Limits of Power by Elizabeth Moon
“You must come; I will take you through the pattern, both of you—”
“No!” This time Kieri let his anger show. “Arian is with child. We have lost one child to malice; we will not lose these to carelessness or haste. And what of the mageborn, if they are awakened? Have you thought where they will go, how they will be received, what they will do? I see by your expression you have not. You see them as impediments to be removed, but if they wake, they are people—people who must have a home and a purpose.”
“But…” The elf looked at Arian again; his expression softened. “We have much to talk about, you and I.”
“Do we?” Arian asked. She eased her aching back a little.
“You are tired,” he said, as if that were a surprise.
“I am carrying two babes,” Arian said, her tone sharp, “and they both kick like mules. Now that you have said what you came to say, and Kieri has given his answer, perhaps you will wait until morning—or after—to continue this.”
The elf startled, then—to Kieri’s surprise—gave Arian a smile of such sweetness that he seemed a different person and bowed. “My pardon,” he said. “You are right; you cannot travel, nor should you attempt great magery or be in the presence of it until after your babes are born. If it is no longer until this is done than it has been since I came to Fin Panir, that will be soon enough. There are indeed things you must know, Arian—and you, Flessinathlin’s grandson—but the health of those who carry life comes first. If I may—” He reached out his hand. Arian stepped forward, and the elf touched her hair lightly. “Peace and health to you,” he said. He bowed to Kieri and then withdrew, his elvenhome light contracting to a point that vanished soundlessly.
“That was risky,” Kieri said. “After what we know of some elves.”
“He was not evil,” Arian said. “I am sure of that. Neither I nor the babes took harm.” She smiled at him. “Now if you will help me out of all this, perhaps I can get some sleep before dawn.”
“I should wake the Squires,” Kieri said, when he had helped her back into her sleeping robe.
“You should come to bed,” Arian said. “The sheets have chilled already.”
In the morning, the Squires appeared as usual to light the fire. They did not mention having fallen asleep, and Kieri decided not to tell them. Last night’s meeting seemed almost dreamlike, though he was certain it had been no dream. Arian slept on until—when he had dressed for arms practice as usual, she woke abruptly and stared at him.
“We did have an elf here last night, did we not?”
“Yes. And I intend to find out why that pattern wasn’t destroyed.”
“What about the magelords?”
“Not our problem for now,” Kieri said. He picked up his sword and belt. “Would you like any help before I go down to practice?”
“No, thank you. In another two tendays, though, I may need you and two Squires to get me out of bed. Go on, now. I’d rather not have anyone watching this.” She grinned at him, and Kieri bowed, then left the room.
All during practice he considered who to question first on the problem of the remaining patterns. How many were there? One in every bedroom? He met the steward on his way back from practice.
“How did you determine there were none of those elven patterns in the bedrooms?”
“The elven lady, sir king. She asked to come upstairs to see if the patterns were upstairs as well as down. Of course I said yes, and she told me that none had been put upstairs. I asked if she was sure, and she said yes.” He looked worried. “Was that all right? Did she … um … steal anything?”
“No,” Kieri said. “She lied. There was a pattern in my chamber.”
“Sir king! I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“I don’t blame you,” Kieri said. “You could not know. She was an elf; she could have laid a glamour on you—and anyway, why would you suspect her?”
“I didn’t … I really thought—”
“Of course. But we will have to find how many there are—”
“Did something happen?”
“An elf visited. Nothing happened but that. I’ll talk to Amrothlin.” He would more than talk to Amrothlin; he would demand answers, but that was not the steward’s worry.
He was finishing a leisurely breakfast—Arian had sent word she planned to breakfast upstairs—when Amrothlin appeared, looking flustered, and followed by last night’s visitor, still wearing a crown but not clothed in light. Kieri sat back, eyeing the pair with no great favor.
Before he could speak, Amrothlin apologized. “I did not know, sir king—Merithllyn offered to check the upstairs as I was searching for patterns down here—”
“And you did not think of this when I told you what happened in the place my mother died?”
