chapter seven
Hello, my name is Lida Vianna. Since becoming a Krysli on this very day, ten summers past, I have been called many things. Goddess, vixen, protector, opportunist. All words which exceed their mark. I am simply a defender, blessed with a special gift, and my lone charge is the safety and sovereignty of Siguard. To my supporters, I say, "Sincere thanks, but do not look outside yourself for inspiration. Look inside. There is a soaring Krysli of power and insight within us all." To my detractors, I say, "Be not so swift to dismiss a kindred spirit, who shares your passion, and also seeks a path toward the betterment of our people, and the security of our nation." To my enemies, those who would seek to undermine--in any fashion--the glory and promise of our nation, I say, "Love me or hate me, you will have to deal with me."
No. No, that's far too melodramatic. With a crumple and toss, a fourth attempt sails into the corner of my room, landing neatly in the center of its three preceding efforts. How nice. I reach over and pull out a fresh sheet of fine, scented parchment, and the crackle as I lay it out on my desk summons forth a thought. As I dip my pen, the thought summons forth a smile, and I write without hesitation, in bold, broad strokes:
I am Lida Vianna, and I do not fuck around.
Hahahaha! Oh, me! I'm sitting here, holding my face in my hands, peeking through my fingers to read it again and again and I'm laughing as one of unsound mind, all alone in my room. What must my mother be thinking of me? I know she's already up and about, and the walls in our home are woefully thin. I lean back in my chair and the laughter begins anew, feeding on itself in an ever-increasing spiral of discomposure. What of the guards outside? "Hello, my name is Stoul, and I'm in charge of keeping that crazy mad woman councilor safe. Listen to her in there, howling. Sound safe to you? So drastically retreated from reality, I think she'd be safe from just about anything." Ahahahaha!
Leaning forward again, a thought sobers me. Safe from just about anything. Save myself. A single tear vaults from my cheek and kisses the parchment. An echo of mirth just past, or precursor to sadness welling close? The stain on the parchment is both becoming and less so. Feeling a sudden need for confirmation, I rise and stride over to the tall, ornate looking glass planted before the center of the wall. There I stand, undandied, in my morning robe, hair where it wants to be rather than where I'd have it, and I am both becoming and less so. I know this. With the smoothness of a thousand such morning turns, I turn half about and regard my backside. Both becoming and less so. I look back to my face, leaning closer for truth and revelation from this glass which does not lie. I cannot help but smile. Becoming, then.
I will simply speak from the heart. There will be no prepared statement. After five summers of some contention in the Council of Peers, I've learned that often, the unplanned speech is the most sooth and therefore, effective. While the anniversary of my first flight is something more than just another statement of policy, I of all people should be able to address the occasion from the heart and mind, not from any amount of forethought or preparation. I glance over at my vulgar proclamation, resting boldly where I left it on my desk, and think that it might look well and good framed upon my wall. Or perhaps high above my seat in the Council chamber. Hahahaha!
I hear my mother's steps approach my door and stifle my laughter. Oh what must she think? Does it remind her of Dad? Oh Dad, I do miss you so.
"Lida dear? I know it's early yet, but since you're already up and entertaining yourself, perhaps you'd also care to entertain a visitor here to see you?" A visitor? The sun has only just risen. I open the door and peer out, even as my mother tries to peer in. We nearly collide heads and I try desperately to suppress another giggling fit.
"What manner of visitor, mum?"
Slowly, as if only now convinced after surveying my room that I am indeed alone in here, she harumphs. "Oh, most handsome. Very well dressed." Ah. Garth. Mum quickly glances past me at my unmade bed. "Will you entertain him in the dining room? I've only just cleaned it yester eve."
"No mum. He may visit me in my room. All is well."
And then my dear little mother reaches up and knocks softly on my temple. "So you may say." She backs up a step with both arms up on my shoulders to look at me with a warm smile. "Shall I buy you a little time, to..."
"No mum, really, it's quite alright. He is close to me."
Mother pats my shoulder, gives up, and turns back down the hall. "Perhaps I should knock his head as well, then."
I return to the mirror and quickly make the most of my rebellious hair. Loosening my robe, I cup my breasts for a quick, vain lift, and then slowly draw the robe tight again. Not there, not yet, ah, good. A proper, early morning decolletage. Enticing rather than seductive, and quite possibly accidental. Three steps to my bedstand drawer yields a fine Jesterian mint, which is summarily removed from its leaf-wrap and sent to amend my breath. I tuck the leaf in my robe pocket just as heavy footsteps approach my door. I should be seated? Standing? I nearly trip over my own feet rushing over to my desk to sit with pen in hand. Where are my scents? I could use them, just a hint, just now. Which of course leads me to ask, where are my senses? I could use them, just a hint, just now as well. Ah, me.
Then the knock comes at the door, the mint is swallowed, I beckon him in, and it is indeed Garth, and he looks so beautiful, and all of my feminine pretense is instantly forgotten. Well, almost. I remain seated instead of flying into his arms to smother him with affection. Always the politician. Always.
"Ah, Garth. It is a delight to see you. You brighten my morning." He looks like he might bow to one knee--not impossible given his odd, excessive southern manners--so I reach over and pat the near corner of my bed. "Please, come sit, and be comforted."
He takes forever to cross the room. Could this truly be Garth, the renowned soldier without fear or equal, hesitating to take a seat at the foot of my bed?
Finally he sits. The bed sighs under his great weight. I know how it feels, and a shudder unbidden runs through me at the memory. He is so lovely, once you get past all the stiff formality and--
"Milady, it is equally good to see you. You are beautiful, even in morning repose. Perhaps more so, for--"
Silly man. "Garth, forgive me, but we've--" Careful. I don't wish to see him blush, and he would. I leave it at that. "Won't you call me by my given name?"
His eyes are as a blessed child's as he reaches his great brown hand to caress the side of my face. I lean into it with a smile and lidded eyes. Oh, beautiful, beautiful man. "Lida. Of course. I would do anything you asked, you must know."
I sigh despite myself, remembering with a politician's ease to keep smiling. Beautiful yes, but of late, I must ask: would you stop all this fawning and debasement, and stand half so tall as you used to? As you do on the field of battle? I pat his heavily-knuckled hand with my own small, pale hand. "Yes. This I know."
In the heartbeat that follows, I decide that I hate myself. Of course, aside from his magnificent body, lovely features, and the rare, golden locks that frame them, it was his unswerving just, kind, and giving demeanor that moved me so close to him. A thousand women, and a thousand more, would give anything to be sitting where I sit now. Perhaps this is the way of it, that the little annoyances should replace the little joys so quickly. I've seen it, felt it before--I've certainly lived that long, at least. But I hate myself none the less, for so easily finding faults where I once found virtue. Just who do I think I am?
