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The Oracle’s Queen. Lynn Flewelling
Читать онлайн.Название The Oracle’s Queen
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9780007404599
Автор произведения Lynn Flewelling
Жанр Эзотерика
Издательство HarperCollins
“As you like,” said Tamír. “I name you Lord Lynx, with lands and holdings to be determined later. Lady Una, I also accept your fealty. Your first charge as my Companions is to take good care of my royal chronicler. And yourselves,” she added with a warning look at Lynx.
Lynx gave her a guilty nod. “Bilairy doesn’t seem to want me yet, Highness.”
“Good. I can’t spare you.”
With that settled, she took the chair that had been set out for her and turned her attention to the assembled nobles. “My friends, I thank all of you for what you’ve done. I’ll be honest with you, as well. I don’t know exactly what’s going to happen next. It seems I must go against my cousin, and anyone who upholds Korin’s claim to the throne. I do not want a civil war, but it could come to that. If any of you has had second thoughts about backing me, you’re free to go. No one will stop you. But go now.”
Silence greeted this offer, and no one moved. After a moment Lord Jorvai came forward and knelt before her, offering his sword. “I swore fealty to you on the battlefield, Highness, but I do so again before these witnesses. Accept Colath as your sworn ally.”
“And Illear,” Kyman said.
One by one, all the others reasserted their oaths. No one left.
Tamír stood and raised her hand to them. “I don’t hold the Sword of Ghërilain, or wear the crown, but with the authority of Illior and before these witnesses, I accept your fealty, confirm your holdings, and count you as my dear friends. I will never forget the sight of your banners coming to my aid when I needed you most.”
When she’d finished with the oaths, Tamír turned to the guild masters and mistresses who’d been waiting nervously for her attention. One after the other, men and women wearing the insignias of their offices knelt and pledged the loyalty of their guilds. Butchers, smiths, carters, bakers, masons—it seemed an endless stream, but Tamír was glad for a chance to mark the leaders of the city’s common classes.
Finally, with the sun almost at midday, she came to Iya and the wizards.
“Your valor during the battle will not be forgotten. My lords and good people, I ask you to honor these brave wizards.”
The throng bowed or cheered with varying degrees of enthusiasm. In spite of all the wizards had done, she knew that Niryn and his Harriers had left a bad taste in the mouths of many—one that made them regard all wizards with a degree of suspicion. In fact, the free wizards of Skala had always had a mixed reputation. For every grave and serious wizard like Iya, or kindly one like Arkoniel, there were a hundred ha’penny cheats and market fair conjurers. And there were those who, like Niryn, attached themselves to the rich and powerful for their own ends. While Tamír had her own reasons for mistrust, she owed a great deal already to the nineteen wizards Iya presented.
Some wore robes, but most were dressed like merchants or minor nobles. Others looked like humble travelers, and at least half of them bore wounds from the battle. She was glad to see the fair-haired young mind-clouder, Eyoli, among them. He’d helped her reach Atyion during the battle and nearly lost his life in the process.
Two of the wizards presented, Dylias and Zagur, looked as old as Iya. Kiriar and a very pretty woman introduced as Elisera of Almak, appeared to be Arkoniel’s age, although Tamír knew enough of wizards to realize that their true ages were as hard to guess as any Aurënfaie’s.
The last woman presented was by far the most intriguing. Grey-eyed Saruel of Khatme was Aurënfaie, and wore the elaborate red-and-black headcloth, or sen’gai, and the black robes of her people. The fine black facial tattoos and jewelry that also distinguished that clan made her age difficult to guess at, and since Aurënfaie aged even more slowly than Skalan wizard-born, the guess would probably have been wrong.
Tamír’s friend, Arengil of Gedre, had taught her something of his people’s ways. “May Aura be with you in the light, Saruel of Khatme,” she said, placing her hand over her heart and bowing.
Saruel solemnly returned the gesture, her head tilted a bit to the left, as if she had trouble hearing. “And in the darkness, Tamír ä Ariani Agnalain of Skala.”
“I thought all the ’faie left Ero when the Harriers began burning wizards and priests?”
“I was one of those who shared the vision given to Mistress Iya. Aura Illustri, known to you as Illior Lightbearer, smiles upon you. Your uncle committed great evils upon your land and spat in the face of our god. You are the light sent to drive away the darkness spread by the Usurper and his dark wizards. It is my duty, and my great honor, to support you in whatever way I can.”
“I welcome your aid and your wisdom.” Such pledges were never lightly made to outsiders—Tirfaie, as the Aurënfaie called short-lived humankind. “Mistress Iya, how should I reward you and your people for your service?”
“We are not tradesmen or mercenaries, come to present a bill, Highness. You know of my vision about you, yet you don’t know the extent of what I’ve done to bring that vision to fruition.
“While you grew, Arkoniel and I traveled this land, seeking out others who’d had been granted so much as a glimpse of that same vision. Some of them stand here before you now. Others await word to join us and aid you. Not all of them are powerful, but the Lightbearer has called them nonetheless, to protect you, the queen who must be.
“I tell you now, before all these witnesses, that we were not charged by the Lightbearer simply to help you to this point, then walk away—”
“That’s the same sort of talk we heard from that traitor Niryn, when he gathered his gang together,” Kyman interrupted. “He claimed they were serving the throne, too. I mean no disrespect to you, Mistress, or any of your friends, nor do I discount what you’ve done. But I’m not the only Skalan who’s a bit skittish, seeing too many of your kind together in one place again.” He turned and bowed deeply to Tamír. “Forgive my plain speech, Highness, but it’s the truth.”
“I know better than you what Niryn did, my lord. Mistress Iya, what is it you’re proposing?”
“I understand the fears Niryn and his ilk have bred,” she replied calmly. “My ‘kind’ and I know still better than you, Highness, or anyone else here, the evil the Harriers practiced.”
She reached into a fold of her gown and held up a large silver brooch inset with the copper flame of Sakor. “The Harriers imposed these on us.” The others held up brooches of their own, all except Arkoniel and Eyoli. Numbers were stamped on the back of each, a different one for each wizard. Iya’s was marked 222.
“They listed us in their ledgers like cattle.” Iya tossed the brooch on the pavement at her feet. The other wizards did the same, making a small, glittering pile. “Every free wizard in Ero was made to wear one of these,” she went on bitterly. “Those who resisted burned. Wizards who’d sworn to aid you were among them, Highness. I felt the flames as they died. Niryn meant to teach us our place, teach us to fear, but instead, he made me remember something.
“Most wizards are solitary by nature, it’s true, but in the time of your ancestor and the Great War, many of us came together with the queen and fought against the Plenimarans and their necromancers. The great chroniclers of that age credit them with stemming the tide of war.
“Niryn and his white-robed murderers reminded me what wizards can accomplish by joining forces. If the Harriers could create such power for evil, then isn’t great good also possible? I swear to you by our most sacred oath, Highness—by Illior’s Light and by my hands, heart, and eyes—that the wizards who stand before you today seek to forge a union for the good of Skala, as in the days of your ancestor, and to support you, Illior’s chosen one. We have no greater desire than that. With your permission, we would demonstrate our good faith and the power of unity before these witnesses.”
“Go ahead.”