The Oracle's Queen (20 page)

Before she could find the courage, however, his eyes fluttered open and she flinched back. His hand tightened instinctively on her arm, pinning her where she lay, a breath away. So close.

Ki's eyes widened, then he let go and hastily slid out
from under her arm, only to fall off the edge of the bed with a comical thud.

Just like my dreams
, she thought, caught between laughter and hurt at his hasty withdrawal.

“Uh, good morning,” he stammered, reddening as she peered down at him.

“You—you didn't look very comfortable—” she began, then stopped, face aflame as she saw how his nightshirt had ridden up to his waist. His exposed cock was half-erect.

She looked away quickly, tempted to burrow back under the covers until she could make sense of her unruly emotions.
It doesn't mean anything. That used to happen to me all the time before—

Ki hastily pulled down the shirt and gave her a lopsided grin. “No, I was fine. And you slept! No more nightmares?”

“No, no dreams.”

“Well— Good.” He still looked embarrassed, even with the grin. It made her feel even worse.

“I'm sorry. I should have sent you back to your own bed.”

“I didn't mind,” he insisted. “I just— Are you hungry?”

No, I want to kiss you
, she thought, annoyed.

It was a relief when he dressed and went off in search of breakfast. She hurried into her clothing, choosing a gown at random from the wardrobe and pulling it hastily over her shift. By the time he came back, she had her feelings under control again, or so she told herself.

T
hey ate their bread and cheese and ale, and then went out together to the canopied temple in the courtyard. Little cloth banners showing Illior's Eye and the crescent moon fluttered from the ropes and poles, some of them hardly more than rags.

One of the Afran priests sat on a low stool under the
awning, anonymous in his voluminous red robe and silver mask. Tamír knew it was Imonus by his long grey hair.

The golden stele caught the morning light like a mirror. There were the prints of many fingers on the smooth surface. People touched it for luck, in prayer, in wonder. Tamír pressed her palm to it, imagining her ancestors doing the same. Perhaps it was some trick of the light, but just for an instant she thought she saw the reflection of another woman, standing just behind her. The face was indistinct, but Tamír could make out a crown and sword.

“Good morning, grandmother,” she whispered, wondering which spirit it was this time.

“Only a queen may see a queen there,” Imonus said. “It is good that you greet her with such respect. But I think you are no stranger to spirits.”

Tamír lowered her hand. “I thought maybe it was just a shadow.”

“You know better than that.” The man sounded rather amused.

It was unsettling, talking to that expressionless mask. “Can't you take that off? There's no one else around.”

“Not while I serve, Highness. Not even for you.”

“Oh.” She fidgeted a moment under that impassive gaze, then held up the owl feathers she'd brought. “I've come to make an offering and to ask a question. I don't know the proper prayers yet, though.”

“Place your offering and ask your question. Illior will hear you.”

As Tamír bent to cast the feathers on the brazier, something flew over her shoulder and fell into it, scattering a few coals and sending up a little flurry of sparks. A gnarled little root lay shriveling in the flames. It began to smoke, then caught fire, smelling of earth and resin.

So you are here
, she thought.

Brother had left such offerings at the small shrine back at the keep: roots, acorns, dead leaves, dead moles. She looked around but saw no sign of him except for the root.

“Shadows and spirits cling around you,” Imonus said softly.

A chill ran up Tamír's spine in spite of the warm sun on the back of her neck. “Do you see my brother?”

Imonus nodded. “He has caused you great pain, and you him. He haunts you still.”

“Yes,” Tamír whispered. She gave Ki a nervous half smile and went down on one knee before the priest, so she could speak softly. “That's why I came today. He wants something of me, but he speaks in riddles and he lies. Is there some spell you could use?”

“Do you know what it is that he desires?”

“Yes, but not how to give it to him. You serve the Oracle. Can you help me learn more?”

“I am only the servant, as you say. It is time you followed your ancestors, Tamír Ariani Agnalain, and visit Afra for yourself. The Oracle sees farther than any priest.”