“No, I swear it. It had passed from my mind.”
“Um.” Kieri looked at the other elf, wondering what the proper term of address was for a “lord of the western forest” who wore a crown.
The elf bowed. “Lord king, I have known Amrothlin for longer than your life, from before your mother was born. I believe him to be telling what he knows.”
Which was not the same as the truth, necessarily. Kieri broke open a roll and spread jam on it.
“There are things you must know,” the visitor said. “Things Lady Arian must know.”
“I am not,” Kieri said, around a mouthful of jam and bread, “going to risk our children to travel or attempt great mageries I do not know how to control.”
“And you are right to be cautious. By your leave, lord king, let me explain.” He turned to Amrothlin. “Unless the king needs you, you are free to go.”
Kieri held up his hand. “By your leave—I prefer Amrothlin stay. Please—sit down. Will you have food or drink? There is plenty.”
“No,” the elf said. “I broke my fast with Amrothlin at the inn where elves gather. But thank you.” He sat, folding his hands very deliberately; Kieri’s eye was caught by the great ring he wore. “It is necessary that I tell you a tale that is long in the telling, but I will make it as short as I may, with the promise of telling it in full later. It is the tale of Lady Arian’s birthright from her father … and from me.”
“From you!” That escaped before Kieri could stop it. He remembered then what Arian had said seasons ago.
“Yes.” The elf held his gaze. “Her father, as you know, was elven, but fathered children on humans only while he lived in the Ladysforest. Dameroth, as you knew him, was one of my sons. She, Lady Arian, is my granddaughter, as you are Flessinathlin’s grandson. My quarrel with Flessinathlin began long before, and that, too, is a tale you must know, but perhaps not now. What you and she must know now—before your children are born—is that her father carried the elvenhome gift, as your mother did.”
Kieri could not move for astonishment. Finally, into the silence that the elf allowed, he said, “You … sent your heir—your single heir—here? Why?”
“He is—he was not my only heir,” the elf said. He looked at Amrothlin, then back to Kieri. “I saw no reason to limit the elvenhome gift with so few elvenhomes left. I foresaw that Flessinathlin would fail, that her line would fail; I hoped my son would take over the Ladysforest and restore elvenkind here. But he is dead. Now I see that you have the Lady’s own elvenhome gift, and that is a wonder to me. I had not known such a thing was possible—a half-elf creating an elvenhome.”
“It was a surprise to me, too,” Kieri said.
“You have no one here to teach you how to use it,” the elf said. “It has not come to full power. I would help you with this, if you wish.”
If he wished to have the full power of an elf—of course he did. But why would an elf make such an offer?
“I would not offer such help,” the elf said, as if he’d read Kieri’s mind, “but that Arian is my granddaughter, and your children are my great-grandchildren. We treasure children; I must see them protected and safe.” He paused and then added, “And … they have inherited th
“I was not sure,” Kieri said. “We hoped for it, since I will not live as long as elves do and the land needs what the Lady gave it.”
“They will be stronger than you,” the elf said. “If they survive. Amrothlin has told me of the attacks by the traitor elf as well as iynisin. Arian should have more protection than you can give her. Accept, please, my offer of help. And for your children, if not for you, assistance in training them in their elven magery as they grow.”
Kieri thought about it. He needed to know more about his own magery, and the local elves claimed they could not teach him. The children would need help even more than he did as they grew. But accepting help from this elf meant becoming dependent on someone whose ambitions he could not fathom. Best meet that head-on; he could not hope to outwit an elf with subtlety.
“Your offer is gracious,” he said. “But—with apologies to you and to Amrothlin—” He nodded toward his uncle elf. “—my experience with elves has included enough contradictory behavior that I am … wary. You know more than I, that is clear. You are older, more powerful. I swore an oath to this land to protect as well as rule … I will not lightly give up that charge.”
