Land of the Burning Sands (51 page)

Lord Bertaud was already present. Gereint could not decide whether the foreigner’s earlier arrival was accidental or meant to indicate something, or, if it was deliberate, what it was meant to indicate. Probably he was reading too much into mere happenstance.

Tehre went at once to greet the Feierabianden lord, Gereint and Eben Amnachudran and Sicheir following more slowly. Tehre’s father had been very quiet and inward for the days of the journey from his house to Breidechboden, and after their arrival in the capital he had become quieter still. But there was a new quality to his silence now. Gereint understood that, or thought he did. He believed the Arobern would forgive any of them anything, as well he ought to—he
believed
that—but the king was well known to despise corruption or vice or any dishonesty in his appointed judges. So Gereint did not know, none of them knew, exactly what the king would do.

The Feierabianden lord had a smile for Tehre; rather too warm a smile for any foreigner to direct toward a Casmantian lady, was Gereint’s impression. The nod of greeting he himself gave the man was perhaps a little stiff. Neither of them spoke; it did not seem a place or moment for idle conversation, and what could they possibly say? But the foreigner offered in return a gesture that seemed oddly poised midway between a nod and a bow, and the same to Eben Amnachudran. Amnachudran inclined his head in response, glanced briefly at his daughter, and drew breath as though he might speak. But then he said nothing.

“You may all sit,” the chamberlain told them, arranging chairs in a loose semicircle by the desk. “You, honored sir—you, sir—you, sir—Lady Tehre, if you wish—over here, my lord, if you would be so kind.”

No one ventured to protest these arrangements, which placed Lord Bertaud a little away from the rest and in a distinctly more ornate chair. Gereint’s chair was close enough to Tehre’s that he might have held her hand, and he was tempted to, save any such gesture would have been thoroughly inappropriate under the circumstances. Not to mention the eye of her father.

The entrance of the king interrupted Gereint’s thoughts, which was perhaps as well.

The Arobern, as was his widely reputed habit, was not wearing court dress. He was dressed only a little more elaborately than a soldier, in black, except his belt was sapphire blue and his buttons, probably, were sapphire in truth. He wore around his throat the thick gold chain of the Casmantian kings, and around his left wrist a wide-linked chain of black iron.

Beguchren Teshrichten walked not behind the king, like a servant, but beside him, like a friend. Beguchren might, next to the dark bulk of the Arobern and with the smooth fineness of his face, have looked rather like an elegant, wealthy, arrogant child. But despite the strain and weariness that still clung to him, there was too much authority in the tilt of his fine head to support that illusion, and far too many years in his storm-dark eyes. Those eyes met Gereint’s, unfathomable as ever, but he did not even nod, far less speak.

Everyone rose hastily, even the Feierabianden lord, but the Arobern turned a big hand palm upward to signal that no one need kneel, and then turned the gesture to a casual little wave that invited them all to resume their seats. The courtesy made Gereint uncomfortable.

Beguchren settled quietly into a particularly ornate chair set next to the heavy desk, rested his hands on the arms of the chair, and gazed at them with impenetrable calm.

The Arobern did not sit but leaned his hip against the polished edge of the desk, crossed his arms over his chest, and surveyed them all. When his forceful, dark gaze crossed Gereint’s, Gereint wanted to flinch and drop his eyes; a slave’s impulse, or the deference any Casmantian owed his king, or the impulse of a guilty man? It felt oddly like guilt, though he knew very well he had nothing for which to atone. He set his jaw and stared back.

“I believe,” the Arobern said, in his deep, guttural voice, “that I have the tale plain and clear. Does anyone believe it necessary to add to the account my agent Beguchren Teshrichten has given to me?”

No one appeared to, though Gereint could not stop himself from glancing at Amnachudran.

“So,” said the Arobern. He turned to the Feierabianden lord, inclining his heavy head. “Lord Bertaud, you spoke for Casmantium before the representative of the griffins. Their mage, yes? It was your word that caused the griffin mage to align his power with ours in the building of that wall. That is so, yes?”