"Closest, you grind your very teeth. Have I disturbed you?" I open my eyes to see his concern, which of course must be allayed. I grab his hand in both of mine, and drop it to my lap. Yes! You disturb me when you play attentive servant rather than gallant soldier. Yes! And I am a fool to be so disturbed.
I raise his knuckles to my lips give them a heartfelt kiss. Eyes momentarily bowed, I very nearly send a tear to join it. Composure, young lady, composure! "How could such kindness, such nearness, ever disturb me?" I raise my eyes without tears back to his with my question. How, indeed? "I'm sorry, dear Garth, but I have a busy day ahead of me, and much distracts my mind. Yet I always have time for you. What brings you hither?"
He answers by leaning close. Don't kiss me, Garth. I'm only a woman, after all...
He kisses me, and after several heartbeats of unbridled sweetness and light, it is all I can do to open my eyes and pull away. I placate the vacancy by placing my own hand on his square jaw.
"Lida, I would never leave your side of my own accord. This you must know. Yet I have been reassigned, to the northern marches."
Reassigned? It had to happen, sooner or later. Who gave the order, I wonder? "The northern marches are not so very far, my..." I cannot call him Closest, so I finish lamely with a smile. "Garth."
Garth bows his head. "The northern marches of Higol, milady. Perhaps," his eyes search the floor, "perhaps this is punishment." He shifts uneasily on my bed. His eyes still do not meet mine. "The General Enderin herself knows of what transpired in the woods north of Bemer. I could not deny her. I am sorry... Closest."
Meddling old hag! I'm on my feet and away to the east window, facing the citadel. She will call for action! She will go to the Council, no, to the very Triad itself, and renew her plea for control of the Krysli. Only Randle--
"She left in great hurry, it seemed to me, to meet the Magician, Randle. This was three days ago. My duties," a great sigh from my bed tells me he has risen, though my back is still to him. "I came as soon as I could, Lida."
Oh, sweet fool, you are caught between two vindictive women. What chance secrecy? What hope to quash rumors already flying these past two moons? What hope, with such an honest man? I'm biting my lip again. I need to stop that. It is a sign of weakness.
Garth offers a sign of his own. "I feel you are far from me."
"That's because I rose to my feet and walked away from you, Garth. People do move." Oh, he didn't deserve that. He'd never deserve that tone. Where does this blackness come from? What pit within me cannot let this closeness alone? Why can't I simply be happy with him?
I turn around and draw my robe fast. Goodbye, perfect morning decolletage. Garth is staring at the floor. He barely fits in my room, and his anguish that he was made to confess, that can barely fit inside his heart. It spreads to his cheeks with a flush. "Hey." I approach him with a smile. "People do move, and it is not the end, just as you will move to Hilgor, and it will not be the end. That is all I meant, dear Garth. Be at peace." I hug him tightly, burying my cheek into his chest. His arms hesitate, then gently embrace me. "Trouble yourself no more. You spoke truth when asked, and I'd have you answer no other way, lest an unseemly stain besmirch your honor."
We rotate slowly, nearly swaying. I cannot speak for Garth, but I am remembering several trysts, well, near trysts anyway, not so long ago, and smiling sweetly at the images. My body smiles with me. Beautiful, honest, simple man. Pray, be nothing else.
Our silent dance bumps into my desk. I draw back from Garth, from this reverie, and my smile is wide and genuine. Garth mirrors my emotion, then glances at the desk. More precisely, following his eyes, my vulgar proclamation! The giant beast stifles a grin and attempts to assume an unaffected tone. "Well." He smirks despite himself. "That is good to know."
I feel the blood rush to my face and widen my eyes. "Go forth from my private chambers at once, you prying beast!" Garth's laughter is full and sound as he allows me to push him to my door. "Spying, insufferable male!" He opens the door and looks to turn about at the threshold. "Not another word!" I reach up, up, and push his face back around and lean into his wide back. "Go! Leave a woman peace! Be off!" He's smirking that satisfied smirk of his, I know it, as he starts from my room. "And as for what you think you might have read," I smile wantonly at his departing backside, "don't you forget it!"
I can't believe I just pinched his ass. Garth's head nigh hits the ceiling with a start. Neither can he. He turns around with a confused, happy bewilderment, face now every bit as flushed as my own. I simply demur with a wicked grin. He shakes his head with a grin that could never be wicked and waves me off, already at the intersection of the back hall and the main hallway. He winks at me as he turns the corner. Now that he is gone, I can see Tristar, standing naked and grinning, even as I first saw him, in front of his bedroom door. He winks at me and runs out after Garth. Oh no.
There is a strange, choking exclamation from the front of the house. Then there is a mighty, thunderous exclamation. "What madness! Old women, waiting on stools to knock passersby on the head!" Oh, no she didn't! I giggle and start forward, then wait, because the thunder hasn't finished. "And you! Have you no shame? What business do you have, grabbing my backside like some, some--" Then the voice runs out of steam and a door slams. Oh, he didn't! I'm guffawing now, half-mortified at the thought of that silly, naked man hopping and flopping around my home, yet utterly amused by the image. Well why not? He saw me do it. Oh, my! Poor, dear Garth!
I'm huddled in a ball of robe, hair, and quaking mirth just outside my door when Tita emerges into the hall from the chaos that is the front of my home. Oh, no, not you too, babydoll! She sees me beside myself, sips her pin juice, and says, "Now that was funny." Then she turns and shuffles past the guest room to her own to get ready for Learning. With a crescendo of flapping feet on stone, Tristar bolts into view and nigh on dives into the safety of the guest room, slamming his door just in time to save himself from the thunderbolt that is my mother's bellowing, house-shaking proclamation: "I'll knock every head in this house if I have to!"
Composure, ever an unsure guest in my home, shyly returns, hesitates, then settles down for a much-needed visit. Soon I am walking Tita and a properly-dressed Tristar, if you can call his penchant for black proper, to the House of Learning. It is a short walk, thankfully, as Tristar asks my daughter question after question. He's fascinated by her, and she handles the attention with considerable grace for a girl of only eight summers. If only he would change the subject.
"Is there anything you wish you could do, that you cannot?" It amazes me how quickly Randle taught him his words. It seems I only dropped him off a few days ago, and now, though his accent is strange, he speaks our language perfectly.
Tita is unfazed. "No, I do everything I want. Sometimes it is more difficult for me, but it does not diminish my joy." Ah, she is growing up to be a fine, fine little lady.
"But certainly, you cannot wrestle with but one arm?" Tristar, please, end this vexing line of inquiry. Have mercy on me! I have so much to do today.
