Michelle West - The Sun Sword 03 - The Shining Court (102 page)

"He would not," Cortano replied absently. "He is
Kialli;
concern is an act of weakness. Lady Sariyel, I must ask you to leave. It is not our way to enjoin our superiors to act with haste in the company of women. I apologize if this is foreign or even repulsive, but I assume you want me to be at my most effective."

"Understood," she said, curtsying. She looked almost pretty for a moment as she withdrew.

Almost.

Cortano stood, alone, in the center of his chambers. Aware now that he had a choice to make. He did not particularly like these rooms; he would have found some ease with such decision had he been given a different venue in which to make it.

They understood so much about the desire for power, these
Kialli
and the Lord they served. They had a fundamental understanding of pride. But the complexities that marred the absolute desire for power… the way that pride hindered or aided that search… they were fine points. Wasted.

He had desired to live forever. So, too, had Alesso di'Marente; but the General who had risen to unheard of heights thought of immortality writ in generations: his name, a clan that bore it, a history that remembered it.

Not enough, for a man like Cortano; he had desired to
see
the passing of those generations; to discover for himself what history remembered and what it forgot; what it chose to elevate, and what it chose to misplace—and whether in fact any truth remained buried. He was willing to lose much to gain that.

The
Kialli
understood that.

But they did not understand that there were limits to what he was willing to lose. He had seen the
Allasakari
come, their minds no longer their own, their bodies inhabited by Lord's Shadow that would eventually devour everything of substance.

He had no doubt that that would be his fate.

Unless Anya were returned to the Shining City.

And then what? He thought of it: the moral authority of the new Tyr'agar completely destroyed by the loss of the Lake, by the inability to wield the Sword; an easy target, a man who could take the blame and be cast aside. Alesso was too difficult; too independent. The
Kialli
would have little problem finding a more complacent replacement.

Cortano was certain as Sword's Edge he could personally survive the transfer of power intact. But in the end, would it matter? The Southerners were to be useful as a distraction for the North; the
Kialli
would have that, regardless.

It galled him; he was—as Alesso was—a proud man. Cortano had seen Sendari swallow almost greater personal insult and continue; he had always wondered what it would take to force him into the same position. To make of him the same man. His pending death?

Perhaps.

But… he knew now with certainty that Annagar had always been intended as fodder. The Northerners had been informed of the use to which Annagar would be fully put. The Southerners had not. Which outcome was to his best advantage? To theirs?

As Sword's Edge, the Widan Cortano di'Alexes was accustomed to quick and silent decision.

He readied himself for the conversation to follow.

21st of Scaral, 427 AA

Tor Leonne

Morning on the Lake.

He knelt before it, knees against the smooth wood of the pier. The dawn's beauty had suffused the light with a color and a delicacy that a man could only appreciate serenely in isolation. That had been the intent behind this, the Pavilion of the Dawn. It was nestled behind a stand of trees, and behind the cover of the master landscaper's artful rushes; it could see all, but could only be seen, and in passing, at a distance. Distance, for a ruler, was everything.

He knelt in isolation, silk of the very fine surcoat that made a statement of his position artlessly arrayed before him. The counselors that he most desired would be some time in arriving; he desired no other and had sent the graceful pedants of his own court scurrying away like rodents underfoot. And in time, if he had time, he would regret it; it was rash.

But time was a luxury. And it was, Alesso thought, almost gone. He did not cede victory to his enemies, but he did concede that they had maneuvered artfully, playing him against his desire; feeding him the information that he expected, and dealing well with his discovery of the information that had been concealed.

The Radann had found and destroyed four more of the demons in their search, and they had become a powerful symbol of the Lord in the city streets. How powerful, he could not say; he did not expect to be able to leash them in the aftermath of the slaughter, unless they perished in it.

The combined forces of cerdan, Widan, and Radann had found, • and destroyed, some hundred masks. They had, against the better judgment of Mikalis di'Arretta, kept a handful. But the handful they kept were not the the only masks that remained. They knew that for fact. What they did not—could not—know was where the rest of the masks lay.

Whose hands had lifted them; whose hands had carried them home either as poor prize or rich gift; whose faces would bear them, and in bearing them die so that the Tor Leonne—and the man who ruled it—might lose the one thing that had always set it apart from any other city in the Dominion.

The Lady's favor.

The Lake.

The
Kialli
would destroy the Lake, the Tor, and his people. He wondered, idly, if he had been meant to survive at all. His hand found the hilt of
Terra Fuerre
and rested there a long moment; he bowed his head, exposed as he was to the Lord's gaze.

He heard footsteps. They were heavy, slightly uneven. He rose at once from his contemplation of sunlight across the rippling water. The Widan Sendari di'Sendari came into view. Taking the wineskin from his own sash, Alesso knelt over the pier's edge, filling it with water. He was no courtesan, to move with elegance of pleasing grace, but he moved quickly. The skin passed between them and after a perfunctory politeness, Sendari di'Sendari drank.

"Garrardi," he said without preamble, when the water had cleared his throat, "is demanding an audience with you."

Alesso shrugged. "He will have what he wants; he can wait to receive it. I have summoned you here to ask you a question."

"And I have come," Sendari replied, an odd expression on his face, "to offer you an answer."

"You intrigue me. If I did not know you better, I would say that you find some levity in this situation which escapes me entirely. Share the joke, old friend."

"It is no joke," Sendari said quietly. "But it is absurdly simple."

"What?"

"Here." He reached in his robes and took out a leather satchel whose smooth, brown face had been broken in several places by runic symbols.

"You brought… a mask?"

"Indeed. I wish your permission, Tyr'agar, to utilize the waters of the Tor."

