Sartor (39 page)

When they reached Blossom Street, and Hannla ran ahead to
let the family know who was coming, Atan said in a low voice, “I
don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing that we
haven’t seen the Ianth sisters, or any of the Parleas Terrace
people.”

Lilah’s smile had vanished when Atan mentioned the
sisters. She liked Arlas, but found Irza difficult. But this was Irza’s
country, not Lilah’s. “I think it’s more a... a
thing
.
Maybe they went home to find out who is alive, and if their houses are still
there. People having been talking about burnings and nasty things like that.”

“That makes sense. So let me ask how Peitar dealt with
the aristos?”

“What I saw was that they wanted everything to go back
to the way things were. You know, they didn’t want Peitar to take away
their land, or titles, or privileges. And he didn’t, except for some of
the privileges. I mean, they are answerable now. I told you about that.”

Atan’s neck tightened as she reflected on how easily
Peitar had been able to change some of Sarendan’s rules. She suspected it
was not going to be the same with Sartor; in one day she’d been hearing
references to past battles, laws, customs.
How Peitar became king is not a
map for me to follow
.

Hannla’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Come
in, come in!” She waved from the doorway of a three story building whose
light stone was covered with some kind of vine. Brightly shuttered windows were
all open in spite of the cold.

Inside, Atan and Lilah found a scene akin to that at the
palace—cleaning, repairing, polishing, and sewing.

Hannla turned, her curly hair bound up in a kerchief, and called,
“Here, everyone, it’s the new queen!”

People stopped in the middle of their tasks, brooms and dust
cloths and scrub brushes in hand, and performed bows and curtseys.

A spurt of humor made Atan wish that Rel was there to see
those brooms and dust cloths waving. She said awkwardly, “Please don’t
let me interrupt. I came to see Julian.”

Julian herself appeared from a side room wherein Atan
glimpsed cheerful decorations in bright greens and golds and pinks.
“Atan!” she cried, and pointed back into the room.
“We’re playing a game.”

Atan paused and glanced in the room, where she saw children
gathered on a thick rug woven in patterns of vines. In the middle of the group
lay a game board with six sides. On it was painted colorful patterns on which
rested markers.

“I came to see if you are all right,” Atan said
to Julian. “I’m sorry I lost track of you last night.”

“Hannla said you had to worry about the hurt people,”
Julian said. “I didn’t get hurt.” She added proudly, “That
man was going to break my fingers, but I bit him. I’m glad I did.”

“So am I,” Atan said honestly. “Tell me
what happened.”

Julian did, in a jumbled fashion. Atan comprehended the
gist, angry at first at the Ianths for abandoning Julian until Julian herself
made it clear that she wouldn’t go, that she’d had her own plan.
Atan tried to imagine Irza standing there, afraid Julian would begin screaming
and bring the Norsundrians. She still didn’t quite understand why Julian
rejected Irza’s company, when she and her sister had been such dedicated caretakers,
but now was not the time to get into that. If ever.

I just don’t know enough about small children
,
she thought as she studied the child’s solemn brown gaze.
But here,
like with the kingdom, I had better make a start.
“Julian. We are the
only ones of the family left. I’m sorry, but from what I heard last
night, it seems that your mother did die somewhere outside the city, and my
family is all gone as well. If you want to be my family, I will be yours.”

“You mean, be a Landis?” she asked.

Atan took her hands. “If you like.”

Julian said, “I would like to be a Landis with you,
but I don’t want to be a princess.” She braced herself for Atan to
argue.

Atan saw those thin shoulders hunch and the small mouth
press into a line. “You don’t have to be anything you don’t
want to be. I’d just like to have you as family.”

Julian grinned, bouncing a little in her happiness.

Atan bent and kissed the top of her fresh-washed head. “Do
you want to stay with Hannla, then? Until we can figure out how we’re
going to live in that big palace?”

“I want to stay here,” Julian stated. “
Princesses
live in palaces.”

