Robert Hughes - The Power and the Prophet

Her hosts were a middle-aged pair who had maintained their elevated position in Chaon society through a policy of conscienceless pragmatism. While Talith was king, they had served him loyally. When Ligne overthrew him, they gave her a party to celebrate her victory. Now they swore absolute fealty to Bronwynn. Since they had plenty to feel guilty about, they were rather alarmed by her sudden arrival.

Bronwynn was aware of both their discomfort and the reasons underlying it. She didn’t care. She had far too much on her mind these days to concern herself with the petty hypocrisy of the wealthy. As soon as the snow permitted, she rode briskly into her camp, ignoring the cheers of her soldiers. News of her victory had preceded her, enhancing the already considerable loyalty of her troops. Her warriors even revelled in her indifferent expression; as she galloped past, her eyes unflinchingly forward, she looked every inch the confident conquering heroine.

In fact, that cool expression masked a girlish crisis. Her mind was still enmeshed in her grief at the loss of so many faithful retainers. She also felt overwhelmed by the responsibility she now bore. It was one thing to take one’s hereditary place as sovereign. It was quite another to be suddenly hailed as the national savior. The weight of the two together threatened to crush her unless she could talk about it to someone. That urgent need set her priorities for the morning.

By the time she reached the large circular pavilion in the midst of the camp, General Joss had already learned of her arrival and was waiting. “Greetings, your Majesty,” he called as one guard grabbed the reins of her mount and another took hold of her stirrup and her hand. “And hail,” he added as she dropped lightly to the powdery snow.

“You’ve heard,” she said, jerking a rolled bundle down from her saddle before allowing them to lead her horse away.

“All Chaomonous has heard, my Lady. And well they should have. May the Mari savages hear soon, and tremble!”

“You sound pleased,” she muttered, knocking a drape aside and ducking into her tent.

“Shouldn’t I be?” he asked, following her. “In a single act, you’ve established a right to the throne more legitimate than any claim of your father, provided a rallying point for the entire nation, and increased by at least a third the size of your army. Does that not make you happy?”

Bronwynn had arrived at the center of the huge tent, beside a small, portable throne. She’d reached her destination, and that troubled her somehow, for she realized that the journey here had provided her with a purpose that had diverted her attention from other matters. Now she had to think about them again.

“I’m not happy, no,” she said brusquely. “Too many people died in that battle to feel any happiness about it.”

Joss had no reputation for sensitivity. He did, however, maintain a close watch on the feelings and needs of his monarch. He therefore passed up the opportunity to point out that far more would die in the planned invasion of Ngandib-Mar than had been lost in the skirmish with the insects. While it was true, such an assertion would serve no purpose now. The girl was obviously depressed, and such words could only depress her further. Better to let her relax and review the events of the past few days from this new distance. Joss realized that Chaomonous suddenly possessed a splendid military opportunity. He was resolved not to squander it. His response to her was extremely uncharacteristic. With the voice of the most humble of slaves, in a tone more gentle than Kherda’s, he asked, “Can I get you anything, my Lady?”

Bronwynn jerked around and frowned at him. “What?” she asked.

“Something to relax you? I have some good books in my quarters—”

The queen regarded him with a puzzled expression, then sighed and looked away. She hadn’t the energy to figure Joss out this morning; instead she took his offer at face value. “Yes,” she said as she walked to the bed. “Find the two actors, Danyilyn and Gerrig, and send them to me.”

“As you wish, my Lady,” the general said a; lie bowed his way backwards out of the tent. Bronwynn thought no more about his unlikely behavior. She was preparing herself to give bad news.

Gerrig and Danyilyn came grim-faced through the curtains. The news of Bronwynn’s triumph had carried with it the threat of personal tragedy. The rumor was that many had died. No word had yet come as to who those were. Both pairs of eyes sought out Bronwynn’s face immediately, hoping for a smile of encouragement. There was none there.

“Yes?” Danyilyn asked. It was a rather impudent greeting for one’s queen, but Bronwynn seemed not to notice.

“Come in and sit down,” she said gently. If any hope had survived in their minds it disappeared in the face of that somber invitation. They sat obediently, and looked at her. “You’ve heard by now of the clawsp attack on the Imperial House. I’m sorry, but Yona Parmi was among those killed. He died outside my door, apparently trying to protect my apartments from the insects. I thought you ought to know.”

Gerrig wept brokenly, then began to mumble curses which built in volume and intensity to a profane tirade against the instigators of the attack. Danyilyn just gazed at the fish-satin walls of the tent, her face a study in bitterness. After a moment she looked back at the queen and saw that Bronwynn, too, was weeping. That surprised her momentarily, for while Bronwynn had become acquainted with Yona Parmi and had seemed to enjoy his company, she’d not known him well. Then Danyilyn put herself in Bronwynn’s place and thought she understood. “My Lady,” she said tentatively, “we appreciate your sharing our tragedy with us. Indeed, it’s unusual for a queen to involve herself so personally. It makes me wonder. Is there something we can do for you?”

Bronwynn looked up and met Danyilyn’s knowing gaze, and her relief at being understood unleashed a flood of new tears that interrupted Gerrig’s diatribe. He watched as the actress moved over to kneel beside the queen and slipped her arm around Bronwynn’s waist. He suddenly felt very much out of place.

The back of his throat ached. He fought his way out through the veils of the tent and sought his solace in the solitude of the snow.

Bronwynn poured out her anxiety and frustration while Danyilyn nodded and occasionally hummed in agreement. It didn’t take long for the young queen to move on from her current concerns to long concealed confidences. The actress responded in kind. Soon they were chattering like schoolgirls, losing themselves and their griefs in the warm bath of conversation. The snow swirled down outside, covering a swiftly swelling army poised on the edge of conquest. The two women were oblivious to it.

For the moment, the bliss of newly discovered friendship held them in its protective trance. Eventually, of course, the conversation had to work its way back to Yona Parmi, but now they were better able to bear the sorrow of it together. They each felt sad for Gerrig, realizing that the explosion of their friendship had essentially locked him out. That led them quickly to thoughts of others, and Danyilyn voiced a realization that occurred to both of them in the same instant. “We need to get word to Pelmen.”

“How?” Bronwynn asked. “We don’t even know where he is.”

“Which is normal,” Danyilyn mumbled sourly. Then she jumped as Bronwynn danced lightly to her feet and across the carpeted floor to the bundle on her bed. “What’s that?” she asked.

Bronwynn unrolled the cloth and pulled out the velvet bag. She gnawed at the knotted drawstring to get it untied, then jerked it open and produced from inside it an object of incredible radiance and beauty.