Limits of Power (23 page)

Arian did not want to think what Maris had been like as a girl. She turned to the girls of the day. “Naryan, you said you liked swordplay with longswords. Do you practice?”

“Not since … Beclan…” the girl said.

“Lady Maris, would you permit Naryan to engage in a brief lesson with my Squires and me?”

“Here?” The formidable brows rose.

“Here. We have blades enough. I know Naryan has riding gloves…”

“But no mail. Not even a banda. I do not choose to see her spitted and sliced.”

“Please,” Naryan said, her face alight.

“We will take great care,” Arian said.

“My lady, we do have bandas,” Lieth said. She grinned. “The thought came to us that you might enjoy a bit of swordplay out in the sunlight, on natural ground.”

Maris threw up her hands. “Well, then, Naryan, if you choose to set yourself against those who are far better than you—take your chances.”

“You?” Arian said, looking at the younger girls. Vilian and the Serrostin girl were head to head, whispering as fast as they could. They shook their heads.

The impromptu sword practice drew others to the area they'd marked off. Naryan, tense and serious, did a few preliminary stretches, then a few paces forward and back as Arian and the Squires put on bandas. The girl was stiff at first, but soon excitement took over. She had had, Arian decided, a little good instruction but not enough. She would benefit from more, but at the moment she would benefit most from being seen as both competent and acceptable to the foreign visitors.

Soon some of the other young people were eager to join in. Arian quickly assigned two Squires to serve as armsmasters—to have no more than two bouts going on at once, while another supervised footwork drills. Within the next two turns of the glass, more women and children moved closer. Lady Marrakai and Lady Serrostin had merged their broods, asking Vilian and Tiran to supervise the younger children so the eldest could take part. Other peers' wives chatted with one another and approached Arian when she was not fencing to ask questions about Lyonya and customs at that court.

By the time the shadows had lengthened and it was time to return to the city, Arian saw that Maris and the two Mahieran girls were no longer isolated at all—several peers' ladies were chatting with Maris and suggesting plans for including the girls in activities with their children.

A good outcome. She rode back to the palace beside a baron's wife, a tall angular redhead. “Did you have weapons training as a girl?” the woman asked.

“No, I grew up on a farm,” Arian said. “Lyonyans are mostly Falkian, and Falkians do not train as young as you Girdish. I may suggest it when I return.”

“Which of your parents was an elf?”

“My father was an elf,” Arian said. “My mother wasn't. My mother died years ago; my father died recently, trying to protect the Lady of the Ladysforest.”

The woman looked confused but then asked, “Are all the Lyonyan forest rangers knights?”

“By no means. My father paid my fees to attend Falk's Hall, where Knights of Falk train. That, in fact, is where I learned most of my weapons skills, that and in my years as a ranger. I'm a better archer than fencer: archery is the main weapon of Lyonyan rangers.”

“I have used a crossbow,” the woman said. “But that's not the same, is it?”

“No,” Arian said. “I don't have my bow with me on this trip or I would show you.”

“I'm from the northwest,” the woman said. “Not so far from where Paksenarrion the paladin came from. We raise sheep, mostly.” After a pause, she said, “You're not what I expected. Or most of us, I imagine. I was thinking half-elf, queen, she'll be haughty and hardly speak to us, but you're not like that.”

“I should hope not,” Arian said, laughing.

“Does your husband—the king—mind that you're half-elf?”

“Hardly. He's half-elven, too,” Arian said. Surely the woman knew that. But it turned out this was only her second visit to Vérella and she had no real friends at court.

“It's a small domain,” the woman said as they came into the city. “But I wanted to see you—” She grinned suddenly, and her face no longer looked bony and plain. “And I have. I've been to Vérella and heard the bells and met the king and a half-elf queen from a distant land … I'll never feel trapped again.”

“You could visit us,” Arian heard herself say. She had not meant to invite any of them.

“Oh, no. I could never be away so long. Once in a lifetime is enough for the likes of me. And I love our hills and streams. You understand; you grew up on a farm. I miss it in the city. But I thank you, Queen Arian, indeed I do.”

“You're very welcome,” Arian said.

Fintha

B
ad news.”

Marshal-General Arianya looked up. Marshal Kerivan held out a message tube.

“I've read this, Marshal-General. There's been a child found not a day's ride from here with magery—undeniable magery.”

“And?”

“And he's dead. The people killed him. Girdish—all yeomen of a local grange. The yeoman-marshal led them, said it must be done.”

“Killed … a
child
? What had the child done?”

“Made light with his hand, this says. And attacked the yeoman-marshal who held him. The light was true mage-light and hot; the man claims a painful burn.”

Arianya clenched her jaw on the first words that came to her.

“There's more,” Kerivan said. “They blamed the child's mother—she's not from there—so they beat her and drove her away.”

“And what did the Marshal do?” Arianya asked in as level a voice as she could manage. From the glance Kerivan gave her, he was aware of her anger anyway.

“Marshal Sofan was away, he says, but he feels the actions were justified under the circumstances, as use of magery has always been considered evil, an offense punishable by death. He adds that he warned the child's father against marrying an outlander and that he always knew no good would come of the Marshal-General's new policies.”

