Limits of Power (72 page)

As arrogant as the most arrogant of the other elves he'd met. And where were the King's Squires? Kieri fought his anger down. “Over there—” Kieri pointed. “—is the bathing room. You may wait there while I dress.”

The elf raised his brows. “You are ashamed of your body?”

“Ashamed, no. Are you? If you choose to disrobe yourself, then you may stay.”

Beside him, Arian stirred. Kieri put a warning hand on her shoulder and squeezed a little. She lay still at once.

The elf stared a moment, brows raised, then shrugged and moved to the bathing room, disdain in the set of his shoulders. Kieri bent to Arian's ear. “It's an elf-lord, from the west, he says. Showed up here; apparently there's a pattern we didn't know about. I'm getting up.”

“We knew they might show up any time,” Arian said. “I'm getting up, too. Where are the Squires?”

“Elven magery, I expect.” He swung out of bed and put on the clothes that lay ready on a chair. Arian threw back the covers and levered herself out of bed on the other side. She, too, dressed as quickly as she could. It took her longer, which Kieri knew annoyed her. He stood where he would block a view of her if the elf should be discourteous enough to peek.

When Arian had tied her hair back, Kieri walked to the door of the bathing room and found the elf staring at the bathtub with an expression between amazement and amusement. “Do join us,” Kieri said, with an edge to his voice. He stepped back from the door, and the elf followed, his eyes widening when he saw Arian.

“You're—you're
Dameroth's
daughter! And with child!”

“And my wife and queen,” Kieri said.

The elf turned to him. “And you're … Flessinathlin's grandson?”

“Yes,” Kieri said. Arian moved closer to him.

A spate of elvish, too fast and complicated for Kieri to follow, in a tone between exasperation and distress. Then the elf quieted, gave a short twitch of the shoulders, and met Kieri's gaze. “I see,” the elf said. “I did not know the Lady had agreed to this match.”

“Is there a reason why you should have known?” Kieri asked.

“I would have thought so,” the elf said. “When was it that you wed?”

“The Spring Evener,” Arian said. “And our engagement was announced, with the Lady's consent, at last Midwinter.”

“Flessinathlin is more fool than I realized,” the elf said. “She knows—I will speak to her—”

Kieri shook his head. “You do not know she died?” he said; though he had suspected the elf had not heard that at Fin Panir, he was still surprised.

The elf flinched as if someone had hit him. “Died! She is dead? When? What happened?”

“Last spring,” Kieri said. “Not long after our wedding.” He told it as concisely as he could, ending with “several elves, including Arian's father, were killed defending the Lady.” He paused, startled by the elf's shift of expression. Was that grief? Tears in those strange eyes? The elf said nothing; Kieri went on. When he finished, he said, “I thought all elves would have known.”

“So … that was why I could not reach the elfane taig…”

“That was gnomes,” Arian said. “The Lady gave up the elfane taig; the gnomes will have destroyed the pattern there, I'm sure.”

“She—I never thought she would do that!” The elf looked more closely at Arian.

“You spoke of a reason why you came,” Kieri said. “Would it be related to your visit to Fin Panir?”

“You have heard about that?”

“Yes, but no details other than you wanted the Marshal-General to waken the sleeping magelords.”

“It is necessary. We must close the rock, and we cannot while they are there. The magery that holds them prevents it.”

“And you think someone here can do it?” Kieri asked. “Why?”

“Not you alone, perhaps. As I sense the spells, they were woven of multiple mageries: elven and human, and of the human, both mageborn and something … other. As you are half-elven, you must have at least two of these mageries. And I was told you know a mageborn in Tsaia—”

“Yes,” Kieri said. “But she owes allegiance to Tsaia's king, not to me. I cannot command her. And without knowing how a spell was contrived—”

“It
must
be done!” the elf said, his voice rising. “The Eldest has told us it is the only way to keep iynisin from more destruction.”

“Eldest?” Arian asked. “An Elder other than Sinyi or rockfolk?”

The elf stared at her. “I cannot say,” he said after a moment.

“An Elder with whom one might touch tongues?” she said. “An Elder who values wisdom?”

“You know…” The elf looked at Kieri, then back to Arian. “You
both
know. Have you—?”

“Yes,” Kieri said.

“Then you must—at once—you must try—”

“No,” Kieri said sharply enough that the elf stepped back a pace. “No, not at once. What you tell me suggests great risk. A trifold magery, or even more, to be unwoven at a distance—”

“You must come; I will take you through the pattern, both of you—”

“No!” This time Kieri let his anger show. “Arian is with child. We have lost one child to malice; we will not lose these to carelessness or haste. And what of the mageborn, if they are awakened? Have you thought where they will go, how they will be received, what they will do? I see by your expression you have not. You see them as impediments to be removed, but if they wake, they are people—people who must have a home and a purpose.”

“But…” The elf looked at Arian again; his expression softened. “We have much to talk about, you and I.”

“Do we?” Arian asked. She eased her aching back a little.

“You are tired,” he said, as if that were a surprise.

“I am carrying two babes,” Arian said, her tone sharp, “and they both kick like mules. Now that you have said what you came to say, and Kieri has given his answer, perhaps you will wait until morning—or after—to continue this.”

The elf startled, then—to Kieri's surprise—gave Arian a smile of such sweetness that he seemed a different person and bowed. “My pardon,” he said. “You are right; you cannot travel, nor should you attempt great magery or be in the presence of it until after your babes are born. If it is no longer until this is done than it has been since I came to Fin Panir, that will be soon enough. There are indeed things you must know, Arian—and you, Flessinathlin's grandson—but the health of those who carry life comes first. If I may—” He reached out his hand. Arian stepped forward, and the elf touched her hair lightly. “Peace and health to you,” he said. He bowed to Kieri and then withdrew, his elvenhome light contracting to a point that vanished soundlessly.