Lord Bertaud hesitated for a long moment. At last he said quietly, “It was a little more complicated than that. Sipiike Kairaithin himself favored the solution Lady Tehre devised. I know he set himself against the will of his own king to support the building of that wall. We—you owe him a debt, which I doubt you will ever have an opportunity to repay. But I hope you’ll keep in mind, Lord King, that at the end, not every griffin strove for the destruction of your country.”

The Arobern paid the foreign lord careful attention. When the foreigner had finished speaking, he answered, “As you say so, Lord Bertaud, I will remember it. I know well your people, and you particularly, have forged a much greater understanding with the griffins than Casmantium has ever managed, despite all our long experience.”

Lord Bertaud inclined his head. “Perhaps it’s our lack of violent history that allows Feierabiand to approach the People of Fire and Air more, ah—”

“More productively,” suggested Beguchren, quietly. “I think it’s clear that earth mages, particularly cold mages, should not determine policy when dealing with the… People of Air and Fire. Certainly the counsel of mages is suspect in that regard, and so I’ve advised my lord king.”

Lord Bertaud looked startled and satisfied in approximately equal measure. He said after a moment, “I’m… that is, I think perhaps you may be correct, Lord Beguchren, and I’m very much hopeful that this, ah, caution, may lead to a better outcome along the border between earth and fire. If, ah…”

“If the wall should fail,” Beguchren completed the thought. He turned his head, regarding Gereint, one pale brow lifting. He said, not quite a question, “As it should not, however.”

Gereint shook his head uncertainly. “I don’t think so, my lord. I don’t—I can’t well judge, but I don’t think so.”

“It should last for a long time,” Tehre put in earnestly. “Quite a long time, really. It’s structurally very sound. Because of how wide it is, you know. Width and weight always stabilize a wall—”

The Arobern smoothly interrupted what might have become a detailed digression on the nature and stability of walls. “Lady Tehre,” he said formally, “Casmantium is amazed by your skill and prowess as a builder and an engineer. Casmantium and I are grateful for your insight and your skill, laid down at great risk and in despite of my command.” His manner became less formal and more expansive. “Which, hah, I think I might forgive! My agent Detreir Enteirich was most alarmed at your defiance and the defiance of Lord Bertaud, but I have assured him that, under the circumstances, he need not be concerned at his failure to complete the charge I gave him.”

From her air of startlement, Gereint rather thought Tehre might have genuinely forgotten about this incident herself. Lord Bertaud’s mouth crooked in a wry smile.

The king, too, looked amused, as though he also suspected Tehre had forgotten. “I think I will send you west, with your honored brother and with Lord Bertaud if he will agree, to where my engineers and builders are working on my new road,” he told her. “I think you have ideas for bridges and roadwork. And more than ideas, I think! You are not any ordinary maker, hah? My friend Beguchren tells me that we need a new word to describe what you are: not a mage, but not exactly a maker. You and he can decide. But I will send you west, and send my agent Detreir Enteirich with you, to ensure my engineers know to regard your views with respect.”

Tehre had flushed, but her face was alight with enthusiasm. “Oh, yes! I have this wonderful idea for a new kind of bridge; it has—well.” Surprising Gereint, she cut herself off and said merely, “I’m sure it will work. Nearly sure.” But then she frowned, suddenly cautious. “Oh! But the Fellesteden heir, what
is
his name? I don’t know, maybe he—it’s possible he might—”

“I think Casnerach Fellesteden will not further trouble you or your family,” the king assured her, smiling affably and somehow almost as fiercely as a griffin. “So you will go west. That is good.” He turned at last to Gereint. “And you, Gereint Enseichen. What should I say to you?”

Gereint knew he had flushed. He truly had no idea how to respond. The king’s gaze was uncomfortably intense when it was aimed precisely at him, Gereint found.

The Arobern said, “So we gain at very least a respite, maybe for years, maybe for our generation. Maybe for an age. And you did this for us.”

This was unanswerable. Gereint managed a small nod.

“I am very satisfied with your work in the service of my friend Beguchren Teshrichten, and of Casmantium—that is, my service. Beguchren hoped you would do well for him. Neither of us, I think, understood how well you might do. Or under what circumstances. Or at what cost.”

