The Makers of Light (29 page)

"So it would seem." The man gave her a measuring look, but it was not the look of an arrogant man measuring a woman any longer. It was the look of a human measuring an enemy.

"My lady, my lords." Mister Gabriel Flint, stepping towards their small group of three. "My ladies and lords, madams and sirs." Raising his voice, looking at everyone now. "The game continues—and we have not finished noting the effects of lady Linden's latest action yet."

The water would flow to the city itself as well, the game master said, not just towards the army. It would drown all the Qynnsent pawns not currently on the second floor of the two-story building—which meant it would drown most of them.

"But the water will not flow up the slope! The city is on higher ground. The water should not reach the city at all!" Anyone who as a child had played in the street after rain would know it—anyone who had ever played with a glass of water poured onto a plate at dinner would know it!

"My lady." Gabriel Flint bowed to her. "I am sorry, but you cannot predict the behavior of water. Only the dice can determine what would happen in this case—it is the chance factor. The only water-controlling Ber Station by your city is the small one by the waterwell where your pawns get their water for drinking. The water in this well is the only water you can
somewhat
predict. The river is fully wild, and it is the river you tried to play with." There was something in his eyes, but then he blinked and it was gone.

"But, by the rules of Science, if there is a slope, anything that moves will move more easily down than up—"

"Not water, my lady—not water untouched by Magic. Not water untouched by
fire.
"

The man did not believe this himself. He was playing the Bers in the game, and he was right now saying what real Bers would want people to think—but he did not believe in it. Suddenly she knew this as well as she knew that Everad hated her. The game master cast her a momentary glance that seemed to hold challenge in it, and then his eyes glazed, became kind.

At this moment Linden hated the game master no less than she hated Everad—and Rianor was squeezing her hand so tightly that he could have broken it.

"Fine, game master," Rianor said quietly. "We won't rely on water
untouched
by fire." The noise level rose from the crowd. Only now did Linden notice that the Science Guild and their servants and guards had been whispering for some time, nudging each other.

"So what will you do? Touch water with fire so that it listens to you better?" Everad laughed at Rianor. "How? Will you build a Ber Station? Even
you
cannot do that."

"Yes, I cannot build a Ber Station." Rianor's voice was soft, but suddenly Everad looked as if all he wanted was to pull back and not endure Rianor's look. Everad was supposed to have mocked Rianor just now, and yet, somehow, it seemed that it was the other way around.

Rianor stared at Orlin as well, and his stare could truly make people uncomfortable.
Linden
was uncomfortable beside Rianor right now. He had not loosened the grip on her hand at all. The Lady of Qynnsent. She had known what exactly to say to Everad, to a man she did not care for, but she did not know what to do or say now, only that she was torn between grabbing Rianor's arm and squeezing until it bled, and breaking down and crying. What was she doing here amongst these people, in this place? She cared nothing about the game any more, and she cared not that in the eyes of the Guild she might have shown herself precariously close to water. Perhaps she should care, for the latter at least, but like a heroine in one of Calia's books, she seemed to forget everything else and care only for a man!

Well, no. No. A silly girl in a romance might forfeit the game and the Science Guild because of a heartache, but she would not.

"We need to find a way to deal with two thousand and eleven soldiers, coming at our nineteen pawns," she told Rianor in the calmest voice she could manage. "Our game '
House
' might hold against them for one or two turns—but not for more."

"I know that. We will deal with them, do not worry," he whispered in her ear. "Our game master and your
friend
just gave me an idea."

"He is no friend of mine." She locked eyes with him. "I damaged his game and his pride." She smiled slightly. "I seem to have challenged his and Orlin's ideas of what a woman should be or do."

"I know." The soft voice that was not soft, again. "Dora told me, and so did lord Kevin." There was still no one at lord Kevin's table, but when she glanced towards those who watched the game, there he was, an older man she had never met but recognized from the
Science Guild Records
book and
Noble Houses
books as Rianor's old Fredelbert Science Master. She had not seen him come, and the thought made her uneasy. Well, did she have to follow the comings and goings of everyone?