“That was risky,” Kieri said. “After what we know of some elves.”

“He was not evil,” Arian said. “I am sure of that. Neither I nor the babes took harm.” She smiled at him. “Now if you will help me out of all this, perhaps I can get some sleep before dawn.”

“I should wake the Squires,” Kieri said, when he had helped her back into her sleeping robe.

“You should come to bed,” Arian said. “The sheets have chilled already.”

I
n the morning, the Squires appeared as usual to light the fire. They did not mention having fallen asleep, and Kieri decided not to tell them. Last night's meeting seemed almost dreamlike, though he was certain it had been no dream. Arian slept on until—when he had dressed for arms practice as usual, she woke abruptly and stared at him.

“We did have an elf here last night, did we not?”

“Yes. And I intend to find out why that pattern wasn't destroyed.”

“What about the magelords?”

“Not our problem for now,” Kieri said. He picked up his sword and belt. “Would you like any help before I go down to practice?”

“No, thank you. In another two tendays, though, I may need you and two Squires to get me out of bed. Go on, now. I'd rather not have anyone watching this.” She grinned at him, and Kieri bowed, then left the room.

All during practice he considered who to question first on the problem of the remaining patterns. How many were there? One in every bedroom? He met the steward on his way back from practice.

“How did you determine there were none of those elven patterns in the bedrooms?”

“The elven lady, sir king. She asked to come upstairs to see if the patterns were upstairs as well as down. Of course I said yes, and she told me that none had been put upstairs. I asked if she was sure, and she said yes.” He looked worried. “Was that all right? Did she … um … steal anything?”

“No,” Kieri said. “She lied. There was a pattern in my chamber.”

“Sir king! I'm sorry, I didn't—”

“I don't blame you,” Kieri said. “You could not know. She was an elf; she could have laid a glamour on you—and anyway, why would you suspect her?”

“I didn't … I really thought—”

“Of course. But we will have to find how many there are—”

“Did something happen?”

“An elf visited. Nothing happened but that. I'll talk to Amrothlin.” He would more than talk to Amrothlin; he would demand answers, but that was not the steward's worry.

He was finishing a leisurely breakfast—Arian had sent word she planned to breakfast upstairs—when Amrothlin appeared, looking flustered, and followed by last night's visitor, still wearing a crown but not clothed in light. Kieri sat back, eyeing the pair with no great favor.

Before he could speak, Amrothlin apologized. “I did not know, sir king—Merithllyn offered to check the upstairs as I was searching for patterns down here—”

“And you did not think of this when I told you what happened in the place my mother died?”

“No, I swear it. It had passed from my mind.”

“Um.” Kieri looked at the other elf, wondering what the proper term of address was for a “lord of the western forest” who wore a crown.

The elf bowed. “Lord king, I have known Amrothlin for longer than your life, from before your mother was born. I believe him to be telling what he knows.”

Which was not the same as the truth, necessarily. Kieri broke open a roll and spread jam on it.

“There are things you must know,” the visitor said. “Things Lady Arian must know.”

“I am not,” Kieri said, around a mouthful of jam and bread, “going to risk our children to travel or attempt great mageries I do not know how to control.”

“And you are right to be cautious. By your leave, lord king, let me explain.” He turned to Amrothlin. “Unless the king needs you, you are free to go.”

Kieri held up his hand. “By your leave—I prefer Amrothlin stay. Please—sit down. Will you have food or drink? There is plenty.”

“No,” the elf said. “I broke my fast with Amrothlin at the inn where elves gather. But thank you.” He sat, folding his hands very deliberately; Kieri's eye was caught by the great ring he wore. “It is necessary that I tell you a tale that is long in the telling, but I will make it as short as I may, with the promise of telling it in full later. It is the tale of Lady Arian's birthright from her father … and from me.”

“From you!” That escaped before Kieri could stop it. He remembered then what Arian had said seasons ago.

“Yes.” The elf held his gaze. “Her father, as you know, was elven, but fathered children on humans only while he lived in the Ladysforest. Dameroth, as you knew him, was one of my sons. She, Lady Arian, is my granddaughter, as you are Flessinathlin's grandson. My quarrel with Flessinathlin began long before, and that, too, is a tale you must know, but perhaps not now. What you and she must know now—before your children are born—is that her father carried the elvenhome gift, as your mother did.”

Kieri could not move for astonishment. Finally, into the silence that the elf allowed, he said, “You … sent your heir—your single heir—here? Why?”

“He is—he was not my only heir,” the elf said. He looked at Amrothlin, then back to Kieri. “I saw no reason to limit the elvenhome gift with so few elvenhomes left. I foresaw that Flessinathlin would fail, that her line would fail; I hoped my son would take over the Ladysforest and restore elvenkind here. But he is dead. Now I see that you have the Lady's own elvenhome gift, and that is a wonder to me. I had not known such a thing was possible—a half-elf creating an elvenhome.”

“It was a surprise to me, too,” Kieri said.

“You have no one here to teach you how to use it,” the elf said. “It has not come to full power. I would help you with this, if you wish.”

If he wished to have the full power of an elf—of course he did. But why would an elf make such an offer?

“I would not offer such help,” the elf said, as if he'd read Kieri's mind, “but that Arian is my granddaughter, and your children are my great-grandchildren. We treasure children; I must see them protected and safe.” He paused and then added, “And … they have inherited the elvenhome gift. Did you know that?”