The elf’s eyes flashed; his face stiffened in what Kieri knew must be outrage. Then he calmed again. “I … understand, I believe. You dealt with your grandmother. She was not entirely reliable. Nor were all her elves. You do not know—you cannot know—my honor. Yet we have need of each other. If you are to rule and protect this land as you hope, you need to advance in your mastery of the elvenhome. If I am to see my lineage succeed here, so will your children. I do not dispute your right to rule. I do not dispute my granddaughter’s right, through her father. Can we begin with that?”
Kieri nodded slowly. “We can … but you must forgive me if my trust comes slowly. You have not shared your name; you know mine.”
“Ah. My name is long and difficult to say—” The elf uttered something that slipped past Kieri’s ears in a ripple of sound like running water. “It is my history as well as my name. In a shorter form, which even elves use, I am Machrynalýthnyan, and my domain is known as the Lordsforest.”
Kieri repeated the short form, noting the stress on the next to last syllable. “I thank you,” he said, “and would welcome assistance in protecting Arian from iynisin if you think another attack might come—”
“Indeed, I am certain it will, though I cannot know when,” Machrynalýthnyan said. “You defeated one whom you did not destroy; it will have told others about you, and as it hated Flessinathlin, it will hate you. I propose that I send four elves skilled in battle, experienced with iynisin. They can arrive where I found Amrothlin; the elves have placed a pattern in their inn, so it will be wise of you to obliterate all other patterns in this palace. Amrothlin and I can locate them for you now.”
“Uncle,” Kieri said, looking at Amrothlin. “Are you able to find these patterns yourself?”
“Yes, sir king,” Amrothlin said. “I truly did not know she lied—”
“I believe you,” Kieri said. He turned to Machrynalýthnyan. “Then, my lord, if you will do me the courtesy—in my concern for Arian, I ask that you return at once to send those guardians for her, and Amrothlin will search the palace high and low. Will that suit?”
“It will, my lord,” Machrynalýthnyan said, equal to equal. “They will have a seal like this—” He held out his ring showing a design carved into the stone. “They will speak this word to you: Watersong.”
“Watersong,” Kieri said. “Thank you.”
“The other matter,” Machrynalýthnyan said, “I will not speak of until Lady Arian has recovered from the birthing, but—when the children are born—will you tell me?”
“Yes,” Kieri said. If he trusted the elven king by then, which would depend on those he sent to guard Arian. Surely the man wouldn’t want to harm his own granddaughter.
Arian was not best pleased when Kieri told her he had accepted the offer of additional guards. “He may be my grandfather, but are you sure we can trust him?”
“Amrothlin says yes. He was fostered there for a long time; he insists the king is honest.” He reached out and stroked her hand. “Do you dislike the king that much?”
“No. But … I don’t know him. I won’t know these elves he sends. I’m used to ours.” She shook her head. “Never mind. It’s these two—my balance is gone, I can’t sleep through the night, and I’m sure it’s affecting my mind.”
“All will be well this time, Arian,” Kieri said.
The elves arrived before nightfall, early as that came in winter, showing the correct seal and giving the correct password. They greeted Kieri respectfully and, when he introduced them to Arian, bowed low. Amrothlin knew one of them, Kiliriathlin, from his time fostered to the elven king. Kieri asked him to stay in the palace, meeting the Squires and learning the layout of the place, while Amrothlin took the others to meet the Ladysforest elves.
At Midwinter, Kieri went to keep vigil in the ossuary, wondering if he would have another adventure like the last, but the night—long, dark, and cold—passed quietly. He was ready at dawn to return the Seneschal’s greeting and went inside quickly to reassure Arian.
As the days lengthened, the local elves and the visitors kept guard together, always some in the palace, night and day. Iynisin did not come. At the half-Evener, as the year before, a storm blew in, and with it a message from the Sea-Prince of Prealíth, carried by one of the forest rangers.
