“You killed her!” That first voice, instantly joined by others, rose in a furious screech of accusation. “You killed her! You killed her!”
The angry voices penetrated Kieri’s grief and exhaustion, and he looked back over his shoulder to see at least a dozen elves, some with swords drawn, his uncle Amrothlin among them. Behind them, more Squires pushed into the room.
“I did not,” he said. “I tried—”
“She’s dead! You’re alive; you must have—!”
“I tried to save her,” Kieri said. “I could not.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Former Marine ELIZABETH MOON is the author of many novels, including Echoes of Betrayal, Kings of the North, Oath of Fealty, the Deed of Paksenarrion trilogy, Victory Conditions, Command Decision, Engaging the Enemy, Marque and Reprisal, Trading in Danger, the Nebula Award winner The Speed of Dark, and Remnant Population, a Hugo Award finalist. After earning a degree in history from Rice University, Moon went on to obtain a degree in biology from the University of Texas, Austin. She lives in Florence, Texas.
www.elizabethmoon.com
BY ELIZABETH MOON
The Serrano Legacy
Hunting Party
Sporting Chance
Winning Colours
Once a Hero
Rules of Engagement
Change of Command
Against the Odds
The Serrano Legacy: Omnibus One
The Serrano Connection: Omnibus Two
The Serrano Succession: Omnibus Three
The Legacy of Gird
Surrender None
Liar’s Oath
A Legacy of Honour: The Legacy of Gird Omnibus
The Deed of Paksenarrion
Sheepfarmer’s Daughter
Divided Allegiance
Oath of Gold
The Deed of Paksenarrion Omnibus
Paladin’s Legacy
Oath of Fealty
Kings of the North
Limits of Power
Remnant Population
Speed of Dark
The Vatta’s War Series
Trading in Danger
Moving Target
Engaging the Enemy
Command Decision
Victory Conditions
with Anne McCaffrey
Sassinak (The Planet Pirates Volume 2)
Generation Warriors (The Planet Pirates Volume 3)
COPYRIGHT
Published by Hachette Digital
ISBN: 9780748133796
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 Elizabeth Moon
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.
The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.
Hachette Digital
100 Victoria Embankment
London, EC4Y 0DY
www.littlebrown.co.uk
www.hachette.co.uk
For David Stevens, Music Director, Austin Haller, Organist, and the Parish Choirs of St. David’s Episcopal Church, Austin, Texas
Table of Contents
About the Author
Also by Elizabeth Moon
Copyright
Dedication
Dramatis Personae
Map
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Acknowledgments
Extras
Extract Form an Feast of Souls
Dramatis Personae
Fox Company (formerly Kieri Phelan’s mercenary company)
Jandelir Arcolin, commander, Count of the North Marches
Burek, junior captain of first cohort
Selfer, captain of second cohort
Cracolnya, captain of third (mixed/archery) cohort
Stammel, veteran sergeant of the Company, now blind
Tsaia
Mikeli Vostan Kieriel Mahieran, king of Tsaia
Camwyn, his younger brother
Sonder Amrothlin Mahieran, Duke Mahieran, king’s uncle
Selis Jostin Marrakai, Duke Marrakai
Gwennothlin, his daughter and Duke Verrakai’s squire
Aris, his son and Prince Camwyn’s friend
Galyan Selis Serrostin, Duke Serrostin
Daryan, his youngest son and Duke Verrakai’s squire
Dorrin Verrakai, Duke Verrakai, formerly a senior captain in Phelan’s company, now Constable for kingdom
Beclan, Kirgan Verrakai, formerly Beclan Mahieran
Oktar, Marshal-Judicar of Tsaia
Seklis, High Marshal of Gird
Lyonya
Kieri Phelan, king of Lyonya, former mercenary commander and duke in Tsaia, half-elven grandson of the Lady of the Ladysforest
Arian, Kieri’s wife, queen of Lyonya, half-elven
Aliam Halveric, commands Halveric Company, Kieri Phelan’s mentor and friend
Estil Halveric, his wife
elves
Amrothlin, the Lady’s son and Kieri’s uncle
Elven ruler of the Lordsforest
Fintha
Arianya, Marshal-General of Gird
Marshal Cedlin, Fin Panir
Marshal Sofan, Crossways
Aarenis
Arvid Semminson, former thief-enforcer, now Girdish convert
Marshal Porfur, Ifoss
Marshal Steralt, Valdaire
Jeddrin, Count of Andressat
Filis Andressat, Andressat’s third son
Visla Vaskronin, Duke of Immer (formerly, Alured the Black)
Samdal, Chancellor and Regent, Horngard
Kuakkgani
Ashwind, itinerant Kuakgan, Tsaia
Elmholt, grovemaster Kuakgan, Tsaia
Larchwind, itinerant Kuakgan, Lyonya
Gnomes
Dattur, kteknik gnome and Arvid’s companion/servant
Aldonfulk Prince
CHAPTER ONE
Chaya, in Lyonya
“You killed her!” That first voice, instantly joined by others, rose in a furious screech of accusation. “You killed her! You killed her!”
