The Riven Shield: The Sun Sword #5 Page 7

  Arann did not move, for the sword still had not wavered.

  I never realized The Terafin was so strong, Finch thought, knowing that she would have cut his face from forehead to nose tip about two sentences in because the sword was so damn heavy.

  “What Alowan sees in me, he sees in Jewel ATerafin. What she desires for herself, and for this House, is tainted to some degree by the life that formed her—but it is also informed by the life she has built. She has never—and I believe she never will—stoop to assassination to achieve her ends.

  “And I will not criticize the limitations that she places upon herself; in some ways it is by the limitations we choose to labor under that we are best judged.”

  It was Teller who interrupted her. Or rather, Teller who spoke when she fell silent.

  “Terafin,” he said, with more respect than he usually put into a name.

  She shifted her gaze, but nothing else.

  “You haven’t answered his question. You haven’t told us why.”

  “Do you need to hear it? Very well. If I die here before Jewel returns, the chance of her taking what is hers by right of succession is almost none. The Kings will not interfere if she does not petition them, and even if she does petition them, even if she carries some document, some pale piece of evidence of the truth of her words, they will be . . . loath to interfere. She may hold enough influence to sway them, but that will destroy the House. Even if she arrives in time, if there is no support in place—and placed there by my command—it will unravel.

  “And I do not believe that Jewel would take the risk of opening the House up to the inspection—and far, far worse—the dictate of the Kings.”

  “But the Kings are—”

  “The Kings rule the Empire. We rule the House.”

  Finch shut up.

  “If she has, as her support, members of significance in the House and its affairs, if she has among her supporters, one or both of the captains of my Chosen, if she has council members, no matter how junior, the matter of the succession will not be so swiftly decided.”

  “I therefore wish to confer upon you, her strongest and her most loyal supporters, those titles that your experience will bear.” She seemed to lose strength, then; her shoulders seemed to bow, at last, to some inevitable pressure, some invisible hand.

  “Gabriel is my right-kin, but he may be sorely tried in this, for his blood-son is among the contenders. I am not completely certain what he will choose to do if I am no longer his lord.

  “Arann,” she said quietly, “the sword is heavy. Choose.”

  He nodded; the tip of the blade scored his forehead. “As you have chosen,” he said quietly. “I so choose.” He held out his hand, and she laid the edge of the blade against it.

  No one was surprised who could see the blood well up in his cupped palm.

  She lowered the blade, but she did not sheathe it.

  Instead she waited until he had gained his feet.

  “Teller,” she said, “I would have both you and Finch join the House Council.”

  Just like that.

  “The—the House Council?” Finch knew she was sputtering. She looked up, and at the edge of the garden path, she could see Ellerson waiting alongside Morretz. She almost raised both of her hands in a wild frenzy.

  “We can’t give you an answer tonight,” Teller said.

  Finch let him speak for her. She didn’t have words to speak for herself.

  “Ah. You misunderstand me, Teller. What I asked of Arann cannot be commanded. It has been thus with The Terafin and the Chosen since the founding of the line. But what I ask of you and Finch is not in any way a request.” She paused. “I understand your reservations. Believe that they are not as strong as mine. But you will join the next meeting of the Council when it convenes in three days, and you will be introduced there.”

  “But—but—”

  “Take Jester as your aide; you are allowed four, with pay. Take Carver and Angel as two of your guards, if you can have them present themselves decently. Speak to Torvan about the rest.” She bowed her head.

  “I am . . . sorry . . . to place this burden upon you now. But Healer Levec spoke to Alowan, and Alowan spoke to me; we are certain that Jewel will return from the South.

  “She will never be the leader of a den in the twenty-fifth holding again. She understood that before she left. Understand that you will never again be a den in the twenty-fifth holding. You will be the foundation upon which this House survives.

  “I can afford to spare you nothing. And having decided, I must ask one further favor.” She turned to Arann, Arann of the Chosen. “Arann,” she said gravely, “draw your blade.”

  “I—”

  “Draw it.”

  He had never witnessed the induction of the Chosen before, but even so, he knew that there was something amiss. He hesitated a moment, and then rose, hand still bleeding, and drew his blade. “I won’t cut you,” she said without thinking. “It is part of the ceremony, but it will wait until the ceremony.”

  “Then why did you cut him?”

  She turned her gaze to Finch. “I have my reasons.” It was as close to shut up as The Terafin ever got.

  “Give me your sword, ATerafin.”

  Again he hesitated.

  As if he knew what she was about to do.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ELLERSON knew many things, but the things that came to him through the mixture of experience, familiarity and observation were often the most poignant.

  He knew, for instance, as he stood beneath the moon’s full light, that his sole companion had never been allowed to attend The Terafin at the shrine of Terafin. Morretz did not feel compelled to impart this information and Ellerson did not ask for it; it came to him in the line of shoulder and chin, the widening and narrowing of eyes, the compression of lips and the stillness, the absolutely stillness of arms, weighted by fists, as they rested at Morretz’s sides.

