High Singer Sogeyu rode back across the storm-flattened grasses to the waiting column, appearing out of the swirling dark like something summoned by ancient arts. Her face was full of cold satisfaction.
“Magister Viyeki!” she said, as if they had met by surprise near the Oil Fountains in the Queen’s Square. “My storm-singers have held the winds steady for a long, unsatisfying time, I know, but now we may ride on!”
“Where did you go, Host Singer?”
Viyeki’s tone had been sharp, and he thought he saw a hint of irritation flit across the Singer’s features, but if he had, it was gone in an instant. “To fulfill a pledge, Magister. We ride across the lands of a mortal king, and they are jealous of their privileges. They do not sell them lightly.”
“Sell them? What do you mean?”
“These lands belong to the mortal king Hugh of Hernystir. We had to buy our right to pass across them.”
“Do you mean you have made a bargain with mortals so that our mission could proceed? Why was I not told?”
Sogeyu folded her hands in a gesture of peaceful cooperation between partners. “Because the bargain was made by our great queen herself, through my master, Lord Akhenabi.” She watched for a moment to see what the mention of those names would do.
Viyeki maintained a stony impassivity, but inside he was shaken. He was more thoroughly in Akhenabi’s power out here than he ever would have been at home. “And what was the bargain, if I may ask without intruding on Lord Akhenabi’s privilege?”
“Oh, nothing of much import,” Sogeyu told him. “In exchange for his turning a blind eye to our passage, we have given the mortal king a little nothing—a bauble that he coveted. But to him it shines like a drop of dew in a spider’s web, and like most mortals, he is blinded by greed for shiny things.”
“You gave him gold?”
“Oh, nothing so ordinary.” Sogeyu shook her head. “But, please, do not concern yourself, High Magister. King Hugh is merely another player in the queen’s game, although being mortal, he does not understand or appreciate his place in the greater exercise. We have done what we promised, so he will continue his useful ignorance of our presence as we make our way across his lands.”
“We are passing beyond Hernystir, then?” Again, Viyeki was shaken. Hikeda’ya had not traveled so far from home since the great war.
“Oh, yes,” said Sogeyu, content as a bird preening its feathers. “We are going somewhere where you can ply your most excellent skills in furthering the queen’s design. Do not fear, Magister, your part in this is very great. When we get there, you and your laborers will astound the world!”
Viyeki overlooked the slighting word “laborers”—as if there was nothing more to the Order of Builders than digging and piling stone on stone. “And what is our destination, Host Foreman? Where does the queen’s plan send us?”
The Singer bowed as to a superior, but her eyes seemed to tell a different story. “Trust the Mother of All, High Magister Viyeki,” she said soothingly. “Trust my master, who has lived nearly as long as the queen herself. They have planned carefully, and you will learn all that is expected of you—but in their time, not your own.”
“Of course I trust the queen,” Viyeki replied. “She is the Mother of All.” But the phrase did not feel as familiar or reassuring as it usually did.
Deep in thought, he rode silently back to his men as the Singers raised their voices again and the winds began to scream. When the company again set off through the tunnel of angry weather, he felt as though a piece of the storm had broken loose from the whole and fastened itself to him, dazzling and confusing him with lightning and turning him cold inside. He could not imagine ever being free of it as long as he rode these unfamiliar lands, among all these hidden minds.
42
Forest Music
The crowds that had seen them off from the castle and Erchester had been loud and enthusiastic and studded with nobility like a diadem. The crowds who came out during the first part of their journey north were a great deal more humble, but even more excited to see Prince Morgan and Count Eolair, the famous Hand of the Throne. In Aldhame and Draycot and other small towns shouting children lined the roads and workers came to the edge of the fields, sweating and grass-stained, to watch the procession pass. But what Morgan could not understand was how such large crowds had gathered even before they arrived.
“Post riders,” Eolair explained. “Carrying the crown’s letters and other important papers. Sometimes money or bills of credit as well, which is why they travel armed, as you may see. Some ride daily from Erchester out to Sistan and Falshire. Others go to Stanshire or Cellodshire, stopping on the way to change horses, so that a rider can travel from the Hayholt to the borders of Erkynland in only a day or two.”
“Do you mean my grandparents are sending out letters, telling people to come and cheer for us?” Morgan liked the thought of being that important even if he didn’t like the idea of the king and queen arranging it.
The count laughed. Eolair seemed in good health despite the recent attempt on his life, and showed no sign of it except the bandages he still wore on the wound to his shoulder. Morgan had seen the injury and it was not small. He was impressed by the old man’s fortitude. “Your grandparents? I think not,” Eolair said. “I suspect that the post riders themselves are also delivering news of their own in the form of gossip when they stop to eat and drink. A company like ours is more than enough to catch at people’s attention. You are one of the royal family, and I am known a little as well.”
“Perhaps your people have heard you ride with the admirable Qanuc,” said Little Snenneq from atop his mighty ram. “Always in these parts people seem happy to see trolls up close. And I am well known for my impressive size.”
Qina, his betrothed, thumped his arm and made a face. Binabik and Sisqi, riding nearby, both smiled.
“I am thinking that your great size, Snenneq,” Qina’s father said, “despite filling us with pride and delighting so many of your friends back home, is perhaps not so much to be noticed by the tall folk who live here in Erkynland.”
Though Binabik said it kindly, Little Snenneq seemed saddened by the idea that the crowds had not noticed his unusual height. He stayed quiet for a while after that.
? ? ?
The large company rode for three days before they reached the border of Falshire and turned north off the River Road to follow the line of the forest. After they left the broad thoroughfare, the towns gave way to villages or even single crofter’s huts, and nobody came to watch them pass except the occasional smallholder leaning on his hoe. It must have been a strange sight, Morgan thought, the armored knights on their horses, foot soldiers bearing the covered litter of the dying Sitha, and her bodyguard of trolls riding rams and a huge, white wolf. Those who saw it would surely remember it for the rest of their lives.
? ? ?
Despite the variety of mounts, the company traveled faster than Morgan had expected. The weather here was hot and dry, nor were they slowed by civilians and the massive baggage train that had attended the High Throne on its progress to Rimmersgard and back. Although he still was not happy to have been forced into this journey, Morgan had to admit that riding with Count Eolair, Sir Porto, and the rest of the soldiers was closer to the way he imagined himself: a man, doing the important things men did.
Still, as he lay on his cloak that night, disdaining a tent like Eolair’s so he could watch the burning bright stars wheel overhead before they plunged at last into the black sea of nighttime forest, Morgan had to admit that he was lonely. But the strange part was that he could not say what, exactly, he missed.
He missed Lillia, of course. Because of the difference in their ages, his love for his younger sister surprised him sometimes. They had not spent much of their childhoods together; by the time she could talk he was learning how to ride and fight. Soon enough she began protesting that she too should be taught to use a sword. That had led to some sharp words between Lillia’s mother, who was completely opposed to the idea, and her grandmother, who felt there was good precedent in the family for a girl learning to protect herself.