Law of the Broken Earth (50 page)

Only one other person was with the king: Erich. Prince Erichstaben Taben Arobern, who was standing, his back
straight, his chin raised, and his face blank, at the king’s left hand. The Arobern stopped when he saw Erich. His gaze went first to his son’s face, shifted to take in the young man’s height and breadth of shoulder with silent amazement, and rose again to his face with an unspoken but unmistakable hunger.

Erich lifted his chin half an inch higher and met his father’s eyes for a brief, taut moment, then turned his face aside as though the effort of sustaining that intense contact had abruptly grown too great. He glanced instead at Mienthe and tried to smile, but it was not a very convincing effort and he gave it up at once.

The echo behind the tension in the room was so powerful that Mienthe found it difficult to endure. She stopped just inside the door and simply tried to breathe evenly, hoping she would not be called upon to explain anything to anybody.

Mienthe was not surprised the king had Erich with him. What surprised her was how very much the prince resembled his father. Erich lacked some of his father’s bulk, but none of his height. And their expressions were alike, also. They even stood with the same upright pride. She had not realized how very alike they were until she saw them like this: together in good light.

At last the Arobern moved his gaze, as with an effort, to Iaor Safiad. He walked forward with a heavy stride and stopped a few steps away from King Iaor’s chair, his hands hooked in his belt. Mienthe could not read his expression now. There was nothing simple or friendly in the way the two kings looked at each other. She almost fancied she could hear the ringing clash of swords when their eyes met.

The Arobern said, his grim voice touched with irony, “Well, Iaor Daveien Behanad Safiad. I find the second time much like the first. Perhaps someday I will come before you as something other than a supplicant.”

Iaor Safiad answered, with a flash of temper, “Perhaps someday you will come into Feierabiand
without
an army at your back.”

So everybody else had been right, Mienthe saw, and she had been wrong. Her heart sank.

But the Arobern only lowered his eyes, like a man laying down a sword. He said, “Yes. I did not wish to offend you. But I expected you would be offended. You have been patient. And generous beyond measure.”

“You left me little choice but generosity.”

“You had every choice. You took that one. I am grateful.” The Arobern looked deliberately at his son, then turned his gaze back to King Iaor. He sighed heavily, came one step closer to the throne, and began to kneel.

“No,” said Iaor, stopping him. He turned one hand, indicating one of the other chairs. “Sit, if you wish.”

There was a little pause.

The Arobern, moving slowly, seated himself in the chair. He set his broad hands on his knees and looked at Iaor Safiad without speaking.

“Your son,” said King Iaor, with deliberate emphasis, “has grown into a fine man. He should make any father proud. No doubt Lord Beguchren told you.”

“Yes,” said the Arobern.

There was another pause. Iaor broke it. “You took every chance,” he said, with the same slow, deliberate emphasis. “I am grateful.”

The Arobern bent his head just enough to show he had
heard, then met the other king’s eyes again with somber intensity.

“Shall we agree we are mutually indebted? And that we are not likely to find ourselves at odds during the lifetimes of our children? Feierabiand is glad to count Casmantium as an ally.”

“Casmantium, the same.”

Iaor nodded. He said grimly, “Then, as we are allies, I will tell you that I intend to send a courier to Linularinum. To Kohorrian’s court. I will bid Mariddeier Kohorrian attend me here in Tiefenauer. Do you think he will obey my summons?”

“Ah.” The Arobern leaned back in his chair. After a moment, he smiled. It was not a kind expression. “I will send a man also, is this what you intend? Perhaps a soldier, to stand behind your girl courier? And Lord Bertaud will send a man of his, am I to think so? Yes. Then, yes, Kohorrian will come. You wish me to leave a man of mine here also, to stand at your back when you scold Mariddeier Kohorrian?”

Iaor did not precisely smile in return, but there was a glint of hard humor in his eyes. “I thought you might be persuaded to leave me Lord Beguchren Teshrichten for the purpose.”

“Ah.” The Arobern tapped his heavy fingers on the arm of his chair.