"Orlin and Everad are fools, my lady, for trying to cat-play with an opponent they thought vulnerable, before destroying her." His eyes, so close to hers now, looked like gray, stormy clouds. "With a beautiful opponent, of course. But one should not play. One should strike once and strike thoroughly, so that there is nothing left to strike back."

She shivered. She had seen him angry, but never like this. For a moment he looked like destruction itself. He looked as if there were nothing else in him right now—as if he himself were not a person but a force.

Suddenly she was angry no longer. Oh, the anger was there. She could feel it as a lump inside her chest, composed of many things: this place, Marguerite of Laurent, Everad and Orlin, and, of course, her lord. But her jealousies and indignations were all trifling matters. She could be hurt and jealous, even stay away from Rianor, at some later time, when it would be all right.

Not now.

Softly, she ran the fingers of her free hand along his cheek, not caring about the crowd or the still running game where others took their turns—not caring about anything. Anything but him.

"Rianor." An Edge. There was one behind the clouds of his eyes, or there was an Edge somewhere else, where he could walk and was now walking. She understood no more, only that if she pushed him, he could fall—and that maybe she should not have such power over him, but she did. So she clung to him tightly instead, supporting him, not letting go—she was sure she did, even though her physical touch was small and soft. "Rianor, don't go there. Please."

He was silent and still for a long moment. Then he sighed, his hand enclosing hers on his cheek. She closed her eyes, suddenly very, very weary.

When she opened them again she saw something on his wrist—a scratch from a woman's nails, perhaps. Or, a knife cut. His sleeve had covered it before, and she had not seen it. He quickly covered it again, but then leaned to whisper in her ear again. "I met a certain man I had to ... talk to, which is why I was so late in coming back to you."

She wavered then and might have fallen, had he not held her. "Rianor, your wound. Let me see."

"Just a scratch. I already washed it with antiseptic; there is nothing else to be done."

"The Waltraud heir?" She barely found the voice to ask. A man, not a woman, then, and an encounter very different from what she had imagined. A dangerous man, for few could wound Rianor with a knife. She trembled, tears gathering in her eyes. She was a wretched fool. She had made assumptions and had not even asked him what had happened. But
he
could have told her, too, instead of staring at Everad. He might as well be as big of a fool as she was.

"Was that—Was he the reason why a minute ago you were so—"

"No only, my lady." The tone of his whisper had changed subtly, and it raised goosebumps on her skin. "Those two on the other table also—Anyway, this man was not Donald. It was someone both of us have met before, but we do not talk about him now."

"Why did you send Lazar away?" This was why she had made the assumptions, because Lazar had come and Lazar had talked. Lazar had believed Rianor with a woman and had really, really not wanted to tell Linden, so Linden had believed in this, too. Besides, whatever his reasons, Rianor had dismissed the guard exactly when he had needed him—

Because he had sent him to protect
her
.

"Linde, in this place even walls have ears, and besides, we are in the middle of a damn crowd. Stop asking questions."

"All right. I am sorry." She closed her eyes again, fighting tears. He was right, and she was being careless. Whispers could, of course, be heard. Thoughts could be heard. She was forgetting that so often after she had become a lady. But now she was so shaken that she could not think properly at all. She had surrendered herself, in a way, to quell Rianor's anger and destruction. If she had not gone to him and opened herself to him—if she had succumbed to her own anger instead of keeping it tightly enclosed and controlled despite what it did to her—something terrible would have happened. To him. And she would not allow that, ever, no matter what; she would always stand in the path of all that tried to harm him. Even himself.

She should feel weak now. After the danger had passed, her anger and disregarded feelings seemed to melt, flow, freeze, make her mind and body numb—and she could not stop crying because someone had managed to hurt him, even in a small way.

"Don't cry, Linde." He wrapped his arms tightly around her. "Please, don't, my love."