  This man had been his student so long ago memory had worn the sharper edges away from the experience. What remained, for so many years, had been pride.

  That pride was now replaced; it had been shunted forcefully to one side by a bitter, bitter regret. “Morretz,” he said quietly, for this was possibly the only opportunity he would have to speak so freely; they were men indentured by their word to the service of masters who required both vigilance and presence, and if Ellerson might be willing to leave the side of his den—yes, after all these years, his—to offer counsel or guidance to Morretz, he was certain that Morretz would never again willingly leave the side of The Terafin to seek it.

  Morretz did not look away. But he nodded.

  “There is a place for you,” the older man said quietly, “within the Guild of the Domicis. You have served only one master, and that master is a master of note. You have seen much, and that experience—”

  Morretz lifted a hand, although his attention seemed absorbed by the conversation—if it were that, between a woman of The Terafin’s station and that of Jewel’s den—unfolding in the distance.

  Ellerson knew well that a domicis did not require the ability to hear in order to follow a conversation, but he did require clear vision, an unimpeded line of sight. The distance, and the night sky, denied Morretz that. But he did not look away.

  Ellerson did. He studied the profile of this former student, the line of his nose, the rise of his chin, the slight furrowing of brow that had probably become a permanent landmark in the vistas of his expression. And he surrendered with grace.

  “Teller told me,” he said quietly.

  Morretz frowned. “Told you?”

  Ellerson did not reply, willing to let the conversation go if Morretz was unwilling to share its weight.

  But Morretz closed his eyes a moment; it was as much a turning away from his duties as he would now allow himself.

  He will be devoured, Ellerson thought. He will be devoured and he will allow himself nothing.

  “Teller ATerafin is the heart of
Jewel ATerafin’s den,” Morretz said quietly. “He sees much, and he usually hoards knowledge unless it is necessary that another know it. I am . . . grateful that you chose to return.”

  “Not, I am certain, as grateful as they are.”

  That teased a smile from the corner of Morretz’s lips; a twitch of motion. But the smile itself never reached the rest of his face.

  “What do you desire now?” Ellerson asked him, softly.

  “What I have always desired,” was the quiet reply. “To serve her. To help her attain what she envisions.”

  “And if you cannot have that, what?”

  “What else is there? I have trained for nothing else. Remove that from me and I have nothing to offer.”

  Ellerson knew it was futile, but he tried. “The guild values you enough that what you offer would be accepted without reservation.”

  “Ellerson, you know as well as I that there are perhaps a handful of teachers within the hall of the domicis who chose to serve a single lord. And of those, not one lost their lord to war or violence.”

  Ellerson nodded, although he knew that Morretz would not see the simple acknowledgment. “What will you do?”

  Morretz offered a bitter laugh as response. But words followed it, awkward and hesitant. “That is the second time tonight I’ve been asked that question. What do you think I will do, Ellerson?”

  “Will you seek vengeance for what you cannot prevent?”

  Morretz shrugged.

  Ellerson stared at the line of his shoulders, seeing in them something strong enough to bear any burden.

  Any burden but this one.

  “Morretz.”

  “Will you lecture me now, Ellerson? You of all people? Will you tell me the guild’s rules, and attempt to force upon me the morals and the ethics that—”

  “That keep the domicis themselves beyond the reach of assassins? Think, Morretz, and think carefully, before you choose that path. You serve her, and you serve her well. Join the war in such an obvious fashion after the term of your contract has ended, and you endanger any who serves in a like position. The domicis have always been neutral after the death of a lord.”

  “They have always aped neutrality. It is not the same.”

  “The pretense is not optional, Morretz.”

  “And if I choose a path of violence? If I choose a path of retribution?”

  “You will be disbarred,” Ellerson replied evenly, the words sharp and painful on the tongue, but bland and neutral to the ear. “You will be disbarred instead of being honored.”

  Morretz laughed. “There is nothing worse that you can do?”

  “No. Nothing.”

  Silence.

  A long pause was broken in the distance by Arann. He approached The Terafin and knelt at her feet.

  Morretz tensed. Tensed and then slumped; his chin lowered by slow degree, as if the weight of his head had gradually become too much to bear. “Ellerson,” he said quietly. Helplessly. “Did you ever lose a master?”

  “Yes. But my vow and my desire was not yours, and if it affected me, it did not affect me in this fashion. I did not know in advance that I would lose my masters. I did not know that my greatest vigilance would amount to nothing. And I did not—understand this—choose to bind my life so inextricably with the life of another.”

  “Did you desire no vengeance?”

  “Truthfully? No. But I am not the man you should seek.”

  “Who is?”

  “Would you seek him, if I were to give you his name? Would you leave her side for long enough to seek counsel and guidance? Could you, and be certain that your absence was not somehow the catalyst that led to the death you see as inevitable?”

  Each word made Morretz flinch.

  The older man flinched as well. But once. He had chosen to interfere, and he did so now with economy and quiet determination. It was hard, to care. It made one vulnerable to pain. Not even age and experience could shield him.