“All right. Stay here, where it’s warm and you
have friends to play with. Then—whenever you want—you can come to the
palace and pick out a room for your very own, and you will not have to be a
princess in it.”

Julian agreed. Atan saw her run back to take up the game
again. She stood in the doorway long enough to watch Julian, who seemed happy
with the company of children her age.

Feeling a strong sense of relief, she went out to seek
Hannla, to be told that she and Lilah had gone back to the palace to help with
the wounded. “Thank you,” Atan said awkwardly, as a round woman
with curly hair bowed. She had to be Hannla’s aunt. “I’ll
find some way to pay you, when things get settled.”

“There is no need, your highness,”
Hannla’s aunt said. “You restored Hannla to us. I still don’t
remember what happened, only that I was helping to carry blankets to help the
people forced out of their homes by fire. Hannla’s mother sent the child
with me, carrying a basket of fresh buns. But then...”

She passed her hand across her face. “I found myself
standing in the middle of the Grand Chandos Way, and the blankets were gone.
People were wandering around, and Hannla wasn’t there. I was searching,
and searching, and fell asleep again... and then people were shouting in the
streets, and the Norsunder warriors were riding away as fast as they could, and
then Hannla came home, took the rest of our blankets, and ran out again!”
She smiled happily, and went on to exclaim and wonder and guess at what had
happened to them all before Atan freed them from the evil spell.

Atan made herself wait patiently until the end of this
story, so much like the many she’d already heard. She thanked the woman
again and walked out, proud of herself for finding her way back over the bridge
to the square. Just like the records said, one could always orient on the
white-stone tower, which nothing had been permitted to exceed in height.

She returned to the wounded wing, which she’d finally
realized was the old guard barracks. Here she found Rel helping to pass out
bread to those too hurt to move. He and Mendaen were deep in talk until she
walked in, then both smiled her way.

Relief blossomed inside her “How do you feel?”

“Wound’s clean,” he said. “Hardly
feel it.” He hefted his basket with his good arm.

“We went to the garrison,” Mendaen said soberly.
“It’s nearly empty. Most everyone must have been killed before the
magic took hold. Rel showed the rest of us how to set up.”

Atan turned Rel’s way, as he said apologetically,
“Only what I’ve seen in other places. I worked half a summer as a
guard trainee, and from what I saw there and on my travels, most garrisons are
pretty much alike.”

Mendaen said, “A few old guards, retired, showed up.
They’re going to help us get patrols going again. In case Norsunder is
around still.”

Atan understood in his determination to keep working that
this was Mendaen’s way of dealing with the fact that both his parents,
who had worked at the garrison, had been among those dead. Mendaen turned his
dark gaze up to Rel before saying, “We asked him to help by leading a
patrol, at least.”

Rel gave his head a shake. “I’ve never made
patrol captain anywhere. Haven’t any idea how to.”

“Your highness,” someone said, plucking at
Atan’s elbow.

She became aware of a crowd of people having come up behind
to listen. Foremost were some of the palace servants. Atan turned, seeing in
each face the urgency of someone who had something to say, to ask, to report.

She wanted to stay, to thank Rel, to talk further, but that
pressing sense of duty drew her away.
Later,
she thought.
There will
always be later,
and she smiled inside.

o0o

Atan’s neck ached and her feet hurt and she was
thirsty again, when she found Hinder at her side. Impatience burned in her
middle, but she resolutely banished it. The line of people wanting to talk
seemed like it would never end, but end it must. And Hinder would not bother
her with something trivial.

Hinder said, “Rel is leaving. I thought you should
know.”

Atan’s mind blanked. Voices dwindled into the chatter
of distant birds.

She scolded herself. Of course Rel would leave. He wasn’t
Sartoran. He had never claimed to be taking up his life in Sartor. In fact, she
remembered him saying that he’d planned to travel to Everon next.

She remembered every conversation they’d had.

“I must thank him,” she stated firmly. To the
waiting people, she added, “Rel the Traveler was one of those who helped
me end the spell.”