“That's days away. I have so much to do here, and I have to get my people to Atyion.”

“You must go, daughter of Ariani. Every queen has made a pilgrimage there to honor the Lightbearer's gift and seek guidance for her reign.”

Tamír tried vainly to stifle her impatience. “Then you can't help me?”

“I did not say that, Highness, only that I could not answer your question. There is another offering you can make. Throw a coin in the basket and I will show you.”

Tamír fished a sester from her purse and tossed it in the basket with the other money offerings. Imonus leaned down and took a small cloth packet from a covered pot by his feet. “Kneel before the brazier. Place another feather on the coals with this and bathe your face in the smoke.”

Tamír cast her offerings on the coals. The feather caught fire at once and shriveled to cinders. The incense packet burned more slowly, and released a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke. Instead of rising straight up in good
omen, however, it rolled off the coals in writhing tendrils like questing fingers.

“What does that mean?” Tamír asked in alarm as they coiled around her.

“It is the Lightbearer's breath, this smoke. Breathe it in, Highness, and you may find your answer.”

With some trepidation, Tamír fanned the smoke up into her face and inhaled deeply. It was sweet and strong, but not unpleasant, though it made her a little dizzy.

The smoke enveloped her. There must have been more incense in the packet than she'd thought; it was so thick now it completely obscured the temple and courtyard from sight. She coughed and tried to wave it away from her face. It roiled before her eyes, then parted.

She let out a surprised gasp, for instead of Imonus and the stele, she was looking out across a high mountain pass. A road twisted sharply away before her, hugging the sides of barren stone peaks. In the distance Brother stood in the road under a painted archway, beckoning to her. Just beyond him stood a woman. Tamír was too far away to tell who it was, but somehow she could hear her words, as clearly as if she stood beside her.

“You shall have your answer in Afra, Tamír, Queen of Skala. You must be strong to accept it.”

“Come to Afra, if you dare!” Brother taunted.

“Why can't you tell me now!” she called back, but he only laughed.

Tamír felt a strange shift, and just as suddenly she found herself standing by a shallow, vaguely familiar cove at night, with a three-quarter moon rising before her. It painted a glistening white trail across the dark water that seemed to end at her feet.

“Beware, Queen Tamír. Be strong,” a voice whispered in her ear, but there was no one there. Waves lapped the sandy shoreline and she heard the low hooting of an owl somewhere nearby.

“Prepare for what?” she whispered thickly, not sure if she spoke aloud or not. “Why are you showing me this?”

Another sound came from far out on the water. It was the splash of oars. There were tall warships riding at anchor out there. Now she could make out scores of longboats being rowed swiftly for the beach.

She watched helplessly as the first boats came to rest on the shingle and armed men climbed out—Plenimaran archers and swordsmen, and squires carrying shields. They passed within arm's length of her but no one seemed to take any notice.

She turned to look for help, but the high ground beyond the beach was empty. However, she caught sight of a familiar headland in the distance and realized where she was. This was the stretch of coast where the enemy had come ashore before. Beyond the rise was the farm where they'd rescued Tanil and the other captives.

Another invasion. They've come back!

The Plenimarans still took no notice of her, but when she tried to run, the stinging white smoke closed in around her again, making it hard to catch her breath. She closed her eyes, choking and coughing, and when she opened them she was on her knees before the brazier, with Ki close beside her, grasping her shoulder.

“Are you sick?” he asked, concerned. “You look terrible.”

“The Plenimarans,” she whispered hoarsely. “I saw—I saw them coming again, at night—” Ki kept a hand under her arm as she rose and brushed the dust from the front of her skirt. “I saw—I saw a second Plenimaran invasion force. It was night, and they landed up the coast, just like before.” She looked at the priest again. “But before that, I saw something else—my brother, and a gateway in the mountains, in the middle of nowhere.”

“That's the road to Afra, Highness.”

Tamír passed a hand across her eyes as another wave
of dizziness tried to claim her. “There was a woman, too. She kept calling me Queen Tamír.”

