Читать книгу The Oracle’s Queen - Lynn Flewelling - Страница 17

As the sunnier days of Nythin lengthened across the land and the roads dried, Tamír discovered that the news of the destruction of Ero and her own transformation had not always traveled in tandem. Confused emissaries were still arriving from distant holdings. Some came with belated replies to the war summons sent out by King Erius, expecting to find the king still on the throne. Others came looking for word of the miraculously transformed princess. A few brave souls carried terse missives frankly denouncing her as a sham.

It was from these newcomers that they heard rumors that Korin was at Cirna and building up an army there.

“That means we’re cut off from the nobles in the territories north of there, except by sea,” Tharin noted.

“And we still don’t have enough ships to matter,” Illardi added. New keels were being laid down at boatyards from Volchi to Erind, but not all of those ports had declared for the new queen. Even if they had, it took time to build ships of that size.

“Well, at least we know where he is,” said Ki.

Arkoniel and Iya tried to verify this, using the wizard eye and window spells, but to no avail.

“You can’t see into the fortress at all?” Tamír asked in disbelief.

“Whenever I try, it feels as if someone is sticking knives in my eyes,” Arkoniel told her. “Niryn has thrown up some sort of protection around the entire fortress.”

“Did he catch you trying to peek?”

“Perhaps, but we’ve been very careful,” Iya said. “He’d know to guard against such magic.”

“Is Niryn stronger than you?”

“It’s not such a difficult sort of ward. The Harriers were powerful in their way, and there are at least four of them left besides Niryn. It won’t do to underestimate them. We only saw them at work, burning wizards. We don’t know what else they’re capable of,” Iya warned. “You’ve seen what our little band can do when we put our heads together, after only a few months. Niryn has had years to explore and test the powers of his own people. I suspect they are still a force to be reckoned with, even diminished as they are.”

“What can we do, then?”

“Send more scouts,” Arkoniel suggested.

For now, that seemed to be her only option, and she did so and returned to learning how to rule.

She spent each morning holding court in the makeshift throne room they’d made of Illardi’s hall, sitting on the canopied dais, attended by Illardi, Tharin, her Companions, and a few of Iya’s wizards.

It still felt odd, sitting in the place of honor, but everyone else treated her like she was already queen. The arrangements for the displaced and incoming lords and warriors still took up much of her attention. There were endless needs to be addressed, disputes to be heard. Fights broke out and the whole camp was placed under military tribunal. The citizens were growing impatient with their situation. The miracle of their new queen was old news now; they were hungry and dirty and wanted more than the promises of their priests that life would improve.

Hundreds who’d been judged healthy by the drysians had already been allowed to leave. Some went to Atyion. Others had family in other cities. But there were still over a thousand left in the encampment and even with supplies from Atyion and other towns, careful rationing was necessary, which made for short tempers.

Some of those left were too sick to move, many had nowhere to go; but most still wanted to return to the city and try to rebuild or reclaim what they could, despite warnings about tainted water and cursed ground. Day after day, they appeared before Tamír, cajoling, begging, and complaining.

Worse yet, the lords who’d come to join her were growing restless. Tamír had made it quite clear that she was in no hurry to precipitate a civil war, especially since she’d had no word from Korin yet. All her generals and advisors insisted that her cousin’s continued silence had to be taken as a bad sign, and in her heart, she suspected they were right.

Bored warriors were a danger to all. There were fights between rival factions, murders, rapes, and pilfering. She left the disciplining of the culprits to the nobles they answered to, but knew she either had to use them or send them home.

“Work parties,” Tharin advised. “Most of them are yeomen and farmers when they’re at home. Put them to work and keep them out of trouble!”

Most of her nobles had been amenable to the idea, and so she had a sizable force to work the fields and carry on with the cleansing of the city.

It was exhausting and discouraging work, trying to keep order. Tamír wasn’t trained for this and felt the weight of it all as a personal responsibility.

“If I’m to be the queen that saves them, then why doesn’t the Lightbearer show me how?” she complained to Imonus.

“There has not been one report of plague,” the priest pointed out.

That didn’t put bread in anyone’s mouth, as far as she could tell.

She was not without help, however. Duke Illardi had experience in such matters and vetted many of the supplicants for her. He was well respected and better versed in the ways of court than her warlords. Soon he was acting as her unofficial chancellor.