"Oh yes I can! An' I'll wager I could manage to drop you on your backside." We're at the gate to the courtyard now, Tita with one hand defiantly on her hip, turns to face Tristar who, is he squaring off with her? Surely he wouldn't--
With a charge, Tristar tackles my daughter, nearly knocking me off my feet in the passing. His large frame, fully extended, carries them into the courtyard, where several other blesseds stop to witness the spectacle. I feel the burning near. "Tristar! Desist at once!" I'm already at their side. Tristar is on his back, holding Tita up with one arm, hand on her belly. Tita is giggling, unharmed, not even dirty, and is doing her level-best impression of a one-armed Golga bird. Oh blessed child! Tristar is giggling too. Blessed children, both.
It's difficult to scold him, seeing them both so happy and blissfully unaware. "Tristar. Please do take care. You shouldn't wrestle with blesseds. You mean well, but the little ones could be harmed. Do take care, won't you?"
With surprising speed and dexterity, he is on his feet, one hand in a fair impression of the official Siguardian salute, while in the other kicks and squeals my little girl, tucked for the moment like a satchel under his arm. "Put me down! Tristar! No fair!"
"I will not let any harm come to any blessed children, your highness."
Tristar is completely serious. He drops the feigned salute and child with equal care, and Tita manages one sweet little punch on his leg before running off with, "I'll get you later!"
Sigh. "For the last time, I am not a princess. There is no royalty in any of the Five Nations. I am simply Lida, as you are Tristar."
"Of course, princess."
He grins and turns on his heel to follow the children inside. Impossible man! I am surrounded, it seems. "I will be along to check on your progress later, Prince Tristar!"
My thoughts are my own, walking back along the short village streets to my home. I only glance once at the Citadel, looming in the east, stark and orange under the ruddy sun.
There is no sign of Garth's detachment as I approach my house. It appears they, like he, have already departed. Sigh. I'd hoped to speak with Menda before she left. I'm left with my original security detail. Two men, on either side of the front door. Stoul and Dougard. Stoul is an idiot, and proves it by opening his oafish mouth and allowing sound to escape. In my direction, no less.
"Good morning, ma'am. It's a pleasure to be in charge of your safety once again." He grins as if I shared the pleasure.
"You're not. Dougard is. Good morning, Dougard."
Dougard tips his helm. "Morning, ma'am. The Magician Randle awaits you inside." Stoul stares first at me, then at Dougard, then straight ahead, his expression back to its normal, vacant self. Of course, his penchant for staring, particularly at that which he shouldn't, is half the problem.
"Very good. Gentlemen," Dougard opens the door for me, even though that's hardly his responsibility. He's a good man and I flash him a smile. "Thank you, sir." He dips his head in acknowledgment as I pass, and then, there before me, seated at my dining room table, is Randle, the Savior of Siguard, sipping a drink (water, I'm sure) and chatting with my mother. I offer my best expansive, welcoming smile, thinking only for a moment of that charlatan Laen, and wish for strength.
Randle does not rise and I do not sit. Mum takes the cue but misses the mark. "Why hello, dear. We were just trying to decide exactly where our honored guest might have gotten the idea to go and pinch a handsome young soldier's behind. Any ideas?"
There are four available chairs. One beside Randle and three in front of me. I take the center one. "You know, Mum, it's quite possible he'll be knocking every person he passes on the head, from now until the snows come, if mimicry is his wont. How is your own head, Randle? Untouched, I pray?" Mum snorts and takes the hint, rising from her chair.
"If they teach him nothing else in the Learning, they might teach him not to wander around a house, with a child in it no less," here she flashes me a look, "without at least a pair of breeches on."
"I suspect the sight of a naked man is much more disturbing to her grandmother than to Tita. Tristar is harmless, mother. Unless of course, you've taken an interest in something you might have seen." I give her my best impish grin, and she gives me her best indignant scowl.
"I will not live in a house of indecency and ill-repute! Allowing men to visit you in your rooms at the crack of dawn and prance around naked, pinching each other's bottoms! In front of my granddaughter? It is unthinkable I should remain in such a horrid environment." Having made her point, she offers a tight, prim little courtesy towards Randle, a half-mean remnant of her scowl at me, and leaves the room.
"You'll be missed!" I can't resist. She's so much fun when she's like this. Actually, she's so much fun, period. I turn back to Randle, old yet hale, cowl removed, resplendently blue and commanding, even in repose. He could yet tell me to kneel at his feet, and I would have a hard time resisting. "How was your journey, Randle?"
"Uneventful for the most part. Much like my head," he smiles, tapping his temple. "And the mundane thoughts it labors to contain. Fancy that dashing young soldier, do you?" He sips his water. I ignore the question. He sets down his cup. Outside, a bird chirrups.
"Your general still means to have my Krysli, Councilwoman. More urgently than ever, I fear."
"Your fear is misplaced, Magician. Our general means many things, well most of all. But surely you do not doubt the strength of your own voice in the ears of the Council? She has tried this before, and failed. She will likely try again, and fail once more. It has been made abundantly clear that the Krysli serve only to defend, not attack." I recline, relaxing under the flow of my own voice. "Your creed and iron will in this matter has prevailed for ten summers now, and her challenge has always fallen short in the face of it."
"She mistrusts me, and resents the fact that the lynchpin of her northern defenses is a matter beyond her authority. Most of all, she resents that such authority lies with me, and not with the Siguardian government to which she answers."
I need something to drink. I rise to fetch it. "There is much to mistrust concerning an old man who lives alone in the woods, surrounding himself with prancing young girls and bestowing the power to level a mountain upon those who prance most fetching." I turn my back on him and head for the kitchen. "Would you like more springwater?"
Alone in the kitchen, I am surrounded by reminders of Randle and his ilk. Since their arrival, what was it, fourteen summers ago now? the Magicians of Ernesse had repaid their safe passage from their doomed island to sanctuary in Siguard tenfold. Most kitchens in the larger villages and cities were equipped similarly to my own. An icebox, from which I fetch strawberry tea and chilled springwater, that preserves our food and keeps our drinks cool and refreshing. Looking around, I see the hotpan, to cook without flame, and the hot water fixture that now complements the cold water we already had in our basins. Just this morning, every member of my family enjoyed a heated shower, though I still take pleasure in a good old fashioned, eye-opening cold shower from time to time. Perhaps, I wonder, closing the icebox, to remind myself that I can. That I can exist without the Magicians and their gifts. My eyes drift to the elegantly woven bracer on my bare arm. I am immediately aware of its mate on my other, and the long, woven strapped sandles on my feet. A magician and his gifts.
Magicians and gifts! I feel the burning close in as I realize what a fool I have been! For three summers, I have argued in the Council for a release of the Embargo, and re-establishing trade with Godii, so sure that they just wanted the gifts. To appease, unite, and qualm Graeme's warlike nature by appealing to the merchants who keep him in power. It is not the gifts they want, it is the gift makers! How Graeme must curse himself for arriving too late in Ernesse, after the last ship had departed for the coast of Nantero. Ish lead the surviving Magicians to safe haven in Siguard, while Graeme found nothing but an island ravaged by Demons.
