This tendency awoke a curious hope in Grateful Peace's most secret heart—the source of some of the excitement that coursed through him. If Lady Melina was this dogged when simply learning the customs of the land, how determined would she be when she turned that interrogating mind to unraveling the mystery of the three artifacts that now rode upon this very sleigh?
Almost unwittingly, on the third day of their journey, Peace found himself sharing his hopes with Lady Melina.
"In the treasuries of New Kelvin we have many objects that we are certain once held enchantments," he explained. "There are elegantly bejeweled weapons, globes that once lit without the need for fire, elaborately jointed statues that moved of their own accord, books that once spoke wisdom from the lips of the illuminated figures inscribed upon their pages.
"Now, however, few"—he stopped himself just short of saying "none," an admission that would have been treason—"of these objects work."
Grateful Peace went on, vaguely aware that perhaps he was saying more than he should, but feeling that this reputed sorceress needed to know all the intricacies of the situation so that she could better solve the difficulties.
"What theories, thaumaturge," asked Lady Melina, "have been arrived at to explain this problem? In Hawk Haven the lack of magic is ascribed to the farseeing efforts of Queen Zorana the Great, who had forbidden all magic, its teachings, and who ordered destroyed all vessels of enchantment. Such is not the case in your own land."
"No," Peace agreed, nodding ponderously.
The world seemed to have resolved into those two pale blue eyes. With an effort he made himself speak.
"One theory—the one most widely held—is that when the Burning Death spread over the land, the most powerful sorcerers among our revered Founders came together and placed a seal over the land, a seal meant to keep magic from functioning."
Lady Melina frowned. "Why would they do that?"
"It is a great mystery," Peace admitted. "However, some of the writings from that time seem to indicate that the Burning Death was most deadly to those who were sorcerously inclined. They may have hoped that by sealing away the magical emanations they would save their lives until a cure could be found."
"And was one?"
Peace shrugged. "We don't know. The Founders departed to the homeland and never returned. We of New Kelvin keep the faith of the old ways and will be rewarded for our perseverance upon the glorious day when the Founders come to us again."
"The plague was over a century ago!" Lady Melina protested. "Surely you don't believe they will return!"
"I do not look for that great occasion in my lifetime," Grateful Peace admitted. "Indeed, some of our philosophers believe that the Founders are waiting for us to find them, to prove ourselves worthy of joining in their wondrous magical community across the oceans."
"And you?" she asked, the note of protest replaced by mild curiosity. "What do you feel?"
"I do not see any harm in striving," Peace said. "Indeed, I see much virtue in the effort. That is why I view your arrival—and that of the things you bring with you—with such interest."
He kept his speech as controlled as possible, but the intensity of his words gave away some of his excitement.
"And why do you think that these three objects and my humble self could mean so much?" Lady Melina asked.
He was drowning in those eyes!
Grateful Peace shook himself and stared out into the sunlit snow, but even that blinding whiteness seemed to bear the imprint of two pale blue eyes.
"To understand," he said in an effort to get away from delicate subjects, "you must first understand something of the political forces in New Kelvin."
"My understanding," Lady Melina replied, and he thought he heard a trace of annoyance in her tone, "is that your nation is a monarchy with the monarch advised by a body of nobles led by the one called the Dragon Speaker."
"That is true," Peace said, "but only to a point. Your understanding is colored by your own governmental system."
"Pray," Lady Melina said, staring at him, "enlighten me."
"We are indeed a monarchy," Peace said. "Our ruler is called the Healed One. He is always a man, a direct descendent and—some believe—the reincarnation in the flesh of the last of the founding sorcerers of New Kelvin."
"I thought you said that the Founders all departed?"
"All but this one," Grateful Peace said. "He was too ill to leave with the rest and remained to give his last days to the colonists. To his own surprise, he survived, but whatever had been done to prevent the use of magic in the land kept him from employing his own sorcerous powers. He spent his last days preserving the traditions of the homeland and keeping us from falling into barbarism as was the case in so many other lands."
