Cuthan. He flashed her a glance that took in her
place and her livery, and saluted her with a smile, even as he bent to murmur
in Mirain’s ear. She opened mind and ears to overhear.
“Nothing, sire,” Cuthan was saying. “We found evidence of a
fair-sized camp, and not an old one either, but it was completely deserted,
with nothing to show where the reivers had gone.”
“Might they have scattered?” Mirain asked.
“Maybe. If so, they went to all the dozen winds, and covered
their tracks behind them.”
“How many might there have been?”
“Hard to tell, my lord. Say, half a hundred. Maybe less, not
likely more, or they’d have left some traces.”
Mirain bowed his head. “You’ve done well. Go out again for
me, and search further. If you find even the smallest thing, see that I hear of
it.”
“Aye, my lord. The god keep you.”
Cuthan grinned at his brother, and again at Elian. With a
scout’s skill, he merged himself with the twilight and was gone.
Mirain reclined as before, propped up on his elbow, eyes
hooded as the council continued about him. Elian knew better than to think that
he had missed a word of it.
Voices raised, cutting across one another. “And I say the
north is enough! What do we want with a pack of barbarians, southern, western,
whatever they may be?”
“What do we want? Damn you, we want to rule them! What else
are barbarians good for?”
“Yes.” Mirain spoke softly, but he won sudden silence. “What
are we good for? For I was born in the south.”
“Your mother was heir of Ianon,” said the man who had spoken
last, with a touch of belligerence.
“Her mother was a princess of Asanion.” Mirain rose. He
could use his height exactly as he chose, to tower over the seated captains,
yet to make clear to them that he lacked much of the stature of Ianon. “My
lords, you speak of choices. South or west; east no one seems to think of, but
that’s only wild lands and the sea. Well then. West are our kinsmen, tribes who
serve the god as we serve him, and past these the marches of the Golden Empire.
South lie the Hundred Realms. Another empire, one might say, though none of the
people there would choose to call it that.”
“Well, so are we,” said Vadin, speaking for the first time.
“The empire of the north. And hasn’t your father given you the world to rule?”
Mirain’s smile was wry. “ Given is hardly the word, brother, and well you know it. Offered for my winning,
rather.” His eyes flashed around them. “What next, then? South or west? Who
will choose?”
“You, of course,” said Vadin. “Who has a better right?”
“Someone may. Galan!”
She started. Mirain faced her, suddenly a stranger, fierce
and fey. “Galan, where would you have me go?”
She spoke her thought, unsoftened and unadorned. “When
you’re done with your jesting, you will do exactly as you always meant to do:
pass the border your scouts have already pierced, and march upon the south.
Halenan knew. He gave me a message for you. He called you a damned fool; he
said, ‘If he sets foot in my lands, it had better be as a friend, or god’s son
or no, I’ll have his head on my spear.’”
Anger flared within the circle. But Mirain laughed, light
and wild. “Did he say that? He can say it again when we meet. For southward
indeed I will go, with the god before me. What of you, Red Prince’s kin? Will
you ride at my right hand?”
He wanted a bold brave answer. Elian gave him one; though
not perhaps the one he had expected. “I will ride at your right hand,” she
said. “And see to it that it is indeed friendship in which you come. Or—”
“Or?” He was bright, laughing, dangerous.
She grinned back. “Or you will answer not simply to me or to
Halenan. You will answer to the Red Prince himself.”
“I think I need not fear that.”
“You should,” she said, surprising herself: because she
believed it. “But as for me, I have given you my oath. While I live I will
place and her livery, and saluted her with a smile, even as he bent to murmur
in Mirain’s ear. She opened mind and ears to overhear.
“Nothing, sire,” Cuthan was saying. “We found evidence of a
fair-sized camp, and not an old one either, but it was completely deserted,
with nothing to show where the reivers had gone.”
“Might they have scattered?” Mirain asked.
“Maybe. If so, they went to all the dozen winds, and covered
their tracks behind them.”
“How many might there have been?”
“Hard to tell, my lord. Say, half a hundred. Maybe less, not
likely more, or they’d have left some traces.”
Mirain bowed his head. “You’ve done well. Go out again for
me, and search further. If you find even the smallest thing, see that I hear of
it.”
“Aye, my lord. The god keep you.”
Cuthan grinned at his brother, and again at Elian. With a
scout’s skill, he merged himself with the twilight and was gone.
Mirain reclined as before, propped up on his elbow, eyes
hooded as the council continued about him. Elian knew better than to think that
he had missed a word of it.
Voices raised, cutting across one another. “And I say the
north is enough! What do we want with a pack of barbarians, southern, western,
whatever they may be?”
“What do we want? Damn you, we want to rule them! What else
are barbarians good for?”
“Yes.” Mirain spoke softly, but he won sudden silence. “What
are we good for? For I was born in the south.”
“Your mother was heir of Ianon,” said the man who had spoken
last, with a touch of belligerence.
“Her mother was a princess of Asanion.” Mirain rose. He
could use his height exactly as he chose, to tower over the seated captains,
yet to make clear to them that he lacked much of the stature of Ianon. “My
lords, you speak of choices. South or west; east no one seems to think of, but
that’s only wild lands and the sea. Well then. West are our kinsmen, tribes who
serve the god as we serve him, and past these the marches of the Golden Empire.
South lie the Hundred Realms. Another empire, one might say, though none of the
people there would choose to call it that.”
“Well, so are we,” said Vadin, speaking for the first time.
“The empire of the north. And hasn’t your father given you the world to rule?”
Mirain’s smile was wry. “ Given is hardly the word, brother, and well you know it. Offered for my winning,
rather.” His eyes flashed around them. “What next, then? South or west? Who
will choose?”
“You, of course,” said Vadin. “Who has a better right?”
“Someone may. Galan!”
She started. Mirain faced her, suddenly a stranger, fierce
and fey. “Galan, where would you have me go?”
She spoke her thought, unsoftened and unadorned. “When
you’re done with your jesting, you will do exactly as you always meant to do:
pass the border your scouts have already pierced, and march upon the south.
Halenan knew. He gave me a message for you. He called you a damned fool; he
said, ‘If he sets foot in my lands, it had better be as a friend, or god’s son
or no, I’ll have his head on my spear.’”
Anger flared within the circle. But Mirain laughed, light
and wild. “Did he say that? He can say it again when we meet. For southward
indeed I will go, with the god before me. What of you, Red Prince’s kin? Will
you ride at my right hand?”
He wanted a bold brave answer. Elian gave him one; though
not perhaps the one he had expected. “I will ride at your right hand,” she
said. “And see to it that it is indeed friendship in which you come. Or—”
“Or?” He was bright, laughing, dangerous.
She grinned back. “Or you will answer not simply to me or to
Halenan. You will answer to the Red Prince himself.”
“I think I need not fear that.”
“You should,” she said, surprising herself: because she
believed it. “But as for me, I have given you my oath. While I live I will
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