Forty-Nine
“Wherefore,” said the damosel, “have you stayed from me so long? Didst thou not love me?”
The saith, “It is for this very reason, that I have loved you long, why I have stayed away so long.”
Then said the damosel, “Come to me, and let love be not parting, but union.”
- from The Chanson de Rose
HYR
THE CITY OF IMMRACHYR
Thunder rumbled over the city, and old Lord Ronnerick, folding his hands together murmured, “They know.”
Now there was a sharp crackle and he turned away from the scene of glass grey sky etched occasionally with lightning, gentle rain coming harsher now, turning the stone towers and houses of Immrachyr black.
“Jongo, Lord of the Storm, Rage and mourn,” Ronnerick murmured, his fingers threading through his white beard.
A young page came into the large, low ceilinged room which was lit only by a little horn lantern on an old scarred desk.
“My lord, the Queen!” he called.
Ronnerick was too old to be swift. He nodded. The boy reached for his hand and they made their way down the long hall.
“You should not be in the dark like this, my lord,” the page chided. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you. This is no time to be on your own.”
“I came here when I was younger than you,” Ronnerick mused, his pace too slow for the boy. “I was a country lad from a country estate, closer to the border and Solahn than to the heart of things. I didn’t know a thing about Chyr, or about our people, though my blood was noble enough, and the kings and queens of Solahn were my fathers and mothers. In those days I beheld the splendor of Chyr for the first time. And I beheld Ermengild. She was tall and fair. She was… the color of brown sugar. Her eyes were golden. They called her Ermengild Golden Eye, and the trials of life had not dimmed them, not that they have, not that all this time later, her eyes is not as bright as ever. Her hair was as golden as her eyes. Her father had just died. She was new to the Throne and Chyr was a power. Men came from all over to beg for her hand. The world was brighter then.”
Thunder cracked across the sky and the page nearly jumped. They had entered Telvon Hall, and here it seemed the world had once, indeed, been brighter. All the lights were low now. They had been for days. From both sides of the walls, carved in dark stone, the Kings and Queens looked upon them as they passed. There was King Hernan, Ermengild’s father. And as they passed through this hall, there was the serene face of Lethana the White, the only Queen who had ruled nearly as long as Ermengild.
This was her seventy-second year on the Beryl Throne. Each year they hoped she would hold on a little longer, hold on for the return of the lost princesses or their children, of which some had heard tale. They were always hoping for their return. Indeed, if Ermengild had not hoped for it, she would never have allowed Tealora to marry a Solahni prince.
Here, in Yshan’s Room, the large hall before the Queen’s chambers, cousins were gathered. All the lords closest to the Queen were of the House of Chyr, or of the Alcontradi, all kin to her, though far down in the line of succession. The heir, it seemed, was not here. A Raven had come the other day with the message, her husband was King in Solahn now. And she had gone to him. When Tealora left, the palace resolved itself to reality. There was no use hoping for lost princesses who would never come.
“She has waited for you,” Katelin said. The girl bowed and allowed Ronnerick to enter with his page.
“At last,” the old Queen croaked. “My chamberlain has come.”
“Away!” she croaked. “All away, save Ronnerick, save his son, save his page.”
She turned to the boy, and nodded.
The room emptied now, until only three remained, and outside, thunder, like the sound of a heavy blanket being ripped slowly, moved across the air.
The Queen sat high in bed, and had pushed the covers away. Beside her sat Dessanon, Lord of Meresell, the nephew of Ronnerick and Chief Hand.
“Now that I am old, a mass of creases and wrinkles, a spirit that has outlived its body, Mother Amana sends Jongo to take me away.”
The thunder crackled and shook the walls.
“I do not fear you,” the old Queen smiled. “Blow. Come for me.”
“The Queen,” Ronnerick said, “is as fair as ever.”
“And the Chamberlain is blinder than he has ever been,” Ermengild told him. “Bless your cataracts it is a mercy on me. Still,” her face grew quiet. “I always hoped. I knew the Goddess Elladyl had promised me that my issue still lived. Ohean himself said it. Else, I would never have allowed Tea… I would have… Done… something.”
The Queen was lost, as she was now and again in the labrynth of her mind.
“Still,” she spoke after a time, “Elladyl gave us the Star, promised to watch over this land always, and it was she who said fear not and so… I will not. Witness.”
