Elizabeth Haydon - Destiny - Child of the Sky

Only the Great White Tree still stood, unscathed, undamaged, though it was stained with soot and ash. Its leafless boughs still gleamed in the diffuse sun, reached into the heavens despite the smoke that hung heavy in the air.

Fire shall not harm thee.

The wind picked up, tousling the red-gold curls of his hair. In its passing Ashe could hear his father’s voice.

Thank you, old boy.

Ashe turned and walked into the smoldering forest, on his way to find Lark and the others.

The hills in Tyrian City contained a piece of the sprawling royal complex, culminating with the throne room atop Tomingorllo. At the base of the first hill, Newydd Dda, were the main hall and some of the living quarters of the nonexistent monarch and his counselors. It was here that Rhapsody had arranged to meet with Rial, the Lord Protector of Tyrian.

She stood with Oelendra in the great rotunda, admiring the craftsmanship and architecture. Unlike the simple, austere design of the Great Hall atop Tomingorllo, the main palace at the base of Newydd Dda was the showpiece of Tyrian, the place where ambassadors were once housed and international business conducted. It was set within a vast courtyard, surrounded by a massive wall with stone guard towers, far outstripping even the grandeur of the keep of the Lord Roland in Bethany. Rhapsody’s eyes, healing from the bitter, mistaken tears she had recently shed, took in the sights with wonder.

The rotunda itself contained an enormous circular hearth at its center, the fire of which warmed the expansive palace and its wings, keeping them at the perfect temperature year-round. The palace had been built around many tall trees that now grew within it, as did a wide variety of verdant plants and flowers, all of which were kept in a constant growing season by the heat circulating from the main hearth, imparting the feel of a conservatory.

A faceted crystal screen circled the hearth, and the prismatic reflections that bounced off it and around the main hall had a hypnotic effect on Rhapsody. She and Oelendra sat down on one of the cushioned wooden benches that faced the fire and waited for the Lord Protector to meet them.

Her eyes wandered over the intricately carved woodwork of the palace, polished to a mirrored shine for no one in particular. The floor was a giant mosaic of brightly colored marble, the patterns of which honored the formerly united factions of the Lirin, abstract representations of the sea, the plains, the forests, and the cities of Manosse. She had just returned from visiting two of these factions. The news was not promising.

Rhapsody looked up to see Rial striding toward them, smiling. The women rose as he approached, a fond look in his eyes. He took Rhapsody’s hand and bent over it, then bowed to Oelendra, who returned the gesture.

“Welcome back, Rhapsody,” he said, gently pulling her hand into the crook of his arm. “How was your visit to the plains?”

“Disturbing, I’m afraid,” she replied as the three of them walked toward Rial’s offices within the eastern wing of the palace. “The violence against the plains Lirin is apparently even worse than it is here; their lack of cover provides greater opportunity for random attack, as I expected. Their army is well trained but small; the incursions are escalating.”

“Did they ask for assistance?”

“No, they were uncomfortable requesting help from the forest, even though they were once part of Tyrian. An alliance makes perfect sense; Tyrian can spare some of its guards to reinforce the army of the plains, and in turn they can guard your southern border.”

“But will they agree?”

Rhapsody sighed. “I don’t know. I guess it depends on how compelling they find my proposal to reunite.” Rial held open the door to his tiny office, neatly kept but overflowing with manuscripts and scrolls.

Rhapsody looked around and shook her head. “Rial, since there’s no king currently, why don’t you move into the huge office that was kept for the monarch? It doesn’t make sense for you, the person who handles all the trade and ambassadorial agreements, to be wedged in here with a shoehorn like this when that big one across the hall is standing empty and has been for a hundred years.”

Rial offered the women the two chairs, leaning himself on the edge of the desk, and laughed. “You know, Rhapsody, you may vaguely resemble the Orlandan Cymrians, but you certainly talk like a Lirin.”

Rhapsody smiled at him. The Lirin, in spite of their tradition of monarchy, were an egalitarian society. No marriage lottery existed; both men and women served in the army, as guards and ambassadors. Succession was granted to the oldest child, not the oldest son, and each monarch had to be confirmed by the joint Lirin council and by the diamond-shard crown itself. It was a mono-theist and a monogamist society, one that fit Rhapsody’s values perfectly.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. Then a thought occurred to her. “Interestingly enough, Lord Tristan Steward once informed me that, while I looked like a Cymrian, I had the manners of a Bolg.”

“Coming from a Cymrian, that’s high praise, even if he doesn’t know it,” observed Oelendra dryly. Rial and Rhapsody laughed.

“So how do you suggest we proceed?” Rial asked, settling into the chair behind his desk.

“Well, I think we should meet in the throne room in council with all the Lirin ambassadors. The power of the demon is growing because it is somehow able to temporarily bind soldiers of each faction to missions of murder they don’t remember. I’m sure this is true of the human incursions into Lirin lands as well. So the first step is to resolve the petty differences between the various Lirin factions and bring them back together. That way the F’dor will have fewer camps it can divide against each other.”

“And then?”

“Second, we meet with Tristan Steward and his dukes. We form an alliance with Roland.”

Rial whistled. “I’m afraid you don’t understand the difficulty of what you are suggesting, my dear.”

“Yes, and that’s precisely why she has the wisdom to want to try it,” Oelendra said, smiling at Rhapsody. “Sometimes what’s needed is a new eye that has not been informed of all the reasons why success is impossible.” Rial nodded.

“The Bolg and Roland already have a treaty; Sorbold has one with both of those lands, and with the Lirin as well. The Nonaligned States have their own problems, but the demon doesn’t seem to be focusing too much there, though I predict they are next. Whoever is starting these incursions has access to the soldiers of each land. Once we are aligned we can flush that person out. It really can only be one of a handful of people, who can move from camp to camp, unchallenged.”

“Prostitutes? Merchants?”

“Perhaps,” Rhapsody said, nodding.

“What about Anborn ap Gwylliam?” asked Oelendra. “He has the access you mention among all lands, even the Nonaligned States and the countries past the Hintervold. He has fought on and against all sides. Who better to pass among them unsuspected?”

Rhapsody thought of her rescue at the Kinsman’s hands, his rough but careful ministrations to her after he had saved her from the storm. Her stomach tightened at the thought of his duplicity, but she couldn’t deny its possibility. Then a more frightening thought occurred to her. If Anborn was the demon, she had slept alone in his hut, been vulnerable in his presence. Perhaps she herself had been bound, might be his thrall even now, unwittingly. The idea was too much to contemplate.

“We can’t rule out anyone at this point,” she said, rising. “Well, what do you say, Rial? Is it worth a diplomatic parlay?”

Rial smiled. “It is, Rhapsody, if only for the opportunity to watch you wrap those hardboiled curmudgeons around your finger.”