Belatedly, Peace realized that this final sentence had been less than tactful, but Lady Melina—though a descendant of those barbarians—chose to overlook the implied insult.
"So this Healed One is your king," she prompted. "What happens if a Healed One fails to engender a son?"
"Then we look among his relatives for a successor," Grateful Peace explained. "A search not unlike that which your own King Tedric recently undertook."
Lady Melina gave a sour little smile. Clearly the memory of that time was not a fond one.
"The Healed One must be male," Peace went on, "because of the belief that he is in some sense the reincarnation of the first Healed One."
"I understand," Lady Melina said. "So, is this the only difference from the system in Hawk Haven? If so, it is not a very big one."
Grateful Peace shook his head.
"In many ways, it is the least of our differences. You spoke of 'nobles.' In New Kelvin we have nothing resembling your hereditary Great Houses. Instead we have sodalities of enchantment. One does not enter these by birth alone. One must show talent and inclination."
Lady Melina tapped the tip of her nose with a finger.
"I have come across references to the sodalities," she said, "but I did make the mistake of equating them with our Great Houses—even though in some ways they seemed to more closely resemble our trade guilds."
Peace smiled, disproportionately pleased by this admission of ignorance. It returned to him some sense of control.
"There is a similarity," he said kindly, "for a skill in one of the magically related arts is needed to gain admission. My sodality, for example, is that of the Illuminators. Although both of my parents were artistic, neither had the level of skill to gain admission. I, however, was something of a prodigy and was admitted quite young."
Lady Melina looked impressed.
"But your title is not Illuminator," she said. "You introduced yourself to me as a thaumaturge."
"That comes later," Peace replied. "Bide a moment and I will clarify. There are thirteen sodalities—Illuminators, Lapidaries, Artificers, Stargazers, Alchemists, Beast Lorists, Songweavers, Divinators, Crystal Spinners, Herbalists, Sericulturalists, Choreographers, and Smiths. The thaumaturges are appointed from these ranks."
"And none of this is hereditary?" Lady Melina asked.
Peace shrugged. "It is to a point. Inclinations toward a skill do run in a family. Additionally, a member of a sodality has resources beyond those of the average person. Training, therefore, can be acquired for a promising but not overly talented child. My Chutia was one such. Her skill at calligraphy was technically accurate but lacked the purity of inspiration. She was more than adequate to enter a sodality, but, even had she lived, she would not have risen beyond the lower ranks."
"The sodalities, then," Lady Melina asked, "are not restricted by gender?"
"Not at all," Peace assured her. "Neither for entry nor within. The current heads of several of the sodalities are female."
"And your Dragon Speaker, how does he fit into this system?"
"The Dragon Speaker is elected from within the ranks of the thaumaturges," Grateful Peace explained. "I, personally, have no ambitions in that direction, but there are always those who do. They gather around them those who support them and once every three years an election is held."
"So your government can change every three years?"
Lady Melina sounded disbelieving.
"Or more often or less," Peace replied. "Although the election is held every three years, a strong Dragon Speaker is usually confirmed. If the Dragon Speaker gives cause—for example by physical infirmity or by undertaking some course with which the majority of the thaumaturges do not agree—then he can be replaced. This happens rarely."
Yet
, Peace thought,
we came close last year when the southern nations went to war. There were those who did not like Apheros's neutrality. They would have had us side with Stonehold and attempt to crush both Hawk Haven and Bright Bay between us. Then there was the matter of the enchanted objects Queen Valora was rumored to possess
.
He smiled softly at this last. Here, at least, Apheros had acted decisively. Many of the doubting thaumaturges had been swayed to his side at even the rumor that the Dragon Speaker had found a way to acquire the artifacts.
Still, there were those who found the threat of Hawk Haven and Bright Bay reuniting into the proposed kingdom of Bright Haven reason for aggressive action before that reunion could occur. For now they would wait. The promise of active magic was a powerful one.