The angry voices penetrated Kieri’s grief and exhaustion, and he looked back over his shoulder to see at least a dozen elves, some with swords drawn, his uncle Amrothlin among them. Behind them, more Squires pushed into the room.
“I did not,” he said. “I tried—”
“She’s dead! You’re alive; you must have—!”
“I tried to save her,” Kieri said. “I could not.” He stood up then, automatically collecting his weapons as he rose.
“Let me see that!” Amrothlin strode forward, pointing at Kieri’s sword. “If it has her blood on it—”
“Of course it does,” Kieri said. “You saw: my sword lay in her blood, there on the floor.” He had knelt in her blood, he realized, and his hands were stained. No wonder Amrothlin suspected him, though the blood that spattered his clothes had come from others.
Amrothlin reached out his hand. “Let me smell it. I know her scent; I will know another’s scent, if indeed another’s blood is there. Give it to me.”
“No,” Arian said before Kieri could answer, blocking Amrothlin with her arm. “You will not disarm the king,” she said. “Not after what has happened.”
“You!” Amrothlin glared at her. “You half-bred troublemaker, child of one who should never have sired children on mortals—”
“Daughter of one who gave his life to save the Lady,” Arian said. Kieri saw the glitter of both tears and anger in her eyes. “There he lies, and you would insult him?”
“And you know you cannot hold this sword,” Kieri said, forcing a calm tone through the anger he felt. How dare Amrothlin insult Arian—and where had he been all this time? Was he the traitor? “You remember: it’s sealed to me. Smell if you wish, but do not touch it.”
Amrothlin glared at them all, then fixed his gaze on Arian. “What should I think when I find three mortals around my Lady’s body with swords drawn and her blood run out like water from a cracked jug? I see no other foe here. It is you, I say, and this—this so-called king.”
Kieri glanced past Amrothlin. The ring of elves stood tense; behind them were Squires who hesitated to push them aside, and behind those the hooded figures of two Kuakkgani. He met Amrothlin’s angry gaze once more.
“I am the king,” he said, keeping his voice as steady as he could. “I am the king, and my mother was your sister, and this Lady was my grandmother. So we are kin, whether you like it or not. If you can indeed detect identity by the smell of the blood, then you will smell another immortal’s blood on this—and on the queen’s sword and Duke Verrakai’s as well.”
“Do you dare accuse an elf?” Amrothlin asked. He still trembled like a candle flame, but his voice had calmed.
“The one who did this could appear without walking through a door. Its mien seemed elven at first and also its magery, a glamour of the same sort as the Lady was wont to cast. Yet it was like no elf I have known in its malice and determination to kill the Lady. I believe you name such iynisin; in Tsaia we called them kuaknomi.”
Amrothlin glared. “We do not speak of them.” He looked over his shoulder, then back to Kieri. “Who was here at the time?”
“Later,” Kieri said. Voices rose in the corridor: angry, frightened, demanding. Time to take command. “Uncle, this is not the time for questions. I am the king, and I am not your enemy, nor the Lady’s. People are frightened; I must speak to them.”
Before Amrothlin could answer, he raised his voice and called to those beyond the room. “The danger is over for now: I, the king, am alive, and the queen is safe here with me. Those of you in the corridor: fetch the palace physicians for the wounded. The rest disperse, but for the Queen’s Squires assigned to the queen today and one Kuakgan. Put by your swords.” The elves by the door looked at Amrothlin, who said nothing, and then at Kieri again and finally put up their swords. Two Queen’s Squires made their way into the room and edged through the elves to Arian’s side.
Dorrin had already moved to one of the wounded Squires. “This one first, sir king. Both are sore wounded, and though I tried, I cannot heal them.”
Kieri knelt beside her. When he laid his hand on the man’s shoulder, he felt nothing but a heaviness. “Nor I,” he said, standing again. “I must be more worn than I thought.”
The noise outside diminished. “I will tell the whole of it to Amrothlin,” Kieri said to the elves. “Two may remain; the rest of you go and make what preparations you need make for the Lady’s rest.” He knelt beside the other Squire yet felt no healing power in himself. Sighing, he stood again.
Amrothlin’s stony expression did not change, but he did not contradict Kieri; with a wave of his hand he sent most of the elves away. Now the carnage showed more clearly—the pools of blood, the stench of blood and death, bloody footprints on the fine carpet, what looked like scorch marks, the dead: the Lady, Dameroth, another dead elf whose name Kieri did not know, Tolmaric’s twisted and shrunken body, and the two iynisin Kieri and Arian and Dorrin had killed. Arian’s clothes were as bloodstained as his own, and Dorrin, though she had not knelt in any blood, still had splashes on her shirt and sword hand.