Nikides was proving invaluable, as well. He’d learned firsthand about matters of court protocol from his illustrious grandfather. Tactful, deeply knowledgeable in history and court procedures, and wise beyond his years, he quickly earned respect even from the older country lords.

Tamír kept the two of them by her at all audiences and they guided her when necessary.

It was during this time, too, that Tamír saw a different side of Tharin. She’d always known him as a steady and fair-minded man, a staunch warrior and friend. Now she discovered shrewdness in him, born of years at her father’s side at court and on the battlefield. He had never sought to lead, but he was a good judge of character and had a long memory. Thanks to her father’s power and influence at court, there were few among the higher nobles whom Tharin had not met at one time or another.

One morning a young knight appeared with a message from Duke Ursaris of Raven Tor. The duke had arrived the previous day, with a force of five hundred riders and men-at-arms, but had not yet come to pay his respects.

Tharin knew Ursaris from their days in Mycena and privately expressed his distrust to Tamír. “He’s a staunch Sakoran, and owes your uncle both his title and his lands, which were seized from a lord who maintained his allegiance to Ariani after Erius took the throne.”

The duke’s messenger shifted nervously until Tamír took notice of him, then bowed low, looking like a man with a distasteful duty to perform. “I am Sir Tomas, and I bring greetings from his grace, Duke Ursaris, son of Melandir, to—” He swallowed uneasily. “To Prince Tobin of Ero.”

Tharin caught Tamír’s eye and lifted one eyebrow slightly. She acknowledged the caution with a slight nod and gave the young man a stern look. “You may tell your lord that I am Tobin no longer. If he wishes parley with me, he can come himself and greet me by my proper name.”

“You may also tell your lord that in the future if he wishes to spy out the situation, he should not send a known cat’s-paw under the honorable banner of a herald,” added Tharin, glowering down at the startled fellow.

“I am a knight, Lord Tharin!”

“Then you’ve come up in the world by quite a mark. I remember a camp runner with a talent for picking pockets and telling clever lies. I remember you, Sir Tomas, and your master, too.”

“So do I,” old Jorvai growled from the back of the audience chamber, where he’d been playing dice with some of the other lords. He came forward, dropping a hand to his sword hilt. “And like Lord Tharin here, I have a good memory for faces and reputations. Ursaris always wanted his bread buttered on both sides.”

Tamír held up a hand to stay them. “If your master wishes to support me, then tell him he is welcome in my court. If not, he should be gone by morning or I’ll consider him my enemy.” It was no idle threat and the man knew it.

“I will report your reply, Highness.” He bowed and hurried out.

Tamír and her guard rode out by Beggar’s Bridge to see what Ursaris would do. By sundown he’d decamped and marched west, taking his warriors with him.

“Good riddance!” Ki called after them, rising in the saddle and waving his middle finger at their retreating backs. “You cowards!”

“He’s not, you know,” Tharin said. “Ursaris is a good leader and his men are brave.”

“They didn’t believe the truth about me,” said Tamír.

“I doubt it mattered one way or the other to him,” Tharin replied. “He’s made up his mind to back Korin.” He leaned over and clasped her shoulder. “He won’t be the only one, you know.”

Tamír sighed, watching Ursaris’ banners dwindle in the sunset light and dust. “I know. Do you think that Korin has lost people to my side, too?”

Tharin waved a hand around at the spreading cluster of tents and corrals on the plain. “There they are, and more coming every day.”

Tamír nodded, but still wondered how many warriors Korin was gathering, with the Sword of Ghërilain and his father’s name?

Such thoughts made her all the more grateful for the familiar faces around her.

Not all of them were as they had been, however.

Tanil’s wounds had healed, but his mind was still unhinged. Tamír and Ki visited the squire every day, in the room he now shared with Lynx. He slept a great deal and spent most of his waking hours staring out the window at the sea. The others even had to remind him to eat. His once-lively brown eyes were dull now, his hair lank and dirty around his shoulders, except for the two small tufts of unevenly shorn hair at his temples, where the enemy had cut off his braids. It was a mark of shame for a warrior. Quirion had been made to cut off his own, when he was banished from the Companions for cowardice. Now Tanil would have to prove himself worthy again, before he would be allowed to plait in new ones.

Tamír doubted he cared. The only person he would willingly talk to was Lynx, and he said very little to him. Lynx often sat quietly with him when he wasn’t needed elsewhere, concerned that he might do himself harm.

