. “He’s quite fond of you, Kian. Like one of the sick or injured animals he treats, only moreso.”

“He told me the river often brings him gifts,” I said. I smiled. “He said it had never brought him anything quite like me before, though.”

“What is it he didna want to tell us?” Cullin asked.

Kerri sank down onto the floor beside him and crossed her legs beneath her. She raised one shoulder in an oddly resigned gesture. “He didn’t want you to know that he’s General Hakkar’s brother,” she said quietly.

“Brother?” I repeated blankly. “Hellas-birthing. Brother?”

“Half-brother, actually.” She scrubbed her hands across her cheeks and eyes wearily. “You were right, Kian,” she said. “His mother was Celae, he does have some magic, and that poor, troubled man is only thirty years old. He looks older than my father.”

“Thirty years old,” I repeated. “Not your prince, then?”

She shook her head. “No, not the prince. It would seem my search won’t end quite this easily.”

“You said he was the General’s half-brother,” Cullin said.

She nodded. “Yes. His mother’s name was Amalida. She was taken in a Saesnesi raid and sold to a Maeduni lord. General Hakkar’s father, he says. Jeriad calls him Hakkar, too. He says the father traditionally passes on his name and power to his eldest son. The General’s name was Horbad then.”

“The child Kian carried from Balkan’s manse,” Cullin said thoughtfully. He glanced at me. “His name was also Horbad.”

Kerri nodded again. “Tradition in Maeduni families if they have some magic,” she said. “Apparently they have some way of passing the magic on and each generation becomes stronger than the last. Part of the father’s magic stems from the bond he forms with his eldest son. Jeriad wasn’t very clear on how that happens, but he thinks without the son, the father’s magic is not so potent. There are very few of them, though. Jeriad says not more than ten families in all Maeduni. One such now sits on the throne in Falinor as Lord Protector.”

“And Jeriad?” I asked. “Where does he fit?”

“Hakkar the elder took Amalida to his bed,” she said. “Jeriad was born a year later. He inherited some of her magic. She had a little, Healing for instance. Jeriad has some of it. But he inherited some of his father’s magic, too. The two were thoroughly incompatible. Once both of them began to manifest themselves, it nearly drove him mad, he says.”

“What happened to his mother?” I asked. “Jeriad says she died to escape the black sorcerer.”

Kerri made a distasteful face. “This part is rather horrid,” she said. “The General was always looking for ways to make his magic stronger, Jeriad says. Then about fifteen years ago, he apparently stumbled on a way. It—it involved a lot of blood.”

“We’ve seen examples of the method,” Cullin said grimly.

I shuddered, remembering the small, black-draped chamber, the blood pouring from the disembowelled man, and the dark mist winding around the General’s arms. He had wanted to do that to Kerri.

“Yes, well,” Kerri said. “Apparently it took a fair amount of experimentation and practice before he perfected it. His first few victims were only stray hedge-wizards. Not a lot of power, but a little. Then he thought to see if he could seize Celae magic and make it work for him. Jeriad’s mother threw herself out of a tower window when the General tried to take hers.”

“Gods,” Cullin said, appalled.

Kerri had gone pale. She looked ill, but she continued. “When he lost Amalida, the General went after Jeriad.”

“His own brother?” Cullin asked, straightening up in genuine shock. “He would become a kinslayer?”

“Jeriad’s mother wasn’t Maeduni,” Kerri reminded him.

“Oh, aye,” Cullin said, and shook his head. “A mongrel then. Kin to no man. The Maeduni have always been incredibly stupid in that way. I suppose he thought that made Jeriad fair game for him.”

“Did he say how he managed to escape?” I asked. “He told me only that he tricked the General.”

“It wasn’t very clear,” Kerri said. “He said the General—he calls him the black sorcerer—took him to a small room and tried to cut his throat.” She had to swallow hard before she could continue. “In a panic, Jeriad found his Healing in time to save himself. When the two magics met, there was a tremendous explosion, he says. He regained consciousness first and ran. He told me he doesn’t remember much about anything for a long time, but when his wits returned, he was here and looked as he does now.”

“He told me the magic burned him,” I said.

“It did more than that,” Cullin said softly. “It stole his youth from him.”

“But he’s alive,” I said. “He tells me he’s grateful for that. In fact, he seemed quite gleeful about it.”

“The General obviously has perfected his technique over the years,” Cullin said. “He must have found a way to take Celae magic after all.” He gave Kerri a bleak smile. “He wanted yours, too, my lady. Not a pleasant prospect.”

Kerri shuddered and nodded. “And I have you and Kian to thank that he did not get it,” she said. “Jeriad says the Maeduni believe they have a destiny to rule the world. And the General believes it’s his destiny to rule Maedun through his brother.”

Cullin tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Remember that guard officer we met who told us Hakkar wanted to put his brother on the throne? What was his name, the brother?”

“Vanizen,” I said absently, thinking about something else. “The General told us we set him back half a lifetime. Remember? When we met him in the courtyard of Balkan’s manse?”

Cullin nodded slowly. “So he did,” he said. “Then mayhap we’ve been given some time to prepare for the war coming.”

Kerri’s eyes blazed with intensity. “This makes my search all the more urgent,” she said. “Celi must be strong and united to fight the Maeduni.”

“Can you not use your magic?” I asked.

She shook her head. “You don’t understand Celae magic,” she said. “Tyadda magic, actually. It can’t be used as a weapon. It’s a gentle magic, Kian. Like Healing. It won’t let you use it to kill.”

“Not even for defence?” I asked.

She shook her head again. “No. Don’t you think if it could be, we would use it against the Saesnesi?”

“Aye,” I said. “Ye would at that, I suppose.”