I have to sit, and do so at the small table beside the icebox. The chill in my thigh, in my body, is more from my thoughts than the box. The burning subsides. My thoughts do not. Randle must wait a moment longer.
There are those in the Council who feel that Graeme is after the gifts, as I did. There are others who feel his aggression is aimed at capturing the secret of the Krysli, a way to harness their power and render his forces invincible on the field. But the Krysli are simply a foe, a foe to be bested if possible. It is the Magicians of Ernesse. It always has been! I've even heard this point argued before, but was so sure that opening trade to allow Godiians to enjoy the fruits of their labors would be enough. Iceboxes, hotpans, and peace would prevail! My ass! What was I thinking? I've been such a fool.
Calm down, be calm, little Lida. You did as you always have, the best you could under the circumstances you found yourself in. So... if I am correct, what did the thwarted attempt to kill?capture? rape? What did the incident in the woods of Bemer mean?
What do Graeme and his spies know of the Krysli? More importantly, what don't they know? Exactly what General Ward is wary of--that such destructive firepower answers only to one man. Randle. A Magician who was cast out of his order for... for what, again?
Randle is staring at me as I stride into the room. He misreads the flame in my eyes. "Come, Lida, let us be more familiar. Did I truly treat you so badly?" I let him say his piece as I hand him his drink. This time I sit right next to him. I realize I forgot my own drink in the kitchen. No matter. "I don't hear from you for over three summers, then suddenly you show up at my estate, drop a complete stranger in my lap, and ask me to teach him your language and customs. I posted you several unanswered letters. Couldn't you once write me? You are my pride and joy, the first Krysli, and I felt, for a time at least, honored to be like a father to you." He is reaching out with all the sincerity he can muster. I wince at the mention of the word father. I miss my father. He continues, "Today, of all days, with your anniversary speech, and the ceremonies this evening, can we not be friendly, you and I?"
"You were not cast out of your Order, were you, Randle of Ernesse?"
He lifts a grey eyebrow. Then he smiles. "Of course I was. Don't you know why?"
"Leave it then. Whether you were or were not. You love attention. This I know, this anyone could surmise. You surround yourself with beautiful young women, all answering to your beck and call. You have the safety of the Five Nations in your hand, and a net of subservient Krysli strewn across the Northern borders. These are not the actions of a man who despises attention. It must pain you that the general populace is largely unaware of your true authority. It occurs to me now that the Triad in power ten summers ago grossly misjudged how to handle you and I. Your identity, your role, should never have been known. Since then, the succeeding government has tried to downplay this 'Savior of Siguard' business--how that must have irked you--but now I fear the damage was already done."
"Speculation. Opinion. Point, child?" I'll show you my point, you dirty, foolish old man! You had me thinking you were some larger than life, omnipotent, benevolent deliverer, dispensing sooth and counsel for goodness' sake, never your own. Ha!
"The point is, if you crave attention--and I know you do--why would you live so far away from the center of it all. Why do you live alone in the woods, in such a secret location, with only the flitting Krysli to keep you connected to the world? Why is it so rare you travel--or are allowed to travel?"
Randle says nothing. He just looks at me. That way. I say nothing and look at my hands, the pattern in the wood of the table, anything firm, solid, and far away from that look.
"The morning you arrived, I think. General Ward received news of the incident at Bemer, of which you know much. Tell me, what was her mood when you saw her?" I clench my jaw and turn to face the magician's eyes.
He was smiling. Smiling like a bastard, no, like a satisfied teacher, gratified by a student's breakthrough. He was enjoying this! I was right the first time. Like a bastard. "Lida, dear Lida, you make me proud." Great. You, sir magician, are making me ill. More so with each heartbeat. "You are close, and yet wide of your mark. But not so wide. Very well, I shall tell you that Handa Ward was seemingly distressed. I suspect the news of an attack on a Krysli as far in as Bemer caused her some concern for my safety. Needless concern of course. I am surely the safest man in Sid."
"Of course you are. How many Krysli were with you? Three? Four? One would be enough, if you only feared a raiding selvat. You are too safe. Tell me, what happens if you die?"
"What happens when anyone dies, child?"
I am suddenly seeing the blinding white flash, the burning trees, and the cries of dying men, by my own hand. I twist my face as if twisting it might bring my thoughts under control. No! "Don't dance with me Randle." Strangely, I am again reminded of the Godiian Ambassador, Laen. "I'm not dressed for the occasion. What happens to the Krysli?"
"Who is playing games here, Lida. You know the Code better than any."
"No, no, the Code speaks of protecting the 'lightfather' at all costs. What happens to the union of Krysli? Who then steps in and takes charge, if the light dwindles on the father? Could it be, with no one to guide them, they would give up their vigilance? Would they strive amongst themselves? Or would they just disappear?"
"You've been away playing Councilwoman to long. You fail to understand, at least completely. You are Unbound."
My goodness, is he serious? "Unbound? Randle, I left because I was pregnant! I left because you were... disquieting. Disturbing. Unbound? You make it sound like some ritual. I left because of you, just like the Two Sisters after me!" I am yelling now, standing, pointing. Randle recoils in spite of himself. "Call it what you will! We left because you are a disturbed, perverse old man who likes to make pretty, impressionable young girls dance for his delight! And for all your wisdom, you are a fool, for if you die, the Krysli, as we know them, die with you! What remains will be uncoordinated, unsure who to follow or where to go! That is why the General Enderin is so unnerved by you! That is why you live alone in the woods! That is why the Council has labored these past summers to paint you as a symbolic, rather than literal, head of the Order of the Krysli!"
I need that tea. In its stead, I grab Randle's cup, as yet untouched, and take a long drink. The burning subsides. Setting the cup down, I see he's still smiling. Wretch. I slump into my seat and drop my head into my hands. We are all in so much danger, due to the arrogance of one man. And he's sitting next to me, smiling. No doubt preparing to say something omnipotent, benevolent, and wise. Who, the greater fool at this table?
"Your sudden concern for my safety is touching. I see now that I have my answer to my second unanswered question. But you trouble yourself needlessly, whether you would be friendly to me or not. I have given you much, little Lida, and will give you more yet, if you'll but answer my third unanswered question."
He sounds like he's leagues away. I wish he were. My face remains in my hands. "I do not even remember the second question, oh Lightfather."
"I will repeat myself, and you should look to your training. Always be thorough, leave no stone unturned. Do you not know why I was cast out of the Order of Ernesse?"
"I do not, in sooth know. I could imagine several reasons."