They all looked at her, but it was Ronnerick who came nearer, leaning on his staff.
“Witness,” she said again, and she lifted her finger to beckon to him.
“Witness.”
There was one last burst of thunder.
“I die,” Queen Ermengild said.
There was a heavy fall of rain. No thunder, but a heavy surrender of rain from the black sky, and Ronnerick still looked into the eyes which had dimmed to bronze. With great reverence the old man extended his two fingers to close the eyes of his Queen. Next, he took the round compact mirror from one of the folds of his rich robe, opened it and placed the mirror to the Queen’s nostrils. When there was no mist he made a slight gesture and his nephew. Dessanon came forward with a great red book, gilt in gold. He opened it. A velvet marker was at its proper place. Never was this book opened in seventy-two years, and most times it was placed before the chapel of the Kings.
Now Ronnerick inscribed in it the life and the death of Ermengild and then removed from the Queen’s finger, her ring.
“Go,” the old man told the page.
The page, whose face had been averted toward the large globe at the end of the room, closed his eyes soberly and nodded. He had been one of the three to witness the death of the longest reigning Queen of Chyr. He bowed and left the room, closing the doors behind him.
Only a moment later the old man and the younger could hear the collected breath and beginning sighs of the rest of the House of Alcontrad outside the chamber as he stood over the Queen’s body and the thunder began again, booming softly, rain like nails tapping the windows and the glass doors, splashing on the balcony.
“The only good thing about this moment,” Dessanon said to his uncle, “is that no one will ever wear her ring again.”
The old man nodded and above them, slowly, the chapel bells began to toll.
THE SEA OF ARMOR
The barge rowed toward the Dauman ship, reminding King Rufus of a gaudy crocodile as it approached. At last, the two faced each other and, motioned for the draw bridge to link them. It was he who came across to the barge with its flapping red banners, and when he crossed, he bowed to a man as handsome as a villain standing beside a tall straight, characterless looking man, someone nearly inhuman.
“You are the King Bellamy,” Rufus bowed, and Bellamy bowed in return.
“And you are the mage Phineas.”
Phineas merely blinked.
“We have taken Zahem with not even a drop of blood,” Bellamy said.
“Zahem is small and undesired,” Rufus said. “And from what I hear there may have been a little bit of blood. The collapse of the old Temple, no less.”
When Bellamy cleared his throat, Rufus added, “the…. Death of your brother.”
“Solahn is mine. Zahem is mine,” Bellamy continued, “and now Chyr is mine. It is my Jewel.”
“Do you think Chyr will obey you?”
“It will obey my wife.”
“And she, doubtless,” Rufus said, “will obey you.”
“The only question, King Rufus,” it was Phineas who was now speaking, “is do you want allies? Sussail will not help you. Armor will not help you. Inglad has disposed of its king, your cousin. Hale and North Hale are gone from you. At the moment you have lost all you thought to hold. Would you get it back?”
Rufus smiled out from the side of his mouth, turning to his brother, Richard, but neither spoke.
“Sir Richard, your soldiers were murdered so King Edmund could be taken into custody.”
“So you would go to war with us?” Rufus said, looking between Bellamy and Phineas, though he was sure Phineas was the true power. “Lend us your soldiers so that I could make a conquest. But why?”
“Because it was believed you would possess Ossar, and now this has been taken from you,”
“You would march on the Young Kingdoms and have me be your general,” Rufus said.
“And, in the end King.”
“But what good is this to King Bellamy?” Richard looked at the new King of Solahn.
“Let us say that I am pledged to help,” Bellamy said.
“An emperor in Ossar and one, eventually, in the Royan lands and Solahn.”
“And possibly Armor.” Rufus added. Yes, what would Hermudis say to that?
“So?” King Bellamy asked, “shall we make common cause?”
“What do you say we discuss this further?”
“Discuss it further, King Rufus,” Phineas said, “but let us not discuss it too long. The first matter to me is where we would begin the war.”
“Oh that is easy,” Rufus shook his head.
“Sussail?” King Bellamy asked. “I know you cousin is important to you—”
“You know nothing of the sort,” King Rufus said, “and I would be glad to see Hermudis Trevanwy humbled. I am thinking of strategy, not pride. But however we enter, there is one land we must control first, before are ever able to move back into the north.”
“Westrial,” Richard said.