No, she was not weak. She felt strong—stronger than ever before in her life.

"Throwing stones at our gates! That is so pre-Master and barbaric!" The voice startled her and made Rianor's head jerk towards it, too. It was Miriam of Kadisha, from the Women in Science table, shouting at the game master and at the House Kimei lady and her House Ironqette apprentice at the table to her right.

"You can't do something like this nowadays! They threw stones at our gates and walls! What is that
for?
The gates and walls won't let an invader in before their Magic has weakened—before we have weakened inside! Stones or not! Besides, we are honorable! Just like any House, when it comes to an army before the walls of our House's seat in Mierber, we'll go out and fight! With swords, as it is proper! They are throwing stones at us only because we are women!"

"My lady Miriam." The game master, his voice appeasing and yet authoritative. "This is not '
nowadays.
' Or the long-gone past, for that matter. Indeed, nowadays we don't even fight with swords any more because we don't fight at all, right? But this is just a game. Please do not take a game action personally."

The game master proceeded to allocate eight Science points to the Kimei lady and the young Ironqette lord, for they had not just thrown stones but had described throwing them with the assistance of a big lever that made it possible to throw heavier stones, and further.

"Didn't do much with their stonethrower, did they? Can't do anything against Magic, of course—but they did get their Science points, and Science points is what we are here for." Someone else's voice, and then uneasy laughter. Even nobles did not joke lightly with Magic. But indeed they were joking with
Science,
with the perceived inferiority and inadequacy of their own vocation.

Now Linden was angry again, and she felt Rianor's own rising anger and contempt for all around them.

"
Not against Magic,
" indeed. As if Magic could do anything these days—as if it would have protected Qynnsent a few days ago when all that had kept a semblance of order was Linden and Rianor's rudimentary
Science
.

"Well, the Qynnsent lady moved a whole river with Science," someone said. "This is nothing now, a stonethrowing lever."

But it would have been something the last time these people had played their game, for their Science had only been door locks then—and not locks of Noble Houses, at that—and little trinkets.

"Yes, our Qynnsent lady has disrupted the whole game, it seems. People did not use barbaric stones before that." Miriam again, staring at Linden. "Well, the Qynnsent lady has hopelessly drowned most of her pawns and has run crying to her High Lord. Neither Science nor water can help the Qynnsent lady now—why, Magic itself cannot help her now—so, dear friends, do not imitate the Qynnsent lady's actions."

Science and Magic and water—what did Miriam know about any of those? What did she know about anything!

Just then lord Everad, a faint smile on his lips, announced that the remains of his and Orlin's army was proceeding forward. No new Science this time. Destruction of Linden and Rianor's city would be enough for him.

Rianor glanced at Everad, his feelings towards the Aarthi lord momentarily clear on his face, and then he glanced at Miriam. Miriam had the audacity to smile at him! He ignored her, scribbling something fast, his other arm still around Linden.

Linden leaned to see it and he let her, but shifted his hand so that no one else would. It looked somewhat like that picture she had seen on his desk yesterday, that of the Militia crossbow—then he crossed it out and sketched what looked like an enormous can without a cover but with an intact bottom. Then he drew a stone inserted at the can's opening, and the can inclined at an angle, the open end with the stone pointing outwards.

"Do you remember
steam,
my lady?"

Suddenly she felt like trembling, a feeling of both chill and burning growing inside her. She remembered steam—and smoke.

"Water touched by fire—Everad and Mister Flint giving you an idea—Miriam, even.
This
is what you meant! Magic
and
water
and
Science."

"
Fire
and water and Science, my lady," Rianor corrected her, softly.

He said a few words more, but they were unneeded, for she had seen where exactly his ideas were going. She smiled at him, and he smiled back, and she reached out to somewhat alter his drawing, to widen the bottom and middle of the can and to narrow the opening.

Then, they were almost like one person, both adding details to the same sketch, both crossing out parts of it and then adding others, their actions synchronized without them even talking. It was like yesterday, with the wolf, and she was glad.