Randle grasps my hand in his, and turns my head to face him. I cannot resist him, even now. "Peace, child." He smiles, and strokes my hair, his eyes searching my features for any hint of compassion, and forgiving me when he finds none. "I was cast out because I intend to live forever."
An unexpected, childish giggle dies in my throat. One glance at that look of his, and I know. He speaks sooth.
No. No, that's far too melodramatic. With a crumple and toss, a fourth attempt sails into the corner of my room, landing neatly in the center of its three preceding efforts. How nice. I reach over and pull out a fresh sheet of fine, scented parchment, and the crackle as I lay it out on my desk summons forth a thought. As I dip my pen, the thought summons forth a smile, and I write without hesitation, in bold, broad strokes:
I am Lida Vianna, and I do not fuck around.
Hahahaha! Oh, me! I'm sitting here, holding my face in my hands, peeking through my fingers to read it again and again and I'm laughing as one of unsound mind, all alone in my room. What must my mother be thinking of me? I know she's already up and about, and the walls in our home are woefully thin. I lean back in my chair and the laughter begins anew, feeding on itself in an ever-increasing spiral of discomposure. What of the guards outside? "Hello, my name is Stoul, and I'm in charge of keeping that crazy mad woman councilor safe. Listen to her in there, howling. Sound safe to you? So drastically retreated from reality, I think she'd be safe from just about anything." Ahahahaha!
Leaning forward again, a thought sobers me. Safe from just about anything. Save myself. A single tear vaults from my cheek and kisses the parchment. An echo of mirth just past, or precursor to sadness welling close? The stain on the parchment is both becoming and less so. Feeling a sudden need for confirmation, I rise and stride over to the tall, ornate looking glass planted before the center of the wall. There I stand, undandied, in my morning robe, hair where it wants to be rather than where I'd have it, and I am both becoming and less so. I know this. With the smoothness of a thousand such morning turns, I turn half about and regard my backside. Both becoming and less so. I look back to my face, leaning closer for truth and revelation from this glass which does not lie. I cannot help but smile. Becoming, then.
I will simply speak from the heart. There will be no prepared statement. After five summers of some contention in the Council of Peers, I've learned that often, the unplanned speech is the most sooth and therefore, effective. While the anniversary of my first flight is something more than just another statement of policy, I of all people should be able to address the occasion from the heart and mind, not from any amount of forethought or preparation. I glance over at my vulgar proclamation, resting boldly where I left it on my desk, and think that it might look well and good framed upon my wall. Or perhaps high above my seat in the Council chamber. Hahahaha!
I hear my mother's steps approach my door and stifle my laughter. Oh what must she think? Does it remind her of Dad? Oh Dad, I do miss you so.
"Lida dear? I know it's early yet, but since you're already up and entertaining yourself, perhaps you'd also care to entertain a visitor here to see you?" A visitor? The sun has only just risen. I open the door and peer out, even as my mother tries to peer in. We nearly collide heads and I try desperately to suppress another giggling fit.
"What manner of visitor, mum?"
Slowly, as if only now convinced after surveying my room that I am indeed alone in here, she harumphs. "Oh, most handsome. Very well dressed." Ah. Garth. Mum quickly glances past me at my unmade bed. "Will you entertain him in the dining room? I've only just cleaned it yester eve."
"No mum. He may visit me in my room. All is well."
And then my dear little mother reaches up and knocks softly on my temple. "So you may say." She backs up a step with both arms up on my shoulders to look at me with a warm smile. "Shall I buy you a little time, to..."
"No mum, really, it's quite alright. He is close to me."
Mother pats my shoulder, gives up, and turns back down the hall. "Perhaps I should knock his head as well, then."
I return to the mirror and quickly make the most of my rebellious hair. Loosening my robe, I cup my breasts for a quick, vain lift, and then slowly draw the robe tight again. Not there, not yet, ah, good. A proper, early morning decolletage. Enticing rather than seductive, and quite possibly accidental. Three steps to my bedstand drawer yields a fine Jesterian mint, which is summarily removed from its leaf-wrap and sent to amend my breath. I tuck the leaf in my robe pocket just as heavy footsteps approach my door. I should be seated? Standing? I nearly trip over my own feet rushing over to my desk to sit with pen in hand. Where are my scents? I could use them, just a hint, just now. Which of course leads me to ask, where are my senses? I could use them, just a hint, just now as well. Ah, me.
Then the knock comes at the door, the mint is swallowed, I beckon him in, and it is indeed Garth, and he looks so beautiful, and all of my feminine pretense is instantly forgotten. Well, almost. I remain seated instead of flying into his arms to smother him with affection. Always the politician. Always.
"Ah, Garth. It is a delight to see you. You brighten my morning." He looks like he might bow to one knee--not impossible given his odd, excessive southern manners--so I reach over and pat the near corner of my bed. "Please, come sit, and be comforted."
He takes forever to cross the room. Could this truly be Garth, the renowned soldier without fear or equal, hesitating to take a seat at the foot of my bed?
Finally he sits. The bed sighs under his great weight. I know how it feels, and a shudder unbidden runs through me at the memory. He is so lovely, once you get past all the stiff formality and--
"Milady, it is equally good to see you. You are beautiful, even in morning repose. Perhaps more so, for--"
Silly man. "Garth, forgive me, but we've--" Careful. I don't wish to see him blush, and he would. I leave it at that. "Won't you call me by my given name?"
His eyes are as a blessed child's as he reaches his great brown hand to caress the side of my face. I lean into it with a smile and lidded eyes. Oh, beautiful, beautiful man. "Lida. Of course. I would do anything you asked, you must know."
I sigh despite myself, remembering with a politician's ease to keep smiling. Beautiful yes, but of late, I must ask: would you stop all this fawning and debasement, and stand half so tall as you used to? As you do on the field of battle? I pat his heavily-knuckled hand with my own small, pale hand. "Yes. This I know."
In the heartbeat that follows, I decide that I hate myself. Of course, aside from his magnificent body, lovely features, and the rare, golden locks that frame them, it was his unswerving just, kind, and giving demeanor that moved me so close to him. A thousand women, and a thousand more, would give anything to be sitting where I sit now. Perhaps this is the way of it, that the little annoyances should replace the little joys so quickly. I've seen it, felt it before--I've certainly lived that long, at least. But I hate myself none the less, for so easily finding faults where I once found virtue. Just who do I think I am?
"Closest, you grind your very teeth. Have I disturbed you?" I open my eyes to see his concern, which of course must be allayed. I grab his hand in both of mine, and drop it to my lap. Yes! You disturb me when you play attentive servant rather than gallant soldier. Yes! And I am a fool to be so disturbed.
