Limits of Power by Elizabeth Moon
“You said he was bad to see. Maelith and Naren told me it’s better not to look sometimes. I thought it was my duty.” Her eyes filled with tears once more, but she did not break down this time.
“I think not in this case,” Kieri said.
“Does he look … normal … in the shroud?”
“No,” Kieri said. “And that, besides the honor due him, is another reason I offer the royal burying ground, to prevent distress to your people.”
“The children,” she said. “Do you think they would notice?”
“We could not lay him straight,” Kieri said, hoping such bluntness would not start another storm of emotion.
Her lips trembled, but she did not sob. “Then … to spare the children … lord king, you are so gracious … let him be laid in the ground here, and maybe Alyanya will mend his bones.”
“That is my hope as well,” Kieri said.
“I will dream badly,” she said, “if I do not at least see him in his shroud. Let it be as unnatural as you say, for me—I am a plain woman—it is better to know than to imagine.”
“Very well,” Kieri said. “Come with me, then.”
She stared a long time at the crooked bundle, lips pressed tight together. “He was a good man,” she said finally. “A good man to me, a good father to our children, a good Sier to our people.”
“He was indeed a good man,” Kieri said. “I honor him.”
She bent her head and turned away. “Tomorrow?” she said.
“Yes, tomorrow. I will send for you when all is prepared.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
Kieri found the Kuakkgani in the rose garden, humming with the bees. Pearwind, he saw, was having a lesson in controlling the flow of springtide, letting her staff leaf out and then restraining it. Kieri found the sight disturbing. They stood up when Kieri appeared, but he waved them back to their seats and sat down on a bench himself.
“You have told the others what I told you?” he asked.
“Yes,” Elmholt said. “And we have learned a little that may help you.”
“You were correct that treachery was done there,” Larchwind said. “The oldest bones in the ossuary itself had no memory of it, but the roots we could feel beyond the ossuary did … and elves had a part in that treachery. They raised the mound to hide all evidence: underneath is a place sacred to old humans, who lived there before the magelords came from the south. The Oathstone was theirs first. Against elven magery they had no power but endurance, even in death.”
“What must I do?” Kieri asked. “Do they desire my death?”
“No, sir king. They desire to be restored to their rightful place. We do not know how you will accomplish that, but we know it should be done at Midsummer. Perhaps the usual rites there, without the Lady present, will be sufficient.”
“The rites … I do not know all the rites without her,” Kieri said. “She and I sang together.”
“And the power of her singing and the elvenhome silenced them. Without her, they may be able to speak to you.”
“I will do what I can,” Kieri said.
“No one can do more,” Elmholt said. “We will stay another few days, if it please you, to be sure your Squire continues to mend.”
“You are welcome,” Kieri said.
In the palace, the work of cleaning his study continued; furniture not damaged by iynisin touch or blood had been moved to another room; the carpet was gone, and Kieri met servants carrying away buckets of water from cleaning every speck of blood from walls and floor. The floor, patterned in squares of green and gray stone, with a central design of more colors in a complicated interlacing pattern, had been impervious to iynisin blood that leaked through the carpet. Kieri looked at the design he’d never seen, since it had been covered by carpet. It teased his gaze, almost as if it moved, forcing his eye to follow.
Elven, no doubt. Annoying, in the way it compelled the gaze; no wonder someone had chosen to cover it with a carpet. He turned to his Squires—this day, Jostin and Harin. “Do either of you know what this pattern is? Some symbol sacred to elves, maybe?”
“No, sir king,” Harin said. “I have no elven blood. Maybe one of the part-elves would know.”
“Nor I, sir king,” Jostin said.
“It may be in the palace records,” Kieri said. “I’ll ask the steward.”
The steward, Garris told him, had gone out with the party that had cut up and removed the carpet for burning. Kieri went out into the courtyard. A column of smoke led him to the site.
“Sir king!” the steward said. “As you see, we have been careful, as the Kuakkgani told us.” He pointed to a stack of turves set well to one side.
“You have indeed,” Kieri said. “Tell me, do you know anything of the history of the stone floor in that room?”
“No, sir king. That carpet has never been lifted for cleaning in my lifetime; it has always seemed unnaturally clean. There was not even dust beneath it when we picked it up this time. I supposed the elves who made the carpet had bespelled it so.”
“I expect they did,” Kieri said. “To me, the pattern underneath—that one in the middle—looks elven as well. Yet as far as we know, the palace was built for humans, the first of the human kings. Is there any carpet that could cover it? I will find it distracting when I move back in there.”
The steward shook his head. “No, sir king. We have no elven carpets in storage, I suppose because they never needed to be taken up for cleaning. We have smaller rush-mat carpets I could put down, but nothing as large as this one—” He tipped his head toward the burning pile.
“That will do, as long as it covers that central design,” Kieri said. “In the hot weather to come, the stone floor will be cooler anyway.”
“You don’t think that pattern had meaning, do you?”