“So we have to find Kyffen’s grandson,” she said, pounding her fist gently onto her knee. “We simply have to.” She looked up, an odd expression in her eyes. “Kian, Jeriad told me that the man in the dance told him to go down to the river the night he found you. He said he was asleep when the man in the dance told him to wake up and go to the river because there was a task there for him to do.”

“The man in the dance?” Cullin repeated. “Who—?”

“The Watcher on the Hill,” I said slowly, comprehension dawning. “The man in my dreams. Who is he,
sheyala
?”

“Truly, Kian, I don’t know. But I wonder if he might be Myrddin. The enchanter who worked with Wyfydd Smith.”

***

I stood on the green velvet of the grass, my sword sheathed across my back. It vibrated gently against my flesh, and its melodic murmur whispered in my mind’s ear. Before me rose the familiar gently rounded hill with its crown of stone. A soft breeze ruffled my hair, spilling a few stray strands into my eyes; I lifted a hand to brush them away. The air was soft and refreshingly cool, and suffused with serenity and peace. I raised my eyes and found the Watcher on the Hill standing amid the horseshoe of polished stones.

I began to climb the hill, once again surprised by how long it took me to reach the summit. As it happened before, I could not pass beyond the first ring of menhirs. That invisible barrier held me back. I stepped back away from it and waited patiently for the Watcher on the Hill to acknowledge my presence.

He came forward slowly. Beneath the shadow of his brows, his eyes glowed with a soft, lambent gleam. He paused between two of the standing stones and smiled.

“Your wound pains you,” he said, his voice only barely more than a whisper.

“It heals,” I said.

He reached out, his arm penetrating the barrier as easily as penetrating mere air, and touched my shoulder. All the residual ache drained away instantly. I did not have to look at it to know it was completely healed. Nothing was left but the scars, front and back. He smiled again and retreated behind the barrier.

“Why am I here?” I asked.

“I called you,” he said. “I would remind you your task is yet to be completed.”

“You have not told me what the task is.”

“Oh, but I have.”

“I must give this sword to the man who would be King of Celi,” I said. “Is that it?”

He smiled. “Yes.”

“Who are you?” I asked. “Are you Myrddin?”

“That is one of the names they call me,” he said. He made a broad gesture to include all of the dance of stone. “This was always my place, even before those who named me came here.”

“My enemy,” I said. “Who is he?”

“He is the enemy of all,” he said. “You will meet him again.”

“And will I defeat him?”

“I told you before, I cannot read the future. I can only see the shapes of what might become. You have weakened your enemy. You have been given time. I cannot say if it will be enough time to avert what might be.”

“That is no answer, old man.”

“It is the only answer I can give.”

“You speak in riddles,” I said, frustration knotting in my chest. “Can you tell me if Kerri will find her princeling?”

“Yes, I believe so,” he said. “But I cannot tell you if the princeling will find himself.” He smiled gently. “Go now, my son. You have a long journey before you.”

“Where is this place?” I asked. “Is this the dance of stone Kerri speaks about? The Dance in Celi?”

“This place is where it is.” He turned to walk back to the central horseshoe, then paused and looked back over his shoulder. “Do not forget the lessons the Swordmaster taught you. You will be needing that skill.”

“Wait,” I called. I pushed against the invisible barrier, but could not break through. “You have to tell me what I must do.”

But he did not reply. Finally, I turned and began the long trek to the foot of the hill.

***

Dawn was barely more than a faintly perceptible fading of the black of the sky in the east when I left the ruined tower carrying my sword. My shoulder was a little stiff, but the soreness was gone. I wore only my kilt in the predawn chill and the dew-wet grass was cold beneath my bare feet.

I found a flat, open spot and unsheathed the sword. It settled into my hands like an old friend as I wrapped my fingers around the worn leather of the hilt, perfectly balanced and harmonious. I held it up to the achingly pure first light of morning and watched the runes flash and spark in the clear air.

“Which way?” I asked quietly.

The soft thrumming began in the blade and gradually spread through the hilt into my hands, then up my arms into my chest. The sweet, melodic tone sang all around me. Gently as a persuasive lover, implacable as fate, the sword turned me to face east, into the brightening sky. Whatever it sought, it still lay east of north.

“Very well,” I said. “Northeast it shall be. But now, dance with me again.”

Then, slowly at first, I began the stylized movements, the kata the Swordmaster of my dreams first taught me and Cullin later reinforced. I went through all the routines, moving slowly as a Laringorn
bhak
dancer who always seemed to be dancing under water. My shoulder and arm had lost much strength while I was ill. I had Healed it the evening before, finding with relief the centred space and feeling the gentle eddies of force connecting me to the ground. It was like returning to the home place after an absence far too long.

So now, as the sky paled to dawn, I danced the sword on the wet grass, gradually increasing the tempo of the stylized steps and movements. But I could not reach my normal speed. I had lost much since I was taken from Honandun. It would come back, though. With practice and perseverance, it would come back. It would be there when I needed it.

Sweat rolled freely down my face,  chest and my belly when I finally sheathed the sword again, and I was blowing like a wind-broken horse. But I was smiling as I made my way back to the ruined tower. It stood sharp and jagged against the brilliance of the new sun, its long shadow stretching across the grass toward me. Watching it, I found myself grinning widely with the sheer, sensuous pleasure of merely being alive on a summer morning.

A slender shadow detached itself from the deeper shade cupped in the ruin of the tower. Jeriad skipped lightly over the tumbled piles of fallen rock, humming to himself. He stopped dead when he saw me with the sword. He had been avoiding me since he had given Kerri leave to tell Cullin and me his story. Standing there, half in and half out of the shadow, he reminded me of a startled wild animal, poised for flight.