But the election is in two years
, Grateful Peace thought,
and there could be a challenge before then. We need active magic before then. Otherwise, Apheros's government could well fall
.
He thought of the sealed box, of the mysteries it contained, of what would happen if those mysteries could not be awakened. So deeply did Peace lapse into his thoughts that he did not realize that he had stopped speaking, nor did he notice the appraising gaze of the pale blue eyes that continued to study him with silent intensity.
That gaze did not waver until the sleigh drew around a broad curve and the glittering lights of Dragon's Breath became visible against the gathering night. Then indeed did Lady Melina's gaze shift, but in the dimness Peace did not notice how hungry was the light within those crystalline eyes.
F
irekeeper had been aware that someone was following them since their first day on the road from the Kestrel estate. By the second day, she was certain—as Blind Seer had been from the start—who their shadow was.
A peculiarly wolfish element in her sense of humor kept Firekeeper from telling her companions—a waggish desire to learn if they would notice they were being pursued. It was an impulse akin to that which led a puppy to jump from hiding to pounce a littermate, a "got you that time!" sort of laughter. That the pursuer might prove a problem never crossed her mind. Indeed, that he could track them so closely without the others ever knowing he was near only made Firekeeper raise her estimation of him.
Of course, that estimation had never been high.
Near evening on the second day after their departure from the Kestrel estate, the little band reached the town of Stilled. Snow mixed with sleet drove down slantwise, sliding into every crevice, soaking the travelers to the bone despite their winter wraps.
When she had lived with the wolves, Firekeeper had retreated to a cave on such days. If she had fuel, she huddled near a fire. If she did not and one of the wolves chose to stay with her, she huddled next to the wolf. Otherwise, she shivered. While so trapped, she usually became quite hungry, but hunting had been out of the question. Food had been the dream through which she had passed the hours.
Today the wolf-woman was not hungry, but she was learning that being icy and wet could be even more unpleasant. She was also exquisitely lonely.
Blind Seer had not quite abandoned her but, knowing that his presence would keep her from taking shelter in the town, he had made his excuses and vanished into the surrounding area. Doubtless, he had found himself a comfortable spot in some hollow, and was letting the snow settle around him, insulating him from the worst of the cold. After a while, not even the passing rabbits would know the wolf was there.
Come dawn Blind Seer would make his own river crossing and meet them on the other side.
The town of Stilled took its name from the partial dam that here quieted—or stilled—the raging torrents of the White Water River. Creation of the dam had been a major engineering feat undertaken in the time of Earl Kestrel's grandfather, but it had been worth the effort and expense. Before, trade had only come across farther east, effectively ruling the Norwood Grant out of the economic opportunities just across the border.
The dam could not stop the river's force, but it could redirect it, thus making ferry traffic possible, especially during the winter, when the river ran lowest. In the spring, passage was impossible, the torrents of snowmelt resisting any obstacle. Then the people of Stilled opened the floodgates and let the waters run through. Spring was planting time in any case, not a time for trade.
Tomorrow morning—weather permitting—Firekeeper and her companions planned to take the Stilled ferry across into New Kelvin. Blind Seer could make his way across the dam itself, trusting footholds a human would find slick indeed. In fact, the wolf had already done so, running ahead the night before their departure to test Elation's scouting and circling back to meet them along the road.
Firekeeper knew Derian had been relieved when she had reported that Blind Seer could get across the White Water on his own. The young man had been devising various plans to get the wolf across without attracting undue attention—attention that might at the least delay them and at the worst somehow reach the ears of Baron Endbrook and Lady Melina, alerting them to the possibility of pursuit.
Fox Hair worries too much
, Firekeeper thought fondly.
He's like a mother wolf with too many pups for her teats and no nursemaid about
.
The image of Derian as a mother wolf amused and distracted Firekeeper so that she forgot her discomfort and was even surprised to find their saddle train coming to a halt before what was, even to her eyes, clearly an inn.