“I don’t know,” Kieri said. “I know elves use patterns for various things, but I don’t know what they are. Orlith was supposed to teach me that when I was advanced enough, he said.”
“Do you want me to come back with you and have a mat put over that one right away?”
“No,” Kieri said. “It’s not that urgent. When you’re through here, or even tomorrow, will be soon enough.”
He walked back to the palace, thinking. A pattern laid down by elves. And then covered by elves with a carpet. Why would they lay such a pattern in a palace meant for humans? And why cover it up? It must be connected in some way with the joint rulers, but how?
He found something to write with and went back to his office. Before another mat or rug covered it, he wanted a record of that pattern. Someone might know what it was.
He found it hard to draw. As his eye followed the lines and colors to mark them down, he felt a pull from the pattern, and he could not remember, except in the briefest glances, how the pattern fit together. Even the squares of green and gray that had seemed so flat and simple before now seemed to move, as if flowing down into the central pattern.
How, he wondered, did the elves see such a pattern? Did it move, for them, or did it stay still? He did not hear Arian approaching until she spoke his name.
“Kieri—what are you doing?”
“Trying to draw that pattern on the floor,” he said. “I think it means something, but I don’t know what. And it seems to shift about.” He turned to look up at her; her expression showed surprise, even shock. “Do you know what it is?”
“I think that’s the same pattern I saw in that underground place where the Lady was trapped,” Arian said. “I had to mend it so that she and the others could come out. That one had the power to allow movement.” She took a step forward and stared at it. “Does it suggest that to you?”
“Other than an urge to go stand on it and turn certain ways, no,” Kieri said. “Is that what you feel?”
“Yes. I think this must be the same. The Lady’s power could take her anywhere from that one. If we had her power, we could probably go to Vérella or Fin Panir or anywhere.”
Kie
“So if we tried this, there is no certainty where we would arrive?”
“You weren’t thinking of trying it, were you?”
“No-o. But should we not know where the other end is or if this can be used by someone …?” She looked at Kieri; when their gazes met, uncertainty faded from her eyes.
“The Lady,” they both said. Arian nodded.
“She came here whenever she willed it,” Kieri said. “I always thought the elvenhome brought her, but the elvenhome emanated from her: she brought it, as well. And the iynisin—was it using the pattern?”
“Yes,” Arian said. “Unless it focused on the Lady herself and her power. Elves must have put the carpet here to hide the pattern from human eyes. I never sensed anything strange in this room until now, but elves must have been able to feel that pattern even when it was covered.”
“Or perhaps only the Lady,” Kieri said. “Perhaps other elves need to see or touch it.” He stood, shaking his head. “We don’t know enough. It’s been like this since I came—what I did not know brought great harm, and what I do not know now might bring more. I will press Amrothlin when he returns and make clear to him—I hope—how dangerous these secrets are.”
“Indeed,” Arian said.
He looked around. “I wonder if there are more such patterns, though I cannot imagine the Lady needing to arrive directly in every room and outbuilding. But before I have a mat put over this, can you draw the pattern, do you think, without looking at it?”
“Yes,” Arian said. “Although if it is a pattern of power, it might have the same force on paper.”
“We must chance that,” Kieri said. “Or you can leave a break in some of the lines—that might be enough to make it useless. We need a record of it in the palace archives.” He touched her shoulder. “You came with a purpose—what was it?”
“That journey to the Tsaian court,” Arian said. “Duke Mahieran is anxious to leave soon; he says he will have stretched his king’s patience as far as it will go, being here with his younger son so long. Do you still want me to go, or have these other happenings changed your mind? It would be half-summer before I could return, and we both want a child.”
“And you are still recovering from losing our child,” Kieri said. “Are you sure you’re strong enough after the poisoning? We should not rush—either the child or the visit—if you are not.”
“I’m sure,” Arian said. “I talked to Estil Halveric and a midwife who has cared for other half-elven. They said it was not too soon if I truly wished it. And I do; the taig agrees.” She looked down. “Estil reminded me … you lost children before, as well as your … as Tammarion. I have been thinking only of my own feelings…”
“We both grieve,” Kieri said. He closed his eyes a moment, those two child faces floating clear in his memory, then fading again. “And we will both rejoice when our child is born. Whenever that is. I trust Estil’s experience and a midwife’s, but—this was poison.”
She nodded. “Now is a safe time—we know there is no poison here right now. And that is why I want to try and then travel at once, while I can. If I were carrying a child at this moment, I would leave today, before that traitor or another brought more poison or something else…” Her voice trailed away, then strengthened again. “I don’t want to be away from you—but I don’t want to be here, waiting, uncertain—”
“You won’t stay away the whole time!” Kieri stared at her.
“No. No, my love, I will not. But long enough to—perhaps—convince a traitor that the chance has passed.”