“Bad enough what those Plenimaran bastards did to him, and then left him alive with the shame of it, but he feels he failed Korin, too,” Lynx confided to Tamír and the others. “His mind wanders and he wants to go looking for him, thinking Korin fell in battle. Other times he thinks he hears Korin calling for him. I have to set a guard on his door when I’m not there.”

“How did Korin take it, losing him?” Ki asked Nikides.

“Hard. You know how close they were.”

“But he didn’t go back to look for the body, to give his friend proper rites?”

Nikides shrugged. “There wasn’t time. The citadel was overrun right after that and Lord Niryn convinced Korin to flee.”

“I’d have found a way,” Ki muttered, exchanging a look with Tamír. “I’d have made sure one way or the other.”

One rainy afternoon a few days later another familiar face appeared at her court.

Tamír was presiding over a dispute between two displaced millers over the ownership of a small, undamaged granary outside the city walls. She’d watched her uncle at this many times, but found it just as boring to adjudicate as to watch. She was doing her best not to yawn in their faces when Ki leaned down and touched her shoulder.

“Look there!” He pointed into the crowd of petitioners that ringed the hall and she caught sight of a head of golden hair. Leaving Nikides to sort out the millers, she hurried across the hall to greet her father’s liegeman, Lord Nyanis. She hadn’t seen him since the day he accompanied her father’s ashes home from that last battle. His welcoming smile now swept that memory away with happier ones and she embraced him warmly. He was one of the few lords she’d known, growing up at the keep, and she’d always liked him. Even as she embraced him, however, she remembered that he and Lord Solari had once been friends, as well as her father’s warlords.

“So here you are!” he laughed, hugging her like he had when she was a child at the keep. “And Ki, too. By the Four, look how the pair of you have grown! And fine warriors, too, by all reports. Forgive me for not coming sooner. I was still in Mycena when word of the Plenimaran raid reached me, and the spring storms on that coast forced us to march back.”

Tamír pulled back. “Have you heard about Solari?”

Nyanis’ smile faded. “Yes. I always told him his ambition would be the ruin of him, but I had no idea he’d throw in with the likes of Niryn. I’d seen nothing of him since your poor father’s passing. If I’d known, I’d have tried to reason with him and do more to protect you. As it is, I do have news for you, though it’s not good. I’ve had word from Solari’s eldest son, Nevus, on my way here. The fool wanted me to help him oppose you and take Atyion.”

“I hope you told him no?” Tamír said, grinning.

Nyanis chuckled. “Your father was my liege, and I’ll pledge my sword to you, if you’ll have me.”

“Gladly.”

He looked her up and down; she’d come to expect such scrutiny from those who’d known her before the change, and recognized the wonder mixed with disbelief.

“So this was Rhius’ great secret? I spoke with Tharin on my way in. He says I’m to call you Tamír now. Or should it be Majesty?”

“Highness, for now. It’s important that I follow the laws and rituals.”

“That would include getting back the queen’s sword.”

“Yes.”

“Then I will see it in your hand, Highness.” Nyanis knelt and presented his sword to her, right there in the bustle of servants and milling plaintiffs. “In the meantime, I repeat the pledge of my heart and my sword to the scion of Atyion. I will see the crown of Skala on your brow and the Sword of Ghërilain in your hand. I will gladly give my life for that, Princess Tamír.” He stood and sheathed his sword. “Let me present some other allies I brought to you.”

Arkoniel happened by as she was greeting the knights and lords. “Lord Nyanis! I’d not heard of your arrival.”

“Wizard!” He clasped hands with Arkoniel. “Still minding your charges, I see. Were you ever able to teach either of them to write properly?”

“One of my greatest accomplishments,” Arkoniel replied, smiling.

Taking a bitty of the red. That’s what Lhel had called the spell when she first taught it to Arkoniel. Away from prying eyes, he pressed the tiny drop of Nyanis’ blood from beneath the sharpened corner of his little finger’s nail and spread it over the pad of his thumb, then spoke the words she’d taught him. Like Tamír, he wanted to trust the man, but Solari had been a harsh lesson. He felt the tingle of the magic working, and then relief when no hint of evil intent came to him from the blood.

He’d used this spell often, and had already found a few lords who weren’t to be trusted. Satisfied about Nyanis, he returned to the audience chamber, looking for more newcomers to greet.