A second wave of anger roared through her. Arianya waited until the crest had passed and folded her hands, making sure not to clench them. “Did Marshal Sofan bring this himself or send it?”

“Sent it, Marshal-General.”

“That's a mercy. For him.” She could not sit still; she rose and paced her office. “So: we know nothing about the family except that the father was bred there and the mother not. We know nothing about the child except he made light. Gird's cudgel,
paladins
make light! Surely these people know that!”

“A child isn't a paladin.”

“But paladins were once children,” Arianya said, following that trail instead of the one that had a Marshal blaming her. No, she must deal with the real issues, and quickly. “I need to know exactly where this place is—we'll need maps—and everything about their Marshal you can find out. He'll have to be replaced, of course, and the yeoman-marshal as well. And we need to find the mother, if she's alive and not dead in a field.”

“I'll send a patrol—and someone to the grange there?”

“Yes. Six knights. I want the Marshal and yeoman-marshal under guard here as quickly as possible. Perhaps I should go—” She stopped, considering. “If magery returns here—if it already has—have there been other children killed? I must send word to all the granges—”

“To … to let mages go?” His brows rose.

“To kill no more children, at least,” Arianya said. “I'll write: you get those knights on the road and make sure they understand they're to bring the Marshal and yeoman-marshal here under guard.”

She would have to convene a council of Marshals, she realized. Anger roiled her mind; she tried unsuccessfully to put herself into the minds of those who would kill a child for having a lighted hand. Magery was wrong, of course. No one wanted a return of the magelords—gods grant the sleepers in Kolobia never woke up—but even Gird had recognized that children with mage ability could be innocent of evil. He had hoped for a reconciliation between the peoples, mages using their powers for good.

She could not finish the letter. Not yet. She had to know why that Marshal had chosen to approve killing a child. Where did such hatred come from? Her mind threw up the memory of Marshal Haran and her hostility to Paksenarrion. Haran had seemed contrite, though she had resigned as Marshal less than a year later and left Fin Panir. What if she had kept the same opinion secretly? What if many of the Girdish Marshals were that angry underneath, that stubborn in their condemnations? The histories told of such, all the way from Gird's time—a strand of mingled envy, resentment, bitterness that Arianya considered evil. She had hoped her leadership had diminished its force … but Haran's behavior and now this proved her wrong.

She walked down through the back corridors, thinking of Paksenarrion and Arvid Semminson, of her own mistakes with Paks and the mistakes she hoped she had not made with Arvid. Through the kitchens and dining hall, out into the little garden that—they had learned from notes found in Kolobia—had been the favorite of a magelord priest who had known Gird.

Camwynya, one of the paladins then in residence, came in the gate from the main courtyard almost as Arianya entered the garden. “Gird's blessing,” Arianya said. “Do you have time to sit with me? I have grave news and would appreciate your opinion.”

“Certainly, Marshal-General.” Camwynya settled onto the bench along one side. “I saw a company of knights heading out—is there trouble?”

“Yes, and unexpected. Tell me, what would you do if you saw a child's hand light up?”

“I would think the child had mage blood,” Camwynya said. “I would wonder where it came from and if the child had contact with mages.”

“What would you do about it?”

“Ask the child, I expect.”

“Would you kill the child?” Arianya asked.

“Kill the child? No, of course not. Why do you ask? Has someone—”

“A yeoman-marshal and members of the grange killed a child two days ago,” Arianya said. “The Marshal wrote to tell me: he approves, and he blames my laxity for the child's magery.”

Camwynya stared. “That's … evil.”

“Yes.”

“That's not what Gird wants. What had the child done?”

“Nothing but have a hand alight. I sent those knights to bring in the Marshal and yeoman-marshal, but … I am not sure what to do. Stop this killing, of course, but how? I was heading for the High Lord's Hall to pray when I met you.”

“They must be tried. A tribunal of Marshals?”

Arianya nodded. “That would be best, to start with. But I fear there are others of the same mind.”

“May I tell the other paladins in residence?” Camwynya asked.

“Yes. Paladins may do better at convincing people this is wrong than a letter from the Marshal-General.”

P
rayers, Arianya reflected on her way back from the High Lord's Hall, were a necessary duty but did not accomplish the work of changing minds. She finished the letter—brief and firm—and sent it down to the scribes to copy and distribute to all the granges. She met with Camwynya and the other two paladins in residence, and then walked down the hill to the nearest grange to talk to Marshal Cedlin.

“Killed a
child
? For magery?” He looked as appalled as she felt.

“Yes, Cedlin. And they're apparently quite pleased with themselves for enforcing the Code of Gird.”

He scowled, chewing his lower lip. “I won't say I don't have a few yeomen who might do the same, if they thought their Marshal approved,” he said. “Most of 'em born and bred in little vills like that. There's pockets of meanness, Marshal-General. You know that.”

“Yes, but I don't have to tolerate it.”

“No more you do. There's not a grange here in Fin Panir will back killing a child even if the child does wrong. And making a light—that's not evil in itself.”