I raise his knuckles to my lips give them a heartfelt kiss. Eyes momentarily bowed, I very nearly send a tear to join it. Composure, young lady, composure! "How could such kindness, such nearness, ever disturb me?" I raise my eyes without tears back to his with my question. How, indeed? "I'm sorry, dear Garth, but I have a busy day ahead of me, and much distracts my mind. Yet I always have time for you. What brings you hither?"
He answers by leaning close. Don't kiss me, Garth. I'm only a woman, after all...
He kisses me, and after several heartbeats of unbridled sweetness and light, it is all I can do to open my eyes and pull away. I placate the vacancy by placing my own hand on his square jaw.
"Lida, I would never leave your side of my own accord. This you must know. Yet I have been reassigned, to the northern marches."
Reassigned? It had to happen, sooner or later. Who gave the order, I wonder? "The northern marches are not so very far, my..." I cannot call him Closest, so I finish lamely with a smile. "Garth."
Garth bows his head. "The northern marches of Higol, milady. Perhaps," his eyes search the floor, "perhaps this is punishment." He shifts uneasily on my bed. His eyes still do not meet mine. "The General Enderin herself knows of what transpired in the woods north of Bemer. I could not deny her. I am sorry... Closest."
Meddling old hag! I'm on my feet and away to the east window, facing the citadel. She will call for action! She will go to the Council, no, to the very Triad itself, and renew her plea for control of the Krysli. Only Randle--
"She left in great hurry, it seemed to me, to meet the Magician, Randle. This was three days ago. My duties," a great sigh from my bed tells me he has risen, though my back is still to him. "I came as soon as I could, Lida."
Oh, sweet fool, you are caught between two vindictive women. What chance secrecy? What hope to quash rumors already flying these past two moons? What hope, with such an honest man? I'm biting my lip again. I need to stop that. It is a sign of weakness.
Garth offers a sign of his own. "I feel you are far from me."
"That's because I rose to my feet and walked away from you, Garth. People do move." Oh, he didn't deserve that. He'd never deserve that tone. Where does this blackness come from? What pit within me cannot let this closeness alone? Why can't I simply be happy with him?
I turn around and draw my robe fast. Goodbye, perfect morning decolletage. Garth is staring at the floor. He barely fits in my room, and his anguish that he was made to confess, that can barely fit inside his heart. It spreads to his cheeks with a flush. "Hey." I approach him with a smile. "People do move, and it is not the end, just as you will move to Hilgor, and it will not be the end. That is all I meant, dear Garth. Be at peace." I hug him tightly, burying my cheek into his chest. His arms hesitate, then gently embrace me. "Trouble yourself no more. You spoke truth when asked, and I'd have you answer no other way, lest an unseemly stain besmirch your honor."
We rotate slowly, nearly swaying. I cannot speak for Garth, but I am remembering several trysts, well, near trysts anyway, not so long ago, and smiling sweetly at the images. My body smiles with me. Beautiful, honest, simple man. Pray, be nothing else.
Our silent dance bumps into my desk. I draw back from Garth, from this reverie, and my smile is wide and genuine. Garth mirrors my emotion, then glances at the desk. More precisely, following his eyes, my vulgar proclamation! The giant beast stifles a grin and attempts to assume an unaffected tone. "Well." He smirks despite himself. "That is good to know."
I feel the blood rush to my face and widen my eyes. "Go forth from my private chambers at once, you prying beast!" Garth's laughter is full and sound as he allows me to push him to my door. "Spying, insufferable male!" He opens the door and looks to turn about at the threshold. "Not another word!" I reach up, up, and push his face back around and lean into his wide back. "Go! Leave a woman peace! Be off!" He's smirking that satisfied smirk of his, I know it, as he starts from my room. "And as for what you think you might have read," I smile wantonly at his departing backside, "don't you forget it!"
I can't believe I just pinched his ass. Garth's head nigh hits the ceiling with a start. Neither can he. He turns around with a confused, happy bewilderment, face now every bit as flushed as my own. I simply demur with a wicked grin. He shakes his head with a grin that could never be wicked and waves me off, already at the intersection of the back hall and the main hallway. He winks at me as he turns the corner. Now that he is gone, I can see Tristar, standing naked and grinning, even as I first saw him, in front of his bedroom door. He winks at me and runs out after Garth. Oh no.
There is a strange, choking exclamation from the front of the house. Then there is a mighty, thunderous exclamation. "What madness! Old women, waiting on stools to knock passersby on the head!" Oh, no she didn't! I giggle and start forward, then wait, because the thunder hasn't finished. "And you! Have you no shame? What business do you have, grabbing my backside like some, some--" Then the voice runs out of steam and a door slams. Oh, he didn't! I'm guffawing now, half-mortified at the thought of that silly, naked man hopping and flopping around my home, yet utterly amused by the image. Well why not? He saw me do it. Oh, my! Poor, dear Garth!
I'm huddled in a ball of robe, hair, and quaking mirth just outside my door when Tita emerges into the hall from the chaos that is the front of my home. Oh, no, not you too, babydoll! She sees me beside myself, sips her pin juice, and says, "Now that was funny." Then she turns and shuffles past the guest room to her own to get ready for Learning. With a crescendo of flapping feet on stone, Tristar bolts into view and nigh on dives into the safety of the guest room, slamming his door just in time to save himself from the thunderbolt that is my mother's bellowing, house-shaking proclamation: "I'll knock every head in this house if I have to!"
Composure, ever an unsure guest in my home, shyly returns, hesitates, then settles down for a much-needed visit. Soon I am walking Tita and a properly-dressed Tristar, if you can call his penchant for black proper, to the House of Learning. It is a short walk, thankfully, as Tristar asks my daughter question after question. He's fascinated by her, and she handles the attention with considerable grace for a girl of only eight summers. If only he would change the subject.
"Is there anything you wish you could do, that you cannot?" It amazes me how quickly Randle taught him his words. It seems I only dropped him off a few days ago, and now, though his accent is strange, he speaks our language perfectly.
Tita is unfazed. "No, I do everything I want. Sometimes it is more difficult for me, but it does not diminish my joy." Ah, she is growing up to be a fine, fine little lady.
"But certainly, you cannot wrestle with but one arm?" Tristar, please, end this vexing line of inquiry. Have mercy on me! I have so much to do today.
"Oh yes I can! An' I'll wager I could manage to drop you on your backside." We're at the gate to the courtyard now, Tita with one hand defiantly on her hip, turns to face Tristar who, is he squaring off with her? Surely he wouldn't--
With a charge, Tristar tackles my daughter, nearly knocking me off my feet in the passing. His large frame, fully extended, carries them into the courtyard, where several other blesseds stop to witness the spectacle. I feel the burning near. "Tristar! Desist at once!" I'm already at their side. Tristar is on his back, holding Tita up with one arm, hand on her belly. Tita is giggling, unharmed, not even dirty, and is doing her level-best impression of a one-armed Golga bird. Oh blessed child! Tristar is giggling too. Blessed children, both.