“I should be pleased to see Lord Beguchren turn his tongue against Mariddeier Kohorrian rather than against me. And, in truth, I should value his counsel. I consider that he owes me at least so much. What surety would you require?”

The Arobern’s eyebrows rose. “From you? I would be
ashamed to ask for any surety from you, Iaor Safiad. I will bid Lord Beguchren act as my agent in this matter. I think he may even be pleased by the task.”

King Iaor briefly inclined his head.

The Arobern nodded in return, paused, and then asked, “And I? What will you have of me, Iaor Safiad?”

“I will expect you to withdraw from my country quietly and in good order. As, of course, you entered it.”

The Arobern, regarding Iaor warily, made a gesture of acquiescence. “As soon as you give me leave to go.”

“I give you leave.” Iaor gripped the arms of his chair and rose. Then he paused, looking down at the other king, and added, “As a hostage one will not touch has no practical use, I will release your son. When you return to Casmantium, Prince Erichstaben may go with you.” He added to Erich, in a much different tone, “I’ll miss you, boy, especially when my daughters pester me to teach them dangerous tricks with their ponies.”

The young man flushed, grinned, and answered, “Well, Your Majesty, and I’ll miss the little girls! May I thank you, and beg you to make my apologies to them for leaving without bidding them farewell?”

“Perhaps I’ll send them to Casmantium for a visit,” Iaor said to him. “In two years. If your father approves.” He gave the Arobern a hard stare.

The Arobern got to his feet and bowed, very slightly. “Of course, Casmantium would be honored to welcome the little Safiad princesses,” he said formally.

Erich smiled, a swift, affectionate smile. He glanced at Mienthe and the smile became wry. But then he looked back at his father and the smile slipped altogether.

King Iaor crooked a finger at Mienthe and walked out.

Mienthe followed, all her nerves on edge. She hadn’t said a single word, even to say good-bye to Erich. She wondered how soon the Casmantian force would leave—soon, probably, at dawn, perhaps—She wondered whether King Iaor would mind if she went out to the camp again, to bid Erich and his father farewell? Because the king was indeed very angry, she knew, for all he showed it so little. She might not have realized it, except that to her new perception, the echo of his anger filled the space around him like a dark mist.

The door closed behind them, and the king stood still for a moment in the hallway, breathing deeply. Then he turned to Mienthe—she tried not to flinch—and took her by the shoulders. “Mie,” he said, smiling with forced good humor that did not touch his eyes. He let her go, but indicated with a nod that she should walk with him. “What I am considering—tell me, Mienthe, would you perhaps consent to escort my daughters to Casmantium in a few years’ time? I believe I might not object to a possible connection between my house and the Arobern’s, and my daughters are not so much younger than Erich. I do not like to ask Bertaud to go, but you seem on good terms—excellent terms—with the Arobern and his people.”

“I’m sorry,” Mienthe said, answering the most important part of this. “I mean, of course I will gladly do anything you ask me to do, but—Your Majesty, everything happened so fast, and I didn’t know what else to do, but go through the pass. I’m sorry—”

The king shook his head, his taut anger easing at last. “No. No indeed, Mie. It was well done. You have done nothing which requires forgiveness. Nor has Brechen
Glansent Arobern. You need not tell me so. I am perfectly aware of it.”

Mienthe nodded, relieved. She asked tentatively, “What will you say to Mariddeier Kohorrian?”

“Ah.” This time, when the king smiled, the humor did reach his eyes. “I have no idea. I will think of something. Beguchren Teshrichten may advise me.” He glanced up and smiled suddenly, a much kinder expression. “And perhaps your cousin may have some ideas of his own.”

“Regarding Mariddeier Kohorrian? I could indeed make several suggestions,” said Bertaud.

Mienthe whirled around. Her cousin was walking quickly toward them down the hall. His voice, light and ironic, did nothing to hide the shadows of grief and loss in his eyes, but he was alive, and not obviously injured, and he was
here
.