Gereint shook his head. “The cost wasn’t mine. Not really. Not in the end.” His eyes met Beguchren’s, and he looked away again at once. He said to the Arobern, “It wasn’t any of my doing that put me in a position to stumble into a way to be useful. I know that very well. I’m grateful Lord Beguchren’s foresight and courage brought us all through that night of fire.” He met Beguchren’s eyes again, this time deliberately. “If not quite as we expected, still we came through to the dawn.”

“As you say,” the Arobern said, as gently as his gravelly voice permitted.

Beguchren bowed his head a little, and there was a pause.

Then the Arobern said, turning to the last of them, “Eben Amnachudran, your role, also, I have heard described. I commend your decisiveness and your steady courage in those days of fire. And through that last night. And your kindness to my friend Beguchren, among all the men who fell under your care.”

Amnachudran, rather pale, bowed his head. He began to speak, but stopped.

The Arobern’s heavy brows lifted. He asked, “What penalty should attend a judge of mine who interferes with a proper
geas
in defiance of my law and then conceals that interference? And what difference should it make if that same judge should comport himself creditably during a crisis in the days following that crime?”

Tehre sat frozen, her hand touching her mouth. Lord Bertaud looked quietly aside, not to intrude on this Casmantian matter. Beguchren was, as always, calmly inscrutable. Gereint didn’t know what he showed—nothing, he hoped. Yet, at least. It took an effort to say nothing, to leave Eben Amnachudran to answer that accusation alone.

Amnachudran lifted his head. “No difference, of course. The law is very clear that one honorable act does not clear dishonor from an earlier act. As I knew very well.” He got to his feet, took one step forward, and sank to his knees. “Lord King, when I chose to break your law, I should have resigned my judgeship. Instead, yes, I tried to hide what I had done. I ask for mercy.”

“Do you so? Now?”

Amnachudran flinched just a little, but visibly. “Lord King, you’ll say I should have come to you then if I would ask for mercy. That to plead for clemency only after one is caught is nothing honorable. That’s true. Of course I should. And I’m aware, as Touchan Dachbraden points out, that any judge renowned for mercy must also be renowned, in precisely equal measure, for injustice. I know it. I don’t argue it.”

The Arobern went around the massive desk, took a velvet pouch from a drawer, and poured out into his broad hand two familiar silver
geas
rings. They chimed together as they slid into the king’s hand, delicate and horrifying. The king stirred them with one blunt finger and they chimed again, more quietly. With his new mage’s awareness, Gereint found he could actually
see
the cold magecraft woven into the rings, like a filigree of frost laid over the silver.

The king said to Amnachudran, “Justice might be to set the
geas
on the man who unlawfully interfered with its binding on another. What say you, my judge?”

Amnachudran had gone dead white. He began to answer, and stopped as Gereint’s hand closed hard on his shoulder. Tehre, with a self-control that amazed Gereint, still said nothing at all, but waited to see what he would do and what the king would do. Her eyes were brilliant with anger and fear.

Gereint had found himself on his feet and beside Amnachudran without thinking. Now he took an instant for thought, reached the same conclusion the back of his mind seemed to have made first, and said sharply, allowing himself the sharpness, “If I served Beguchren Teshrichten, I should have those rings. You said I might melt them down or throw them in the river, whatever I chose. You said that. But there are other rings, I suppose. I’ll beg you not to use them, Lord King. If I am owed anything at all, I’ll beg you for mercy for my friend.”

Tehre leaped to her feet and said fiercely, “If
I
am owed anything, then
I
will beg for mercy for my father. And I
am
owed, Lord King! You said you were grateful! And you should be!”

The Arobern considered her, bright and intense and tiny, with the light shining gold in her hair and her eyes snapping with passion. His expression was hard to read. He drew breath to respond.

Before the king could speak, Beguchren rose, effortlessly drawing all eyes. His manner impeccably elegant and formal, he went over to where Eben Amnachudran knelt and stood for a moment looking down at him.