“I will talk to Sonder, then,” Kieri said. “Your visit can certainly be delayed until we engender another child. Sonder will understand that and can explain it to Mikeli if he returns immediately. But perhaps he would stay until you could travel if Dorrin and Beclan left. I’m sure she’s anxious to get back to her steading, and it’s the king’s command that he and Beclan have little contact that makes him anxious to leave. It should not take us long…” He looked at her, and she looked back at him. They both grinned, though he saw the glitter of tears in her eyes.
CHAPTER THREE
North Marches, Tsaia
Welcome home, my lord.”
Jandelir Arcolin, Count of the North Marches, nodded his thanks. His face was near-frozen with riding into the north wind. It bit even through the layers of wool.
He dismounted, handed his horse over to the grooms, and stamped, banging his hands together until he could move his fingers. The courtyard was almost empty; he had seen the recruits drilling far out on the plain as he rode up from Duke’s East. At least here, the rest of the stronghold broke the wind’s force, and he could look forward to a hot bath soon.
“Any news?” he asked one of the servants.
“Not up here, my lord. There’s a message for you from the Duke—I mean King Kieri, my lord, sorry.” More than a year since Kieri had left on his last journey, and he was still “the Duke” to most here in the north. Probably always would be. “Come across country by Lyonyan courier, not ours. He’s gone these hand of days.”
What could be important enough for Kieri to send his own courier so far? Rumor in Vérella had it that Kieri had pledged to one of his Squires at Midwinter, but Mikeli had said nothing about it. An unmarried king, as he and Mikeli both knew, would collect gossip and rumor. But maybe it had been true. He couldn’t himself see Kieri courting one of his Squires: not the man who had been so careful to distance himself from his troops. Except for Tammarion, of course, but that was only the once.
Inside the officers’ courtyard, his household staff waited, and soon he was warm, clean, and refreshed by two mugs of sib and a hot meal. Now for work.
The green velvet sack with the gold-embroidered arms of Lyonya lay alone in the center of his desk; lesser messages were stacked to one side, a courteous gap between them and the royal missive.
Arcolin opened the sack. A letter from Kieri, in his own hand, and a wedding invitation in multicolored inks, clearly the work of a palace scribe. He read the letter first, brow a little contracted. Kieri was marrying one of his Squires but no youngster—she was his age, half-elven like Kieri but on her father’s side, not her mother’s. Dark-haired, dark-eyed, a Knight of Falk … Arcolin nodded slowly. He understood: a king must wed and get heirs. So should he himself. A king must consider a queen differently than a light-of-love. And yet … Arcolin’s gaze blurred as he thought of Kieri’s first marriage. That had been love, combined with character. Would his second be only character?
He looked at the next passage in the letter.
Do not fear, old friend, that this marriage is mere statecraft. For beyond my hopes, Arian has true affection for me, and I for her. I have not been so happy for a very long time.
Well. If it was not too late for Kieri … perhaps it was not too late for him. Though where he’d find a wife, what with spending near-half his time in Aarenis or on the road and the rest up here in a fort, he did not know.
The wedding, he saw as he worked his way through the fancy scrolls in scarlet, gold, green, blue, and silver, was to be on the Spring Evener. Arcolin shook his head. He wanted to go, but Kieri knew the schedule he must keep to get his troops to Aarenis on time. Four hands of days to and from Chaya he simply could not afford.
The other messages were routine. Marshals of the two granges on his domain, reporting on the membership and training schedule of each. Captain Valichi, reminding him that he intended to retire as soon as the troops left for Aarenis, reporting that the neighboring Count Halar had agreed to let Fox Company recruit in his domain and shared
Before the afternoon was over, the gnome estvin arrived seeking audience.
“It is that the stone is welcome,” he said.
“It is large enough?” Arcolin asked.
“It is,” the estvin said. “And the lord’s king? It is that the king agreed?”
“Yes,” Arcolin said. “By Gird’s Code, as I said.” He paused, wondering whether he should mention the dragon’s appearance at court. But why not tell the estvin something that concerned the gnomes? “Before I came,” he said, “the dragon visited the king.”
The estvin paled. “Dragon said to king?”
“That the land the dragon claimed must be released. The king agreed—”
The estvin muttered something Arcolin could not understand.
“And the king agreed to the grant of those hills to you and yours forever,” Arcolin said. “You will be safe, in your own home, I hope. Did my steward give you the food I promised?”
“Yes, lord,” the estvin said. “It is that in … in new stone kapristi have no need of as much. By midsummer at earliest will need no more from our lord.”
Arcolin started to say he did not grudge their need and was not their lord now that they had moved out, but the estvin’s expression was set. Better not to argue now, he thought. “You will have food until you say you need it not,” he said. “Do not, I beg you, go hungry. I want you to prosper and grow.”
“It is that my lord is … is beyond the Law,” the estvin said.
“Beyond—have I broken the Law?” Arcolin asked. To a gnome nothing was more serious than their Law—as far as they were concerned, the only law that mattered, rigid and immutable.
“No! Not to break. My lord is … is … more fair than fair.”
“It is Gird’s command,” Arcolin said, having found that a useful phrase before in dealing with the gnomes’ intent to exact precise trade between them.