Forgetting the king, forgetting every reason for grief and fear, Mienthe ran forward to embrace him.

Bertaud caught her up as though she were still a child, in a hug that threatened her ribs, then set her down and held her at arm’s length, looking searchingly into her face. “Cousin! You are well?”

“Yes, I am, but you? Are
you
well? Are you—” Mienthe hesitated. “You heard… Kes told you about your friend? I’m so sorry, Bertaud.” She was dimly aware that the king had quietly withdrawn to leave them together, and even more vaguely glad of it, but she had no real attention to spare for anyone but her cousin. He looked, she thought, desperately weary and grieved.

Bertaud bent his head. “She told me, of course. He unmade himself to give you the power you needed to remake the law of the world. Or so I gather. I gather
you discovered a gift in yourself which is not quite like anything else in the world.” He touched her cheek gently, smiling. “My little cousin!”

Mienthe was embarrassed. “I… it wasn’t exactly me. I just did things that came to me to do. Tan was much braver. Jos was
very
brave. And…” She stopped.

“I’m very certain Kairaithin was glad to know that the wind his death called up was so strong as to overwhelm any other gathering storm. He always—he always was determined to get his own way in everything. And he nearly always succeeded. Most importantly—most importantly at the end.”

Mienthe nodded. She asked tentatively, “Do the griffins… Was there a ceremony?”

“Not as we understand such things.” Bertaud paused, then touched her arm, inviting her to walk with him. “Kes told me that the red dust had blown all through my house and across my gardens and lands, and she kindled a fire for me. A fire for memory, that will never go out… If you don’t mind, Mie, I thought I might set it to burn next to Tef’s stone.”

A lump came into her throat. She had to try twice before she could say, “I think that would be the perfect place for it.”

They walked out to the gardens side by side. Standing among the stones of generations, Bertaud solemnly tipped a single glowing ember out of a small earthenware pot beside Tef’s low, polished grave marker. The ember flickered twice, and for just an instant Mienthe feared it might go out, but then flames crept up from it, pale in the afternoon light, and in moments a hand-sized fire was burning on the gravel by the stone.

“He rode a wind of his own choosing,” Bertaud said quietly, and stood gazing down at the fire for one more moment, and then turned away at last.

They walked back toward the house in silence. It looked just the same as it had a month ago, to a casual glance. But if one looked more closely, one would see the scars of battle on the doors and the shutters, and cut into the earth of the gardens… The real scars were invisible. For all of them. Mienthe broke the quiet at last to ask, “How did you leave Kes?”

Bertaud glanced down at her, smiling a little. “Well, I think. Or well enough. Grieving, of course. They do grieve for their losses. Busy. She is helping Gereint and Tehre rebuild the Wall. Now the law of the world is solidly in place, it seems quite unimaginable that the Wall ever broke, until you see the shards scattered all across the desert and the mountains.”

“They’re rebuilding it?” Mienthe was surprised.

“Fire and earth are still foreign to one another, if not inimical. Besides, Tehre said she couldn’t bear to leave the Wall shattered and broken. But this time they are building it with a gate. When I left, Tehre was explaining all about the different ways there are of building gates and why arches are superior to architraves, or something of the sort. I confess I wasn’t paying close attention.”

Mienthe smiled.

“Kes is as beautiful as ever, and no more human. But… less unfamiliar, somehow. It’s strange watching her with Gereint. They remember the antipathy, and yet they don’t remember how it
felt
. I think they may even become friends, in time. She is the most powerful fire mage in the world now, I imagine.”

Mienthe would have been astonished to find otherwise. She nodded.

“So she has become Lady of the Changing Winds. That would have pleased Kairaithin, I think. His humor was not like that of a man, but he would have appreciated the irony. And… I’ll never like Tastairiane Apailika. Nor will he ever have much goodwill toward any creature of earth, I’m sure. But he is her
iskarianere
, you know. He is willing to please her, and so he is now willing to be… if not friendly, at least forbearing. I think Kairaithin would appreciate the irony in that, as well.”