heir be, but a Valor?" their sister retorted. "I remember now.
She was named for her great-grandmother, Emrillian, daughter of Lord Mrillis and Queen of
Snows Lady Ceera. That is quite a good, strong name for a Valor, and for the Lady
Warhawk."
* * * *
"To the heir," Carious said, raising his goblet and nearly slopping wine over the
side.
Baedrix gave him a lopsided smile and returned to contemplating the contents of his
own cup. The two were alone in his tent, pitched in the wide clearing around the Tower of
Bo'Lantier. They now had nothing to do but think, and wait for Athrar's heir to emerge from the
tunnel.
All that saved this welcoming party from turning into an overblown display of pageantry
and political maneuvering was that there hadn't been time to prepare. Most of the Court nobles
and the members of the Council of Lords were still scattered to their own estates from the winter
quiet time, still caught up in the spring duties of overseeing plowing and planting and assessing
the damage done by winter storms and Encindi deprivations. If Baedrix had half a moon to send
out announcements and wait for everyone to gather at Quenlaque Castle, twenty times as many
people and tents and animals would be camped around the tower, awaiting the heir. He was
heartily glad that there hadn't been enough time. He had soothed the scandalized feelings of the
Court ladies by leaving it in their hands to plan the coronation. Eventually they would realize
they had been maneuvered and deprived of an opportunity to influence the heir from the start.
Someone would be upset and eventually someone would accuse him of political maneuvering,
but by the time the fuss of the coronation ended, there would be other concerns to hold the
attention of the Court.
Baedrix wondered if anyone would remember that the return of the heir meant that
eventually Athrar would return to Quenlaque as well. And that his return would signal the final
battle in the eons-old war.
"For a man about to be freed from a heavy burden, you do not seem at all happy, my
friend." The light dimmed in Carious' gray eyes. He slouched in his chair and rested his elbows
on the dark wood of the table. Piles of documents and courier pouches of reports lay just out of
his reach, signs of the work Baedrix had pushed aside when his friend came to visit him.
"I have been forced to remember that Lord Mrillis answered our questions about the heir
with vague replies that could be read any way we wished." Baedrix sipped at the wine, wishing
the delicate sweetness would help him relax. He sighed and continued talking, glad his closest
friend had interrupted his work. "According to the few sure facts, the heir was a child of four
years when she entered the enchanted sleep with her parents. Mrillis left us when Edrout
gathered enough magic to attack the structure of the tunnel under the sea and pierce the dome.
He left to raise her in the world that went on ahead of us. How much time has passed? It is less
than two years here, but how many years have passed in Moerta? How old is she? Will she be
able to handle the responsibility?"
"Lord Mrillis would not bring the heir to us if he was not." Carious shrugged and tipped
his head to one side. The light from the lantern hanging high on the tent pole slid off his straight,
close-cut cap of sandy hair. "Are you afraid to hand over your post?"
"Into the hands of an inexperienced, spoiled child? Yes. I would feel better giving
Quenlaque to Ectrix, if it came to that."
"I trust Lord Mrillis. The few times we saw him, when we were boys, there was
something about him that inspired trust. I'd let him lead me, blindfolded and barefoot, through a
pit of drakags." Carious gave Baedrix a challenging look.
"So would I." Baedrix sighed.
"Wait." Carious nearly stood from his chair. "You said she ? The heir is a
maiden?"
"She has been since my great-great-grandfather's days as Regent." Baedrix smiled
crookedly.
"Lord Mrillis brings us a princess, not a
She was named for her great-grandmother, Emrillian, daughter of Lord Mrillis and Queen of
Snows Lady Ceera. That is quite a good, strong name for a Valor, and for the Lady
Warhawk."
* * * *
"To the heir," Carious said, raising his goblet and nearly slopping wine over the
side.
Baedrix gave him a lopsided smile and returned to contemplating the contents of his
own cup. The two were alone in his tent, pitched in the wide clearing around the Tower of
Bo'Lantier. They now had nothing to do but think, and wait for Athrar's heir to emerge from the
tunnel.
All that saved this welcoming party from turning into an overblown display of pageantry
and political maneuvering was that there hadn't been time to prepare. Most of the Court nobles
and the members of the Council of Lords were still scattered to their own estates from the winter
quiet time, still caught up in the spring duties of overseeing plowing and planting and assessing
the damage done by winter storms and Encindi deprivations. If Baedrix had half a moon to send
out announcements and wait for everyone to gather at Quenlaque Castle, twenty times as many
people and tents and animals would be camped around the tower, awaiting the heir. He was
heartily glad that there hadn't been enough time. He had soothed the scandalized feelings of the
Court ladies by leaving it in their hands to plan the coronation. Eventually they would realize
they had been maneuvered and deprived of an opportunity to influence the heir from the start.
Someone would be upset and eventually someone would accuse him of political maneuvering,
but by the time the fuss of the coronation ended, there would be other concerns to hold the
attention of the Court.
Baedrix wondered if anyone would remember that the return of the heir meant that
eventually Athrar would return to Quenlaque as well. And that his return would signal the final
battle in the eons-old war.
"For a man about to be freed from a heavy burden, you do not seem at all happy, my
friend." The light dimmed in Carious' gray eyes. He slouched in his chair and rested his elbows
on the dark wood of the table. Piles of documents and courier pouches of reports lay just out of
his reach, signs of the work Baedrix had pushed aside when his friend came to visit him.
"I have been forced to remember that Lord Mrillis answered our questions about the heir
with vague replies that could be read any way we wished." Baedrix sipped at the wine, wishing
the delicate sweetness would help him relax. He sighed and continued talking, glad his closest
friend had interrupted his work. "According to the few sure facts, the heir was a child of four
years when she entered the enchanted sleep with her parents. Mrillis left us when Edrout
gathered enough magic to attack the structure of the tunnel under the sea and pierce the dome.
He left to raise her in the world that went on ahead of us. How much time has passed? It is less
than two years here, but how many years have passed in Moerta? How old is she? Will she be
able to handle the responsibility?"
"Lord Mrillis would not bring the heir to us if he was not." Carious shrugged and tipped
his head to one side. The light from the lantern hanging high on the tent pole slid off his straight,
close-cut cap of sandy hair. "Are you afraid to hand over your post?"
"Into the hands of an inexperienced, spoiled child? Yes. I would feel better giving
Quenlaque to Ectrix, if it came to that."
"I trust Lord Mrillis. The few times we saw him, when we were boys, there was
something about him that inspired trust. I'd let him lead me, blindfolded and barefoot, through a
pit of drakags." Carious gave Baedrix a challenging look.
"So would I." Baedrix sighed.
"Wait." Carious nearly stood from his chair. "You said she ? The heir is a
maiden?"
"She has been since my great-great-grandfather's days as Regent." Baedrix smiled
crookedly.
"Lord Mrillis brings us a princess, not a
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