Limits of Power (42 page)

“I think it best. Among other things, we need to know if the pattern on the box is the same as the pattern the elves use to move about. Queen Arian found such a pattern; we have chiseled out the stones where it was and put them outside the city. I would rather not have a sudden arrival of elves in
my
palace.”

Dorrin could understand that. They all went to the treasury, and she looked at the plain wooden chest.

“As you see, the wood grew together—there's no longer a way to open the chest.”

“Nor can we move the chest,” High Marshal Seklis said. “Several strong men cannot move it a finger's width.”

He and the king looked at her as if she could move it with a touch. Dorrin almost laughed but laid her hand on the chest.

“Is it talking to you?” they asked.

“No.”
I
am
here,
she thought at it. The chest trembled beneath her hand; her hand tingled. She took her hand away; the chest lurched a little toward her.

“I saw that,” Seklis said. “I can hardly believe it, but—ask it to open, Duke Verrakai.”

“Please open,” Dorrin said, laying her hand on the top of the chest. With a sound like ripping cloth, a crack appeared around the chest where the opening had been before. Dorrin said, “Thank you,” and reached forward; the top lifted without her assistance.

Inside, the contents appeared as they had before, wrapped in clean white linen, the oblong shape of the box that held the rings and bracelets, the shape of the cup, and the irregular shape that held the crown.

I
am
yours. Take me—put me on.
The crown in its wrappings lifted in the chest. Dorrin put out her hand to hold it gently in place, and the light of its jewels blazed through the cloth.

“It's—doing that again,” Mikeli said. He sounded more interested than angry.

“It is not yet the time,” Dorrin said to the crown. “But as I promised I would return, so I have returned. I would see you again, and the others.”

A sense of sadness, of yearning.

“I wish I knew where you came from,” Dorrin said. The colors shimmered through the cloth.
Take
me. See me clearly.
“I cannot wear you now,” Dorrin said, “in courtesy to the king of this land. But I will unwrap you and look.”

She took the crown in her hands and set it in her lap, unwrapping it. The jewels blazed.
See
us
all.
To Mikeli she said, “It wants me to unwrap them all.”

“Go ahead,” Mikeli said. “We must learn what the mystery means, and at the moment no assassins are with us.”

One by one she lifted the other items out. She ran her thumb along the pattern on the box of regalia and lifted out the rings, the bracelets. She set the cup atop the chest and laid the other things to either side.

“You are beautiful,” she said to the array. “But I do not understand you. I do not know where you come from, or who made you, or what you truly are.”

The light from the jewels brightened even more, shimmering on the walls and ceilings of the treasury like reflections of sunlight dancing on moving water. Dorrin looked at them more closely than she ever had. Blue of deep water … clear as water, as well. The jewels of other colors on the goblet and on the top of the velvet-lined box seemed garish in combination with the blue and clear.

What could it be? Fire and water? Air and water?

“There is a necklace,” Dorrin said to the jewels. “It is not here; it was stolen long ago and stolen again last year. One who saw you and that necklace both thought it belonged with you. Do you know?”

Yes.

“Who made you?”

Ask
the
right
questions
in
the
right
order.

“I do not know the right order,” Dorrin said. “Let me tell you what I do know. Long and long ago, men came to the south from farther south, from over the sea. Once that land was green, but then it became sand, so men sailed a sea and came north.”

Silence as heavy as gold filled the room.

“I believe you came with those men,” Dorrin said. “And I believe you remember.”

Into her mind a flood of images: men, ships, women, children, waves of green water edged with foam and waves of sand edged with … blood. Dorrin shuddered. “Ibbirun,” she said. “The Sandlord? And … invasion? Blood?”

No.

“Is that the old story about the Sandlord having sent waves of sand into Aarenis, making it a desert?” the king asked.

“That's what I always heard,” Dorrin said with a sigh. “The fall of Aare was caused by the Sandlord, Ibbirun, a servant of the Unmaker. But that's not what I'm getting here.”

“Perhaps they did not know how to care for farmland,” High Marshal Seklis said. “Perhaps they—” He paused suddenly, scowling. “In the west, in Kolobia, the former magelords turned farmer. And while that settlement prospered, they turned rock and sand into farmland. According to the records we found there, they brought in soil from Fintha and multiplied it by magery.”

“Multiplied it?”

“So it was written.”

“I have no idea how they did that,” Dorrin said.

“What I'm thinking is … good farmers make the land better. Bad farmers make the land worse. What if there were bad farmers in Aare who ruined the land? Then they might have blamed the Sandlord rather than themselves.”

“But if that's so, how could they be good farmers here in the north?”

“They learned from the old humans, those who were already here,” Seklis said.

“I suppose.” Dorrin looked down at the crown she held, its jewels no longer flashing brightly, though they still shone. “Did they ruin the land?” she asked the crown.

No.
Light filled the room again, shimmering once more as if under water.
Not
land. Water.

“They did something to the water,” Dorrin said, looking up to meet the king's eyes. “That's what it told me.”

“Something to the water?” Mikeli frowned. “What could they do to water? Foul a spring, I suppose, but—water as element—it's too much.”

“In Gird's war we have the tale of a magelord named Grahlin,” Seklis said. “He could make water disappear or reappear; he took a river's water and diverted it to a well, making the well burst. Gird's friend Cob was lamed for life by that.”

“I remember now,” Mikeli said. He turned to Dorrin. “And you,” he said, “you brought water back to a cursed well.”