I have word from one with whom I have had dealings, in the times before, but with whom I wish no dealings now, that he is intent on mastering all lands, and will have the crown he is sure is his. He thinks me still his ally, but I fear him. He is not who he was since he came back from beyond the Eastern Ocean. You say you escaped from there; you will know what I mean.
No other name. But it must be Alured the Black the Sea-Prince meant. Beyond the Eastern Ocean … was the memory of horror. Baron Sekkady. Kieri shuddered once, then reminded himself: he was free now. He had been free a long time. But … Alured there? And “not who he was”? Had Alured met Sekkady? Surely Sekkady was dead by now. His heir, though—surely he had had an heir, and his heir was like to be as vile as Sekkady.
The thought sprang into his mind in one vivid image: how Sekkady might outlive an aging body—how a magelord might outlive an aging body—as Dorrin had learned. Could Alured have been taken over by Sekkady? But why would Sekkady choose a pirate? If it could be, if Sekkady came near … for a moment the lust for revenge rose in him again, the thought of Sekkady at his mercy, a chance to kill, once for all, what had so tormented him.
Falk. Only the one word, but Kieri knew what it meant. Falk had never sought revenge on the tyrant who had enslaved him or the brothers who had lived in luxury while he suffered. To be Falk’s knight … Kieri touched the ruby he wore, and turned his attention to the message.
He plans a feint to the west, but will attack both over mountains and up the great river. I have sent word to Kostandan. The rest of the scroll was a crude map with a line across the mountains from a square marked “fort” to somewhere in southern Lyonya. The map showed the coastline of the Eastbight and north to the Honnorgat in careful detail, but inland only crudely. Aarenis was the wrong shape, and the Immer drainage nowhere near reality, with four cities marked at equal distances along it. The man must have drawn it from hearing it described, not from seeing it or any good map. But the “fort” lay north of the circle for Rotengre … Kieri’s mind leapt to Dwarfwatch.
Snow pummeled the windows, coated the courtyard, veiled the view beyond. Kieri tried to remember his own trip across the pass at Dwarfwatch when he was Aliam’s squire, but the wounds he’d taken getting Aliam out alive and the fever that had followed left him no clear notion where that pass came out. Not too far from Halveric Steading … where Estil and the family were alone, all the soldiers having come north with Aliam.
He could do nothing in the teeth of thi
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Aarenis
Spring came early to the island, bringing the tangy fragrance of flowering white-bush, the bleating of newborn goats, the chink and scrape of hoes working house-gardens. Stammel, on his way to fetch water one morning, stopped short. Smoke. Not the village’s cookfire smoke, but a more acrid smoke from somewhere at a distance. He knew that smell. The smoke of war … death, destruction, ruin.
“What’s wrong, Matthis?” asked Rimmel.
“Smoke,” he said. “The wrong smoke. Tell everyone: douse all fires here.” It was too late, he knew, to pretend no one lived here; enemies would already have seen cookfire smoke rise pale in the morning sun against the slopes of the mountain. And enemies already knew their way up from the sea; they had been here before. “Pack up,” he said. “What I told you—” Someone cried out, a youngster he thought by the sound—panic in that cry. Stammel said, “Be quiet,” in a voice that no recruit had ever disobeyed, and none here disobeyed either.
“We can’t be sure they’ll come,” Rort said.
“We can’t be sure they won’t,” Stammel said. Another gust of wind from the east brought a stronger whiff.
“I smell it now,” Rort said; others muttered agreement. “It’s early for pirates.”
“They’re closer,” Stammel said. Two other villages lay between them and the coast; it was the smoke of the nearer one burning, he thought. “Gather the children; form your groups. You know what to do—” He had told them, argued with them, told them again, all the summer long, all the autumn. Insisted that they find a place, carry supplies up, practice leaving.
“How long—?”
“If you go now, maybe long enough.” Stammel set down the yoke with its buckets, turned, and went back to the shop. He could hear Cadlin inside, the clink of his tools as he picked them up and packed them into a leather bag.