Alesso's face darkened. "It is for that reason that I have summoned you. I had word from Cortano early this morning."

"He bespoke you? I was not informed."

"No. It was done in haste, and with cause. Protect us."

"It has… already been done." He lifted his arm; it was encircled by a bracelet. "Not by my skill, however; I thought it best to… recover."

Alesso nodded. Another time, and he might have asked how such a bracelet had been created, or more precisely by whom. But their shadows were shortening as they spoke; he could almost feel it; the slow swing of the pendulum; the fall of the grains of sand. "Tell me of your discovery."

"Mikalis discovered it. We were… late at work."

"I ordered you—"

"You
requested
, Tyr'agar. And I thought it best, given the urgency of our situation, to use my own discretion. You ordered me not to speak with the Radann."

"Sendari."

"Alesso."

Alesso laughed. Truly laughed. For a moment, here, on this pier, surrounded by water and sun and enemies, he felt young again. His pulse quickened; his senses sharpened; he could see the variegated light, sharp and distinct, across the water; he could smell the rushes and the lilies on the breeze; could feel, for just a perfect moment, the heft of a weapon he had not drawn in battle for months. Sendari's frown deepened his laughter.

"My apologies, old friend. Please. Your discovery."

"It is merely this. Your permission?"

"You have it; you have always had it. Let us not stand on formality when we are so close the end of all plans."

"Very well, Tyr'agar," Sendari replied. With care not to touch the mask itself, he walked to the end of the pier. And upended the bag.

Alesso watched, surprised, as the mask fell, spinning once in the air as if it were clutching for purchase. "Sendari—"

The water burst into flames as the mask touched its surface. It did not have a chance to sink; the golden, glowing fire, brilliant and brief, devoured it, made ash of it. Absolute denial.

Alesso was silent for a moment. When at length he was ready to speak, his voice was no longer captive to the wild edge of amusement. "So," he said softly, "our allies gain two things: The foothold they desire in the world, and the destruction of a weapon that is very effective against their magic."

"Against the
Kialli
," Sendari replied. "You have never attempted to throw one into the Lake; I suspect it would last as long." He bowed. "I apologize. We were intent on discovering the masks' purpose; it only occurred to us afterward to seek a method by which they might easily be destroyed."

Alesso smiled. "Let me change the subject, old friend. If I asked it of you, and if there were none to stand in your way, would you take the title of Sword's Edge?"

Sendari was silent for a long moment. "Tell me," he said quietly.

"It appears," Alesso replied, looking at the place where the mask had almost fallen into the water and the water had denied it, "that the masks are tied in to the destruction of the Lake. And worse."

"Alesso—"

"Anya a'Cooper is no longer in the Shining City."

"We knew this."

"Yes. We have some idea of where she might be; there are two reports. But that is beside the point. The Festival of the Moon is significant in its fashion to the Lord of the Shining Court, and He had His own plans for it. Cortano feels that there is a chance that if Anya a'Cooper does not return to the Shining City before the rising of the Festival Moon, it will mean his death."

He paused a moment for Sendari's comment, but the Widan knew him well; he waited for the rest of the story.

"It is however also Cortano's considered opinion that it will mean our doom if she returns to the City in time for the Lord to do anything other than utilize her directly."

"I… see." Sendari was tired. After a moment he said, "The Lord's attention is turned toward Anya."

"Indeed."

"And if Anya returns to the Shining City early, he will turn his attention to the masks and the Tor. And the destruction of what is, essentially, the true crown and the true throne of the Dominion."

"Indeed."

"You will tell me how?"

"I do not understand how. I know only that the destruction of the Lake is byproduct; that the masks themselves are a beacon that will summon someone Cortano calls the Queen of the Hunt. She
must
be summoned; the masks provide the sacrificial fodder for the hunting party she will lead. Her presence here somehow affects the… land… that the Lord has chosen as His gateway.

"He needs Anya in the Northern Wastes in order to take advantage of the Hunt here. Her loss is of great concern to Him, because without her, He cannot complete whatever spell He hopes to cast."

"And this affects the Sword's Edge how?"

"He will attempt it anyway. Using the mages he has."

"Attempt
what
, Alesso?"

"The spell," his' friend replied, with just a trace of frustration. "She was to be vessel and containment to the Lord's power. He will use what He has in her place if He cannot find her."

Sendari said quietly, "We need Cortano. He
is
the Widan; we cannot be guaranteed that the man who becomes Sword's Edge in his stead will favor us or our alliance." He met his oldest friend's hard stare, and said simply, and with an honesty beneath most clansmen of note, "I have not the power, Alesso, or I would take the title for your sake and at your command. But among the Widan, as among any who rule, power is key."

"You are certain?"

"As certain as I can be. We do not know or reveal the full extent of our talents—but it would kill me to cast the spell that carried Cortano to the Shining Palace."

"And the other Widan?"

"I believe there are one or two who may rival, in raw talent, the current Sword's Edge. They are politically neutral; they have avoided testing their skill against his. Mikalis was correct; it would reveal their strengths, but it would also reveal their weak-nesses. Neither at this moment desires that; Cortano is strong. Should he perish, there will be a contest of a type; the winner will take the Edge; the loser, the grave.

"But I am not that winner."

"Understood, old friend. Understood. Be prepared, now, to play a dangerous game."

"What game could be more dangerous than this?"

Footsteps. Sendari turned; Alesso drew his sword.

And Lord Isladar of the
Kialli
, kinlord without demesne, walked around the grove of small trees and into the shadows they cast. He smiled. "All games, Tyr'agar, are dangerous. But in this day, and in this age, with so much at risk, life is a game."