Banewreaker(22)

Lilias pulled a bellcord of bronze cabled silk, soft to the touch. Pietre was there almost before she released it, half-belligerent in his eagerness to serve.

"My lady?" He bowed low.

"Pietre." She touched his luxuriant brown hair, caught in a band at the nape of his neck. The silver collar about his neck gleamed. He shivered with pleasure at her touch, and she repressed a smile. "Bring us wine and water, a terrine with bread and cheese, and some of the Vedasian olives."

"My lady." He shivered again before departing.

Tanaros Blacksword watched, expressionless.

"You do not approve?" Lilias raised an eyebrow.

He released his breath in a humorless laugh, pushing at his dark hair. "Approve? I neither approve nor disapprove. It is the way of Men, and the daughters of Men, to make tame what is wild."

Lilias shrugged. "I Shape only those whose natures it is to serve, as mine was not. Some are more willing than others. I try to choose wisely. Pietre has pride in his labors."

"And your army?" He leaned forward, hands on his knees, greaves creaking.

"You have seen my Ward Commander, Kingslayer." Lilias eyed him. "Gergon learned his task at his father's knee, as did his father before him. Though Dergail's Soumanie has risen in the west, Beshtanag is secure. You have done as much for Darkhaven, since before his grandfather drew breath. Do you doubt his pride in it?"

"No." He exhaled, met her gaze. "How long has it been, lady?"

Such a question! She knew what he meant, and tears, unbidden, stung her eyes. "Over a thousand years. How long for you?"

"Twelve hundred." He bowed his head, touching some unknown talisman in his pocket. His dark hair fell to curtain his features. It was ill-cropped, and there was not a trace of grey in it. "Over twelve hundred."

Neither of them spoke.

The door opened for Pietre's return, with Sarika at his heels, a pitcher of water in one hand and wine in the other. They served the refreshments with exquisite, sullen grace. Sarika knelt at her feet, grey-blue eyes pleading mutely for reassurance. Lilias caressed her cheek, finding her voice.

"Thank you, child."

Sarika was pleased; Pietre shot a triumphant glance at the Soldier, who nodded courteously at him, studiously ignoring his bared chest, and how it gleamed by lamplight, oiled and taut below his servant's collar. Lilias poured the wine herself, and waited until Tanaros had filled his mouth with bread and cheese.

"So," she asked him then, "what does your Lord Satoris wish of me?"

Swallowing crumbs, he told her.



I WILL NOT BE AFRAID.

I will not be afraid.

Calandor!

And he was there, with her, as he had been for a thousand years and more, a reassuring presence coiled around the center of her being. Lilias touched the Soumanie at her brow and breathed easier, turning to face the Soldier. When had she risen to pace the room, when had her hands become fists? She did not remember.

"You will bring war to Beshtanag."

"Aye, lady." There was regret in his voice. "A war to prevent a war."

Bring him to me, Lilias. I would hear his Master's words.

"You understand," Lilias said to him, "the decision is not mine alone to make."

"The dragon." There was fear in his eyes, and exultation, too.

"Yes." Lilias nodded. "We are as one in Beshtanag."

Tanaros rose, bowing. "It will be my honor. I bear him greetings from my Lord Satoris."

"Come," Lilias said.

Outside, the air was thin, gold-washed in the afternoon sun. Once again, she led him herself, through the rear entrance her wardmen guarded, out of the castle and upward, up the lonely, winding path where her own people feared to tread. The mountain of Beshtanag ran both deep and high. His breath labored in the thin air. Holding her skirts, the Sorceress cast glances behind her as she climbed.

His face was rapt, and he paused at every chance to gaze at the sun as it gilded the peaks of the trees below. Seeing her notice, he smiled with unexpected sweetness. "Forgive me, my lady. We do not see the unveiled sun in Darkhaven, save as an enemy."

Of course.

Haomane First-Born had Shaped the sun, wrought it of the light of the Souma before the world was Sundered. Lilias knew it, as every schoolchild did. And after the world was Sundered, when Satoris fled into the depths of Urulat, Haomane sought to destroy him with it, withdrawing only when the sun scorched the earth, threatening to destroy all life upon it.

And Satoris had escaped; and in his wake, the Unknown Desert.

Still, it had marked the Sunderer, cracking and blackening his flesh, weakening him so that he could not bear the touch of the sun. A whole Age he had hidden himself in the cold, cavernous fastnesses of Neherinach, among the Fjel, seething and healing, until he was fit to emerge and forge his way west, wreaking vengeance upon the world.