Imonus touched his fingers to his brow. “Then queen you are, Majesty, with the Sword or without it.”

“Listen to him,” Ki urged.

“But—”

“All hail Tamír, the true queen, by the Lightbearer's own mouth,” Imonus declared.

“Hail Queen Tamír!”

Tamír looked around, still a bit dazed. A small crowd had gathered and were watching her expectantly. “But—that wasn't what I was asking.”

“Remember what you were shown,” Imonus said gently. “You must go to Afra. But everything in its own time. Right now, you should go and consult with your generals and your wizards.”

“And tell them what? That I had a dream?”

“A vision.”

“But I don't even know when they're coming.”

“You said you saw the moon. What shape was it?”

Tamír thought a moment. “Three-quarters, waxing.”

“That would be tonight,” said Imonus.

“Tonight!”

“Or a month off,” Ki pointed out.

“It could be a year off, for all I could tell. I mean no disrespect, Imonus, but I'm not used to this sort of thing.”

The priest laughed behind his mask. “How did the vision feel?”

“Feel? Like I was right there on that beach with them.”

“Then give thanks to your patron deity, Majesty, and go consult with your generals at once.”

“You don't have much time,” Ki murmured, sensing her doubt.

“Visions!” she muttered, just loud enough for his ears. Then she called up to a horn bearer on the wall, “Sound the alarm and assembly. Make sure it reaches the camps.”

“A vision. Queen Tamír's had a vision!” The word passed quickly around the yard and beyond.

Arkoniel came running from the house, with Wythnir at his heels. She explained as quickly as she could what she'd seen as they hurried toward the hall, hoping he wouldn't think she'd gone mad.

Arkoniel took her at her word. “We've been using the wizard's eye spell to keep watch over the eastern waters, but it's a very large sea. It's also possible that they are using magic of their own to conceal their approach.”

“I don't see what use your magic is, then,” she muttered.

Forgotten in the excitement, Wythnir watched his master with wide, solemn eyes, clinging to his tunic with one hand and running to keep up.

Arkoniel put a comforting hand on the child's head. “I know you still distrust it, Tamír, but we've come up with a few new tricks I think you'll find useful.”

“What about Brother?” asked Ki. “Do you think you could send him to spy out the situation?”

“I doubt it,” Tamír replied. “Even if he did, how could we believe anything he told us? I doubt he cares much what happens to Skala. Gather all my warlords and generals together in the audience hall. We'll make a start Sakor's way.”

T
o her surprise, most of her generals had far less trouble accepting the vision than she did.

“Your grandmother and all those who came before her relied on such visions,” Kyman pointed out. “It's only fitting the Lightbearer would speak to you, as well. It's a lucky sign, I'd say.”

“You are Illior's Queen,” Arkoniel murmured, standing beside her with Ki and the Companions. “They accept it, and so do your friends. Isn't it time you did, as well?”

“What do you say, my friends?” she asked the others.
“It seems Illior means for me to be queen, even without the proper investiture.”

“A sword doesn't make a queen,” Nyanis replied. “You've been touched by Illior all your life. That's good enough for me.”

“And me!” the others agreed.

“Then I am queen,” she said, and was surprised by a sudden sense of lightness, as if a burden had been lifted from her shoulders. “How many warriors do we have now?”

“At most two thousand, without counting your reserves in Atyion and those who may join us from the Ero camps,” Tharin told her.

“I have several of my captains there, looking for able-bodied fighters,” Illardi added.

“I saw at least twenty ships in the vision. How many men do you make that?”

“It depends on what sort of ships they are. Could you tell?” Illardi asked.

“Three masts, I think. As long as our own warships.”

“It could be a second attack, or a supply convoy. There's no way of knowing if they've had word of the defeat you dealt the first force.”

“A few ships did get away,” she reminded him.

“Yes, but we don't know if they ever reached port,” Arkoniel put in. “This could be a new assault coming with no word of the fate of the other. Whatever the case, it's best to prepare for the worst.”