It's difficult to scold him, seeing them both so happy and blissfully unaware. "Tristar. Please do take care. You shouldn't wrestle with blesseds. You mean well, but the little ones could be harmed. Do take care, won't you?"
With surprising speed and dexterity, he is on his feet, one hand in a fair impression of the official Siguardian salute, while in the other kicks and squeals my little girl, tucked for the moment like a satchel under his arm. "Put me down! Tristar! No fair!"
"I will not let any harm come to any blessed children, your highness."
Tristar is completely serious. He drops the feigned salute and child with equal care, and Tita manages one sweet little punch on his leg before running off with, "I'll get you later!"
Sigh. "For the last time, I am not a princess. There is no royalty in any of the Five Nations. I am simply Lida, as you are Tristar."
"Of course, princess."
He grins and turns on his heel to follow the children inside. Impossible man! I am surrounded, it seems. "I will be along to check on your progress later, Prince Tristar!"
My thoughts are my own, walking back along the short village streets to my home. I only glance once at the Citadel, looming in the east, stark and orange under the ruddy sun.
There is no sign of Garth's detachment as I approach my house. It appears they, like he, have already departed. Sigh. I'd hoped to speak with Menda before she left. I'm left with my original security detail. Two men, on either side of the front door. Stoul and Dougard. Stoul is an idiot, and proves it by opening his oafish mouth and allowing sound to escape. In my direction, no less.
"Good morning, ma'am. It's a pleasure to be in charge of your safety once again." He grins as if I shared the pleasure.
"You're not. Dougard is. Good morning, Dougard."
Dougard tips his helm. "Morning, ma'am. The Magician Randle awaits you inside." Stoul stares first at me, then at Dougard, then straight ahead, his expression back to its normal, vacant self. Of course, his penchant for staring, particularly at that which he shouldn't, is half the problem.
"Very good. Gentlemen," Dougard opens the door for me, even though that's hardly his responsibility. He's a good man and I flash him a smile. "Thank you, sir." He dips his head in acknowledgment as I pass, and then, there before me, seated at my dining room table, is Randle, the Savior of Siguard, sipping a drink (water, I'm sure) and chatting with my mother. I offer my best expansive, welcoming smile, thinking only for a moment of that charlatan Laen, and wish for strength.
Randle does not rise and I do not sit. Mum takes the cue but misses the mark. "Why hello, dear. We were just trying to decide exactly where our honored guest might have gotten the idea to go and pinch a handsome young soldier's behind. Any ideas?"
There are four available chairs. One beside Randle and three in front of me. I take the center one. "You know, Mum, it's quite possible he'll be knocking every person he passes on the head, from now until the snows come, if mimicry is his wont. How is your own head, Randle? Untouched, I pray?" Mum snorts and takes the hint, rising from her chair.
"If they teach him nothing else in the Learning, they might teach him not to wander around a house, with a child in it no less," here she flashes me a look, "without at least a pair of breeches on."
"I suspect the sight of a naked man is much more disturbing to her grandmother than to Tita. Tristar is harmless, mother. Unless of course, you've taken an interest in something you might have seen." I give her my best impish grin, and she gives me her best indignant scowl.
"I will not live in a house of indecency and ill-repute! Allowing men to visit you in your rooms at the crack of dawn and prance around naked, pinching each other's bottoms! In front of my granddaughter? It is unthinkable I should remain in such a horrid environment." Having made her point, she offers a tight, prim little courtesy towards Randle, a half-mean remnant of her scowl at me, and leaves the room.
"You'll be missed!" I can't resist. She's so much fun when she's like this. Actually, she's so much fun, period. I turn back to Randle, old yet hale, cowl removed, resplendently blue and commanding, even in repose. He could yet tell me to kneel at his feet, and I would have a hard time resisting. "How was your journey, Randle?"
"Uneventful for the most part. Much like my head," he smiles, tapping his temple. "And the mundane thoughts it labors to contain. Fancy that dashing young soldier, do you?" He sips his water. I ignore the question. He sets down his cup. Outside, a bird chirrups.
"Your general still means to have my Krysli, Councilwoman. More urgently than ever, I fear."
"Your fear is misplaced, Magician. Our general means many things, well most of all. But surely you do not doubt the strength of your own voice in the ears of the Council? She has tried this before, and failed. She will likely try again, and fail once more. It has been made abundantly clear that the Krysli serve only to defend, not attack." I recline, relaxing under the flow of my own voice. "Your creed and iron will in this matter has prevailed for ten summers now, and her challenge has always fallen short in the face of it."
"She mistrusts me, and resents the fact that the lynchpin of her northern defenses is a matter beyond her authority. Most of all, she resents that such authority lies with me, and not with the Siguardian government to which she answers."
I need something to drink. I rise to fetch it. "There is much to mistrust concerning an old man who lives alone in the woods, surrounding himself with prancing young girls and bestowing the power to level a mountain upon those who prance most fetching." I turn my back on him and head for the kitchen. "Would you like more springwater?"
Alone in the kitchen, I am surrounded by reminders of Randle and his ilk. Since their arrival, what was it, fourteen summers ago now? the Magicians of Ernesse had repaid their safe passage from their doomed island to sanctuary in Siguard tenfold. Most kitchens in the larger villages and cities were equipped similarly to my own. An icebox, from which I fetch strawberry tea and chilled springwater, that preserves our food and keeps our drinks cool and refreshing. Looking around, I see the hotpan, to cook without flame, and the hot water fixture that now complements the cold water we already had in our basins. Just this morning, every member of my family enjoyed a heated shower, though I still take pleasure in a good old fashioned, eye-opening cold shower from time to time. Perhaps, I wonder, closing the icebox, to remind myself that I can. That I can exist without the Magicians and their gifts. My eyes drift to the elegantly woven bracer on my bare arm. I am immediately aware of its mate on my other, and the long, woven strapped sandles on my feet. A magician and his gifts.
Magicians and gifts! I feel the burning close in as I realize what a fool I have been! For three summers, I have argued in the Council for a release of the Embargo, and re-establishing trade with Godii, so sure that they just wanted the gifts. To appease, unite, and qualm Graeme's warlike nature by appealing to the merchants who keep him in power. It is not the gifts they want, it is the gift makers! How Graeme must curse himself for arriving too late in Ernesse, after the last ship had departed for the coast of Nantero. Ish lead the surviving Magicians to safe haven in Siguard, while Graeme found nothing but an island ravaged by Demons.
I have to sit, and do so at the small table beside the icebox. The chill in my thigh, in my body, is more from my thoughts than the box. The burning subsides. My thoughts do not. Randle must wait a moment longer.