Dorrin stared at him. “I … removed the curse and took the bodies out…”

“According to the Marshal-General,” Seklis said, “you did more than that. You moved stones by magery, you removed the curse—it must have been by magery or Falk's power or both, and magic in any case—and you told her that water returned to the well when you prayed over it and your tears fell.”

“It was Falk,” Dorrin said.

“If it was Beclan's own magery mixed with Gird's power that saved him,” the king said, “it could have been your own magery mixed with Falk's power that brought water back. It could have been your magery alone, for that matter, like Grahlin's. It was your magery alone that killed the traitor.”

“What I don't understand is what the regalia have to do with it all,” Seklis said. “Are they calling you simply to tell you that your ancestors—or someone's ancestors—stole the water from Aare and you're supposed to put it back? The first is unprovable, and the second impossible.”

“I don't know, High Marshal,” the king said, leaning back in his chair. “Unless we learn to travel in time, you are correct that we cannot know exactly what happened in Aare. But as for impossible … what is not possible for me is possible for a Marshal, and what is not possible for a Marshal may be possible for a paladin.”

“But I'm not a paladin,” Dorrin said.

“Does anyone know ahead of time if they're a paladin?” the king asked, looking at Seklis.

“Paksenarrion did not, by all accounts,” Seklis said. “But there's much we don't know about magelords … Have you done any other magery with water, Duke Verrakai?”

“No,” Dorrin said. “Although…”

“What?”

“Well … my people have told me that in the year since I became Duke, the wells and springs have all become cleaner.” They started to speak, and she held up her hand. “But understand—the people had been forbidden to follow any of the old customs: dressing the wells for the
merin
in spring, performing the usual ceremonies of cleansing. I did nothing myself but make it clear that they were free to do so.”

“And did you yourself dress the wells?”

“Not except putting herbs on the two wells nearest the house. But more importantly, I had my people clean them out in the same way you'd clean a cellar. One of them, in the stableyard, had trash in it when I arrived. Stands to reason if you take rubbish out of a well, the water is cleaner.”

“And do you feel any particular … affinity for water?”

“Affinity?”

“When you were in the Duke's Company, were you in charge of water, or anything like that?”

“All the captains were,” Dorrin said. “Dirty water makes troops sick.” She thought back, trying to remember if she'd ever done anything, however minor, to indicate any power over water. Nothing came to mind. “I do not remember that I knew more, or was more careful, than the other captains. Besides, at that time my magery had been blocked by the Knight-Commander of Falk.”

“And was your cohort healthier than the others?”

“No less healthy, I would say,” Dorrin said. “Duke Phelan—King Kieri—was strict about cleanliness, and ours was healthier than most mercenary companies.” Then she laughed. “One thing, though—I like to swim. Arcolin can swim but does not much like it, and Cracolnya cannot.” She glanced from one to the other and then went on. “I do not think the answer to our puzzle lies in my past. It lies in these—” She touched the regalia.

T
hat night, Dorrin dreamed of water … waves rising up, so clear she could see the fish swimming in them, stretching into the distance. She could smell the wet sand and rocks, feel wavelets lapping at her feet … and in that dream she walked out into the water until the waves lifted her feet from the sand below. She rode the waves the way a fallen leaf rides the current of a stream. She rose from the water in a fog, looking down on a land with streams and rivers that ran into a blue sea … and fell from the cloud as rain, to wake with rain spattering the windows of Verrakai House.

She listened to the rain and thought about the regalia. When she'd put the regalia back into the chest, the chest's lid and body grew together again as soon as she took her hand from it. Whatever mind inhabited the regalia, it was determined to protect itself from anyone but her. Thieves could not steal it. Could another magelord? If Alured the Black had mage powers, would he be able to open the chest? Would the necklace function like a key?

The next day, a courier rode in from the south. Dorrin paid little attention; she had conferences scheduled with her bankers and several men of business. In late afternoon, she returned to Verrakai House to find that the courier had dropped off a letter from Arcolin, and the king wanted another private conference after dinner. He would, his message said, send an escort.

Arcolin's letter occupied her for the next turn of the glass; she accepted the cup of sib Beclan brought her but did not speak until she had finished it. When she put it down, her squires were all three back in the house.

“I thought you were staying overnight with your family,” she said to Daryan.

“Lady Mahieran is there with the two—with Beclan's sisters,” Daryan said. “The girls backed me into a passage and wanted to know all about him. I didn't know what I could say, so I said I had to leave.”

“How are they?” Beclan asked.

Daryan looked at Dorrin.

“Of course you can tell him,” Dorrin said. “It's not a state secret. You can't pass messages—especially not notes—but you can tell Beclan how his sisters looked, and you can tell his sisters how Beclan is doing. Which is very well,” she said with a glance at Beclan.

“I do miss them,” he said. “Especially Vili. She's a pest, but—but she's sweet.”

“You would not think her sweet if you saw her and
my
sister together,” Daryan said. “My mother said they'd been a trial all the afternoon. Is that your aunt, Maris Verrakai, who was with them?”

“Great-aunt. The family bitter apple. She's a widow; her husband died in one of the old wars. But my father said she was sharp-tongued before that.” Beclan turned to Dorrin. “My lord, supper is ready. Would you rather we brought you a tray?”

She shook her head. “No, I'll eat in the kitchen. I'm ready now.” As they ate, she thought whether to tell them of the threats Arcolin had mentioned. Beclan would need to know, as her heir. The others—their fathers would know soon enough.