“More dead elves,” one of the other elves said, bending to examine them. Then he stiffened, turning back to Amrothlin. “My lord! These are not elves! They are … what the king said.”
Amrothlin, still looking at Kieri, said, “Is this what you fought? Did you kill it?”
“That is another it split from its body after it killed Sier Tolmaric,” Kieri said. “Look at Tolmaric, look at its body, and if you can explain how that was done, I will be glad.”
Amrothlin turned and walked over to Tolmaric’s remains. “This was human?” He sounded more worried than angry now.
“Yes. The iynisin did that with a touch of its blade to his throat. He was already bespelled by the Lady, as I said, and helpless.”
“Where were you?”
“There.” Kieri pointed. He told of questioning Sier Tolmaric, the Lady’s interruption, and then the appearance of the iynisin—he insisted on using the name, though Amrothlin flinched every time—and its taunting of the Lady and attack. “I had just taken such a blow on my shoulder as almost threw me down. It was almost invisible; I could not see to parry the blow—and then it made for poor Tolmaric and did that to him, whatever that is. Then from the iynisin came two more, and each of those split into two.”
“A formidable foe indeed,” Amrothlin said. “Few of … such … can do that, and only with fresh blood and life taken.” He moved over beside the elf looking at the other body. Kieri saw his shoulders stiffen. Amrothlin crouched beside the body and touched the blood staining its dark clothes, then sniffed at his fingers. He stood and faced Kieri again. “You brought this on us.”
“What?” That accusation made no sense to him.
“You could not survive such a one unless it willed it so. The—these beings—” Even now Amrothlin would not use the word. “You know their origin? Traitors who once were elves, in the morning of the world, and who turned against all because of those.” He pointed at the Kuakgan now standing near the door. “You called Kuakkgani here; that must be why the evil ones came. We do not speak of them. We do not acknowledge them.”
“And yet these iynisin exist,” Kieri said, once more using the elven name for them. “And they—or one—killed the Lady. Are all of them that powerful?” This, he was certain, was one of the secrets the elves had withheld from him; how could they think that not speaking of danger meant it did not exist?
“So you say, that she was killed by such.” Amrothlin made an obvious attempt to calm down, but did not answer Kieri’s question. He sniffed his fingers again. “It is more likely a lord of the Severance could kill her than a half-human like you,” he said. “These dead are certainly ephemes, split from such a one. And that—” He glanced at T
olmaric’s remains. “That is what any living thing looks like that they destroy to make ephemes.” He nodded to Kieri, now apparently calm. “I accept your story of the fight, but still—it is your fault that the Lady came here unescorted and such evil followed her. You knew what she thought of the … the Kuakkgani.” He nearly spat the last word, his voice full of venom again.
“What I see is that you are determined to blame the king,” Arian said. Kieri had never seen her so angry before. Flanked by her Squires, she stalked over to him. “Where were you when I was poisoned and my child never had a chance to live? The Lady did not come. None of you came. It was a Kuakgan who found the poison concealed in a block of spice: you elves did nothing. And you blame us for that?”
Amrothlin stared at her, speechless in the face of her anger.
“So now,” Kieri said, taking over once more, “let us clean up this mess and confer.” The palace physicians bustled into the room; he pointed to Binir and Curn, the two wounded Squires. Linne, another of the King’s Squires, handed him cleaning materials for his sword; he began wiping it down. Arian handed her blade to one of her Squires. “Who is now the ruler of the elvenhome?” Kieri asked Amrothlin. “Will it be you, her son, or had she named another in her stead?”
Amrothlin shook his head. “There is no elvenhome.”
“What—? Of course there is … must be.” At the look on Amrothlin’s face, Kieri said, “How can it be gone?”
“Do you not see?” Amrothlin gestured to his own grief-stricken face. “Do I look the same? Do you feel the influence of the elvenhome? It was hers—her creation—and it died with her. She alone sustained the Ladysforest; she had no heir. We are unhomed, Nephew. We are cast away, and nowhere in the world will we find a home now.”
“That cannot be. The taig is still here.” Kieri could feel the taig, the strength of it, even in its grief.
“The taig, yes. It is the spirit of all life. Where there is life, there is taig, greater and smaller. The taig nourishes elvenkind, and elvenkind nourishes the taig. We encouraged it, taught it, lifted it toward more awareness, according to the Lady’s design. But it is not the elvenhome.”
This was the longest explanation Kieri had ever heard about the relationship of elves and taig. “Then what is an elvenhome? Did the Lady then maintain the elvenhome with her own power? By herself?” And if so, how could such a power be stripped away?