we think those words were put in his mouth by Dag Erkric.”
“So now tell me, what are these whispers about the prince? Was he a coward in the south? Did he lose the men’s allegiance?” She waved her fingers as if shooing insects. “Or was your defeat really due to the interference of some sea dag?”
“Hah! Erkric had those dags playing warrior. I don’t know the truth of what happened with Dag Signi, why Erkric would turn against her. I suppose the truth will come out when the Blood Hunt catches her. Durasnir is as talkative as stone about that. As for Rajnir, I can’t explain it. In the old days, when we first took Ymar, he used to be with us, watching reviews. Training. Looking at the maps. Discussing. Now Erkric’s got him walled by dags and magic. We never see him. Or if we do, the old soulripper is always around. And Rajnir speaks like a skalt in a hall—not just the speeches, which we expect, but all the time. Even when talking about sails, weather. Sounds practiced. We don’t know how much of Rajnir’s own thinking is in anything he does or says. Durasnir won’t act unless there is proof that all can see.” He thumped the oar against the gunwale. “So we think Erkric got the prince to order this journey so he can not only keep us busy, but to get Rajnir away from everyone’s eyes. This talk of revolt, oh, there are always uprisings over there, nothing that the northern fleet commander could not put down. Even without his three best Battlegroups being sent to hold Ymar.”
“Ymar found themselves an army?” Vra Seigmad exclaimed.
“No army. No navy. Rumor is the Chwahir and the Everoneth are talking alliance again, on their behalf. Anyway, Rajnir—Erkric—we all need the prestige of a win.” His mouth soured. “Maybe then we will settle and resume life. That’s what Fulla Durasnir says.”
Blood flowing and lives ending, either in Twelve Towers or overseas, that’s what a “win” meant. “So who leads us, if Durasnir will not? I would crawl on my knees through Thrall Gate and wear the iron torc around my neck until the Tree withers at the root, until the Great Serpent returns and swallows the world, if Abyarn Erkric is tampering with the prince’s head, and we do nothing to fight—”
She stopped. More war, either at home or at sea, is that the answer? Who is to blame here, women for proclaiming themselves honorable to expect their men to supervise the killing of other women’s sons, or the men themselves for doing it? So crazy a thought seemed treason, all in itself, and so she reshaped the question, “Why do we make war to keep peace?”
“I don’t know.” The furrows in his face deepened as he gripped his gnarled hands to the tiller, then he nodded up at the faint, but revealing twinkle of light up on the ramparts. “They’re watching us from Saeborc.”
She yanked the sail taut, and they sped toward shore.
Chapter Seven
S IGNI did not think she would need Evred-Harvaldar’s permit-of-passage because she’d been regarded as next to invisible by his army during those long spring and summer months. And she prided herself on her ability to remain unobtrusive.
But that was before she set out alone into a kingdom too long under attack. At her first destination, a crossroads town called Hesea Spring, her offer of magic renewal was met with suspicious questions. Who was she? What kind of magic? Why hadn’t they heard? Where was her escort—didn’t the King’s Riders keep watch on foreign mages? It wasn’t until she brought out Evred’s letter that brows cleared, voices eased, and much later there were even smiles and small stories about making do as people offered to share a meal and a place to rest.
So she was not surprised when, a day or so after she crossed the bridge at the border of Marlo-Vayir, a group of Riders came galloping up and reined in when they saw her. “Are you Mage Signi?”
“I am.”
“Fnor-Jarlan requests an interview,” the leader
“So now tell me, what are these whispers about the prince? Was he a coward in the south? Did he lose the men’s allegiance?” She waved her fingers as if shooing insects. “Or was your defeat really due to the interference of some sea dag?”
“Hah! Erkric had those dags playing warrior. I don’t know the truth of what happened with Dag Signi, why Erkric would turn against her. I suppose the truth will come out when the Blood Hunt catches her. Durasnir is as talkative as stone about that. As for Rajnir, I can’t explain it. In the old days, when we first took Ymar, he used to be with us, watching reviews. Training. Looking at the maps. Discussing. Now Erkric’s got him walled by dags and magic. We never see him. Or if we do, the old soulripper is always around. And Rajnir speaks like a skalt in a hall—not just the speeches, which we expect, but all the time. Even when talking about sails, weather. Sounds practiced. We don’t know how much of Rajnir’s own thinking is in anything he does or says. Durasnir won’t act unless there is proof that all can see.” He thumped the oar against the gunwale. “So we think Erkric got the prince to order this journey so he can not only keep us busy, but to get Rajnir away from everyone’s eyes. This talk of revolt, oh, there are always uprisings over there, nothing that the northern fleet commander could not put down. Even without his three best Battlegroups being sent to hold Ymar.”
“Ymar found themselves an army?” Vra Seigmad exclaimed.
“No army. No navy. Rumor is the Chwahir and the Everoneth are talking alliance again, on their behalf. Anyway, Rajnir—Erkric—we all need the prestige of a win.” His mouth soured. “Maybe then we will settle and resume life. That’s what Fulla Durasnir says.”
Blood flowing and lives ending, either in Twelve Towers or overseas, that’s what a “win” meant. “So who leads us, if Durasnir will not? I would crawl on my knees through Thrall Gate and wear the iron torc around my neck until the Tree withers at the root, until the Great Serpent returns and swallows the world, if Abyarn Erkric is tampering with the prince’s head, and we do nothing to fight—”
She stopped. More war, either at home or at sea, is that the answer? Who is to blame here, women for proclaiming themselves honorable to expect their men to supervise the killing of other women’s sons, or the men themselves for doing it? So crazy a thought seemed treason, all in itself, and so she reshaped the question, “Why do we make war to keep peace?”
“I don’t know.” The furrows in his face deepened as he gripped his gnarled hands to the tiller, then he nodded up at the faint, but revealing twinkle of light up on the ramparts. “They’re watching us from Saeborc.”
She yanked the sail taut, and they sped toward shore.
Chapter Seven
S IGNI did not think she would need Evred-Harvaldar’s permit-of-passage because she’d been regarded as next to invisible by his army during those long spring and summer months. And she prided herself on her ability to remain unobtrusive.
But that was before she set out alone into a kingdom too long under attack. At her first destination, a crossroads town called Hesea Spring, her offer of magic renewal was met with suspicious questions. Who was she? What kind of magic? Why hadn’t they heard? Where was her escort—didn’t the King’s Riders keep watch on foreign mages? It wasn’t until she brought out Evred’s letter that brows cleared, voices eased, and much later there were even smiles and small stories about making do as people offered to share a meal and a place to rest.
So she was not surprised when, a day or so after she crossed the bridge at the border of Marlo-Vayir, a group of Riders came galloping up and reined in when they saw her. “Are you Mage Signi?”
“I am.”
“Fnor-Jarlan requests an interview,” the leader
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