  Across the cultivated path, between the standing lamps with their orbs of protected fire, their halos cast by colored magestones, the breeze swept across grass and flower bed.

  It carried the sound of steel against steel. Both men watched as The Terafin drew her sword. She drew it, held it. The kneeling man did not flinch or hesitate, although she brushed his forehead with its point.

  “I . . . would seek him . . . if it were possible. There are times when she will not . . . have me present.”

  “Morretz,” Ellerson said quietly, “everything you have been to her has come out of what you are: domicis, of the Guild of the Domicis.

  “Do you think she desires your disgrace? Do you think she does not know what you face? Do you think she does not fear for you? She understands that the end of her life is the end of yours in some fashion, and if I am any judge of character, that knowledge weighs upon her heavily. Do not disgrace yourself in her memory; do not burden her with that.”

  The younger man’s lids shut tight; lashes compressed into a dark line that would have been lost to sight but for the particularly bright silver of moonlight. “She will be dead; it will not trouble her.”

  “No?”

  He might have answered. Had he, he would have answered honestly, and the dialogue might have opened up an avenue of discussion that would have saved him much pain at a later date.

  But the kneeling Arann now rose, and the tableau shifted and changed in such a way that Ellerson’s eyes were also drawn, his gaze held.

  The only member of Jewel’s den to serve as House Guard drew his sword in the presence of his chosen lord. The Terafin transferred the blade she held to her left hand, and held out her right, palm up, its emptiness illuminated with startling clarity by the flickering fires that circumnavigated the underside of the dome.

  Morretz watched.

  Watched as she held out the Sword of Terafin.

  Arann took a step back, and although the distance was enough to make words difficult to glean from the motion of lips, it was not so great that shock—and fear—were easily hidden.

  But she did not shrink or flinch. She had chosen. What she offered was not a request, although Ellerson would not have been surprised had she cloaked her command in the niceties of polite speech.

  Hands trembling, Arann fell to one knee.

  The Terafin did not move until he rose again. Rose and accepted the sword that she offered him. He held it before him, as if it were a serpent, or worse.

  She stood, her bearing as regal as the bearing of any King Morretz had ever watched. All motion was his, and it was stiff, raw, fearful. For a moment.

  But her resolve carried the short distance between herself and Arann, and after a moment, he stilled.

  Only when he sheathed the sword did Morretz grunt in pain.

  Ellerson looked away.

  After they were gone, she was alone.

  And although she was old enough to know that “alone” and “lonely” were not synonyms, she felt the isolation sharply nonetheless. Her hands were empty. She had sheathed the sword that Arann had carried to the shrine, and its weight, against the length of her thigh, her left hip, felt wrong.

  She would get used to it, of course. But of all the steps she had taken to ensure the survival of the House that she had built, it was the most painful. Symbols? She understood their value.

  Amarais closed her eyes.

  He came to her.

  She was aware of his presence, although until he spoke he made no sound at all.

  “Terafin,” she said softly.

  “Terafin,” he replied.

  She turned, the hem of her skirts brushing stone, the soles of her shoes rubbing its surface. His touched nothing. What face, she thought, her hand dropping to the hilt of her sword, what face would he wear?

  She was unprepared to see Morretz.

  She almost told him to leave, but something about his eyes invoked silence. He waited until she groped her way through that silence to say something entirely different.
/>   “Do you disapprove?”

  “Of the Sword?”

  She nodded.

  “No, Terafin. It is a sword, and if it has history, it is that history which makes it valuable. You have chosen.” He smiled. “There is not another leader of this House that has passed that blade on before his death.”

  “Of all the things I possess that might add verity and strength to a claim, it is the only one I can do without.”

  “Indeed.”

  She lapsed into silence.

  He waited.

  “Can you see the future?” she asked him. “Can you see who will—who must—rule Terafin?”

  “No more than you, Terafin. But I, too, have made my choice, and it is hard to rule the House Terafin without my blessing.”

  “Is it impossible?”

  His pause was shorter than either of hers had been, but it bore greater weight. An answer.

  “Will she return?”

  “If word reaches her, she will.”

  “Will she return in time?”

  Again, he chose shelter in silence.

  She walked, slowly, toward the stairs that circled the shrine; the night was dark, the air chill. It was cold, even for the season; she gathered her cloak about her shoulders in hands that trembled.

  “Will you not ask the first question that came to you when you saw me this eve?”

  “No.”

  To her surprise, he chuckled. She turned, then; he stood between her and the altar upon which she had, literally and figuratively, offered everything she had ever desired or owned.

  “Shall I answer it before you flee?”

  That stung; she was not a child, to be prodded by her elders, no matter who that elder might be. She stopped, her foot an inch away from the edge of the dais.

  But she had no desire to see the Terafin ancestor take Morretz’s face and make it his own; she had felt less qualms when he had come to her as a dark, gray mirror—a harbinger of the doom she struggled daily to accept.

  And to reject.

  “I do not want the House to devour him,” she said coldly.

  “And you have decided this only now?”

  “It has been some months in coming, but . . . I have decided, yes.”