As those in front turned to their neighbors to whisper, she slipped
behind Hinder, who elbowed expertly through the press.

Atan’s throat had tightened again. She had to thank Rel
properly, in a way that showed how much she appreciated his help. It was
important to make that clear, and to also make it clear he could come again to
visit, that he would always, always be welcome.

What would be a way to thank him that was suitable? A gift,
maybe? She liked the idea of a gift, but what? What would be important to Rel? She
had absolutely nothing... except a palace full of stuff. It was all hers,
because no other Landises had appeared. She really was the last. Norsunder had
been very thorough.

But not thorough enough.

She straightened her shoulders and whispered to Hinder,
“I’m going to get something.”

There were all the people waiting to talk to her, but she
discovered that if she moved, they had to move away. They could not keep her in
one place. So she gained more confidence, saying right and left, “I will
return in a moment. I have something to see to.”

As soon as she reached the back hall beyond which the
servants didn’t let anyone penetrate, she smiled at the old fellow on
guard there and ran to the tower.

When she reached the upper room, memory brought Merewen
back, and the grief and worry. But she didn’t pause, because
she was
not going to worry
. She looked around, then caught sight of the swords in a
carved wood rack near the table on which she’d found the great book.

She selected a good long, well-made blade, suited to a tall
person, and carried it with both hands downstairs. The sight of the sword acted
strangely upon the crowd—they backed away as if she held it
threateningly. That was interesting. She would have to think about why, but
later, because she found Mendaen silently helping Rel shrug into a sling. Mendaen
looked as upset as she felt.

When Rel saw Atan, a flush of happiness warmed him, but with
it came an intense awareness of the curious faces crowding in around them. His
emotions were very like hers, though neither of them had the experience to
observe it.

Atan fumbled for the right words, her face bright red. She
remembered Tsauderei saying once, after they had talked over a record about the
Dei family,
If and when you find yourself the center of attention—and
you will, if you are successful, you won’t be able to help that, being
who you are—never say too much
.

Gehlei had said,
When in doubt, good manners always work
.

She said in what she hoped was a formal tone, “You
cannot leave without at least a trifling token of my... of Sartor’s... gratitude
for your help.” She held out the sword, with its swept hilt, fine but not
too fine, a blade both practical yet made by an artist—balanced yet it
looked like something that would benefit a large man. “Here. And thank
you.”

She could see that the formal tone was not right, but what
was right? His expression had gone stony, making it impossible to know what he
was thinking, and she found herself burbling on. “Please know that you
are forever welcome to come to Sartor and find friendship waiting. And I would
so like to hear about your travels, as it doesn’t seem that I’m
going to be doing much traveling.”

Rel’s left hand gripped the hilt, his face the deep
red of mixed embarrassment and pleasure. Intensely self-conscious, he mumbled
in Mearsiean, “I thank you—”

Atan said, meaning to be encouraging, “
Daelender
?
A fine new name for the blade.”

Rel was taken by surprise. Where he came from, nobody named
weapons, and the words she thought a name meant
thank you
in Mearsiean. But
she looked so pleased, her head tilted at a wistful angle, and anyway there was
no chance of speaking because Mendaen and Sin and Hin and their companions sent
up a great cheer, echoed by the people crowding in to see what was happening.

I’ve got to get away and think things through
,
he decided, as Atan forced a smile that felt as false as her attempt at
formality. She wondered how she could possibly say farewell without sounding
silly, when she became aware that the cheer had not ended—that in fact
the noise outside was not a cheer, but shouting.

Was that a scream?

Atan whirled around, to discover Irza back at last. She wore
a fine gown with a costly brocade over robe in the old style.

Irza stared at Atan with a mixture of urgency and a
barely-acknowledged resentment. She and Arlas had arrived at their home to find
it undisturbed, except for hastily set-aside things and a burned cake left in
the now-cold oven. Arlas had run up to her room, found all her old toys, and sat
down and cried. Irza had wandered from room to room, lighting all the lamps and
candles when the sun vanished, though she did not know why.