There are those in the Council who feel that Graeme is after the gifts, as I did. There are others who feel his aggression is aimed at capturing the secret of the Krysli, a way to harness their power and render his forces invincible on the field. But the Krysli are simply a foe, a foe to be bested if possible. It is the Magicians of Ernesse. It always has been! I've even heard this point argued before, but was so sure that opening trade to allow Godiians to enjoy the fruits of their labors would be enough. Iceboxes, hotpans, and peace would prevail! My ass! What was I thinking? I've been such a fool.
Calm down, be calm, little Lida. You did as you always have, the best you could under the circumstances you found yourself in. So... if I am correct, what did the thwarted attempt to kill?capture? rape? What did the incident in the woods of Bemer mean?
What do Graeme and his spies know of the Krysli? More importantly, what don't they know? Exactly what General Ward is wary of--that such destructive firepower answers only to one man. Randle. A Magician who was cast out of his order for... for what, again?
Randle is staring at me as I stride into the room. He misreads the flame in my eyes. "Come, Lida, let us be more familiar. Did I truly treat you so badly?" I let him say his piece as I hand him his drink. This time I sit right next to him. I realize I forgot my own drink in the kitchen. No matter. "I don't hear from you for over three summers, then suddenly you show up at my estate, drop a complete stranger in my lap, and ask me to teach him your language and customs. I posted you several unanswered letters. Couldn't you once write me? You are my pride and joy, the first Krysli, and I felt, for a time at least, honored to be like a father to you." He is reaching out with all the sincerity he can muster. I wince at the mention of the word father. I miss my father. He continues, "Today, of all days, with your anniversary speech, and the ceremonies this evening, can we not be friendly, you and I?"
"You were not cast out of your Order, were you, Randle of Ernesse?"
He lifts a grey eyebrow. Then he smiles. "Of course I was. Don't you know why?"
"Leave it then. Whether you were or were not. You love attention. This I know, this anyone could surmise. You surround yourself with beautiful young women, all answering to your beck and call. You have the safety of the Five Nations in your hand, and a net of subservient Krysli strewn across the Northern borders. These are not the actions of a man who despises attention. It must pain you that the general populace is largely unaware of your true authority. It occurs to me now that the Triad in power ten summers ago grossly misjudged how to handle you and I. Your identity, your role, should never have been known. Since then, the succeeding government has tried to downplay this 'Savior of Siguard' business--how that must have irked you--but now I fear the damage was already done."
"Speculation. Opinion. Point, child?" I'll show you my point, you dirty, foolish old man! You had me thinking you were some larger than life, omnipotent, benevolent deliverer, dispensing sooth and counsel for goodness' sake, never your own. Ha!
"The point is, if you crave attention--and I know you do--why would you live so far away from the center of it all. Why do you live alone in the woods, in such a secret location, with only the flitting Krysli to keep you connected to the world? Why is it so rare you travel--or are allowed to travel?"
Randle says nothing. He just looks at me. That way. I say nothing and look at my hands, the pattern in the wood of the table, anything firm, solid, and far away from that look.
"The morning you arrived, I think. General Ward received news of the incident at Bemer, of which you know much. Tell me, what was her mood when you saw her?" I clench my jaw and turn to face the magician's eyes.
He was smiling. Smiling like a bastard, no, like a satisfied teacher, gratified by a student's breakthrough. He was enjoying this! I was right the first time. Like a bastard. "Lida, dear Lida, you make me proud." Great. You, sir magician, are making me ill. More so with each heartbeat. "You are close, and yet wide of your mark. But not so wide. Very well, I shall tell you that Handa Ward was seemingly distressed. I suspect the news of an attack on a Krysli as far in as Bemer caused her some concern for my safety. Needless concern of course. I am surely the safest man in Sid."
"Of course you are. How many Krysli were with you? Three? Four? One would be enough, if you only feared a raiding selvat. You are too safe. Tell me, what happens if you die?"
"What happens when anyone dies, child?"
I am suddenly seeing the blinding white flash, the burning trees, and the cries of dying men, by my own hand. I twist my face as if twisting it might bring my thoughts under control. No! "Don't dance with me Randle." Strangely, I am again reminded of the Godiian Ambassador, Laen. "I'm not dressed for the occasion. What happens to the Krysli?"
"Who is playing games here, Lida. You know the Code better than any."
"No, no, the Code speaks of protecting the 'lightfather' at all costs. What happens to the union of Krysli? Who then steps in and takes charge, if the light dwindles on the father? Could it be, with no one to guide them, they would give up their vigilance? Would they strive amongst themselves? Or would they just disappear?"
"You've been away playing Councilwoman to long. You fail to understand, at least completely. You are Unbound."
My goodness, is he serious? "Unbound? Randle, I left because I was pregnant! I left because you were... disquieting. Disturbing. Unbound? You make it sound like some ritual. I left because of you, just like the Two Sisters after me!" I am yelling now, standing, pointing. Randle recoils in spite of himself. "Call it what you will! We left because you are a disturbed, perverse old man who likes to make pretty, impressionable young girls dance for his delight! And for all your wisdom, you are a fool, for if you die, the Krysli, as we know them, die with you! What remains will be uncoordinated, unsure who to follow or where to go! That is why the General Enderin is so unnerved by you! That is why you live alone in the woods! That is why the Council has labored these past summers to paint you as a symbolic, rather than literal, head of the Order of the Krysli!"
I need that tea. In its stead, I grab Randle's cup, as yet untouched, and take a long drink. The burning subsides. Setting the cup down, I see he's still smiling. Wretch. I slump into my seat and drop my head into my hands. We are all in so much danger, due to the arrogance of one man. And he's sitting next to me, smiling. No doubt preparing to say something omnipotent, benevolent, and wise. Who, the greater fool at this table?
"Your sudden concern for my safety is touching. I see now that I have my answer to my second unanswered question. But you trouble yourself needlessly, whether you would be friendly to me or not. I have given you much, little Lida, and will give you more yet, if you'll but answer my third unanswered question."
He sounds like he's leagues away. I wish he were. My face remains in my hands. "I do not even remember the second question, oh Lightfather."
"I will repeat myself, and you should look to your training. Always be thorough, leave no stone unturned. Do you not know why I was cast out of the Order of Ernesse?"
"I do not, in sooth know. I could imagine several reasons."
Randle grasps my hand in his, and turns my head to face him. I cannot resist him, even now. "Peace, child." He smiles, and strokes my hair, his eyes searching my features for any hint of compassion, and forgiving me when he finds none. "I was cast out because I intend to live forever."
An unexpected, childish giggle dies in my throat. One glance at that look of his, and I know. He speaks sooth.
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