Part 49 (1/2)
Maggaron didn't talk much; Bellusdeo, in his presence, talked more, but not a lot. She spoke Norannir for the most part; Kaylin knew this because Bellusdeo's Norannir was beyond her. It sounded familiar, but its syllables didn't coalesce into something that had any recognizable meaning. Kaylin almost felt that they should. But she didn't begrudge Bellusdeo the use of a familiar language-it's what she would have wanted had she been in the Dragon's position. It also gave Bellusdeo some small amount of privacy. The open, empty streets gave her the rest; in the fiefs, only the drunk or the suicidal wandered at night. Kaylin felt neither drunk nor suicidal.
But the streets of Tiamaris-Tiamaris, not Barren-had changed. The farther away from the Ablayne they traveled, the less empty the streets became. In twos and fours, like large looming shadows, the Norannir began to appear. They didn't exactly move silently; they spoke and they sort of clanged as they walked. She even recognized the walk; they were patrolling.
Looking at her sleeves, Kaylin sighed and undid the cuffs; she rolled them both up to her elbows, exposing the marks. She wasn't even surprised to see that they were glowing faintly. She approached a group of four patrolling Norannir; they turned toward her, falling silent as they s.h.i.+fted their grips on their weapons. She didn't exactly hold her hands up, but she exposed her arms as she walked.
They didn't relax; they did straighten up, and they did lower their weapons. They also spoke. She couldn't understand much of what they were saying, so they repeated themselves slowly. Which, of course, didn't help.
Kaylin turned to see that Bellusdeo and Maggaron were exactly where she'd left them. Maggaron began to walk down the street, but Bellusdeo hung back. As if, Kaylin thought, she was afraid. No, not afraid-nervous. Maggaron was not; he approached the Norannir, who frowned. They didn't immediately recognize him, and at this point, they probably recognized most of the other refugees.
But he introduced himself by name-not t.i.tle-and asked if they might be taken to speak with the Elders. The men on patrol asked a few curt questions, none of which Kaylin understood, but most of which she could guess, before they conferred among themselves.
”Are we here too late?” Kaylin asked him. ”Do you think they're sleeping?” She could think of about a hundred things that were wiser-and more fun to do-than waking Mejrah.
Maggaron frowned. ”At night? No. The Elders will not sleep at night, not here. Not so close to the border. The Shadows are strongest in the darkness, and if the power of the Elders or the drums is needed, it is now.”
”Bellusdeo?”
The Dragon was standing alone, to one side of the street, as if she hoped to melt into the very narrow s.p.a.ce between buildings. She stiffened as Kaylin called her name a second time.
So did the Norannir. Their eyes widened, and they looked once again at Kaylin's glowing marks. They began to speak in hushed and hurried words, and then they turned to Maggaron, their words colliding as they all asked him questions at once. She recognized one word clearly: Bellusdeo.
Maggaron said, ”Yes.” Just that. But he turned and he held out a hand.
Bellusdeo might as well have grown roots. ”Chosen,” she said in Barrani, ”I-I'm not ready. I'm not ready for this.”
Kaylin walked toward her. ”Yes, you are.”
”I'm not. I'm no longer their Queen. I'm no longer what I was. I have no lands, and I have little power. What can I possibly offer them?” She held out her empty palms.
It was the right question to ask Kaylin Neya. Kaylin smiled and shook her head. ”Sometimes,” she told the Dragon, taking her by the hand, ”you also get to ask what they can offer you.”
”They are doing everything that I would ask of them if I were among them. They patrol the streets and they guard the border.”
”How do you know?”
”Tara told me. Before dinner. They have a Lord; they don't need a Queen.”
Kaylin tugged gently at her hand, and an obviously reluctant Bellusdeo came with her. ”They're just as lost as you are,” Kaylin told her as they walked-slowly-down the street. ”They've had a few more days-a week at most-to adjust, but they've lost their home, their world, and everything they knew except each other and the Shadow.”
”Yes, but they're pledged to Tiamaris. I can't-not with his h.o.a.rd-”
”You're not taking anything away from him. You're still going to come back to my place after you talk to Mejrah.”
One of the four almost frozen men turned and ran down the street. Kaylin stifled the urge to tell him not to run off alone, mostly because he wouldn't have understood a word she shouted even if she tried. Bellusdeo didn't appear to notice. As she approached the men who were now staring at her, she let go of Kaylin's hand and drew herself to her full height. It wasn't impressive, when compared to the height of the standing Norannir-but at the same time, it was.
She spoke three words, and the men-whose eyes were almost as golden as hers-slowly dropped to their knees, holding their weapons vertical against the cracked cobblestones. Maggaron came to stand to Bellusdeo's left in silence.
She spoke; they listened.
When she finished, one of the men lifted his head; his cheeks were wet. ”Bellusdeo,” he said, and repeated it as if it were a prayer.
She nodded, her expression grave. When she spoke again, they rose almost as one man. One of the men fell in behind Maggaron to her left; the other two stood to her right.
”Chosen, join me.”
Kaylin hesitated, and Bellusdeo smiled; there was both warmth and edge to it. ”If I have to go at your insistence, this is your penance.”
They walked down the streets of the fief. The moons were high, and the occasional howl of a Feral sounded in the distance as if it were music. The Norannir, Maggaron included, didn't speak a word; they walked, for the moment, as if they were Palace Guards.
Kaylin watched as the tents of the Norannir came into view. A fire burned at the crossroads around which the tents had been erected; the street that they were walking down continued past fire and tents into the darkness at the heart of the fiefs. Norannir stood guard just beyond the burning wood, and those on watch didn't turn as Bellusdeo approached. They were, however, the only ones who didn't.
Mejrah stood in dark robes, the fire at her back casting a flickering shadow; to her right and left, the older men she often called. They were both armed; Mejrah, for once, wasn't. She couldn't be; both of her hands were cupped beneath a very familiar crystal. It was the Arkon's memory crystal, and it was active: standing just above it, pale and translucent, was the image of Bellusdeo taken from Severn's memories of seven corpses.
The image was ghostly-ethereal but exact. The three Norannir guards who had escorted them down the length of the street stopped walking; Bellusdeo and Maggaron did not. Kaylin hesitated, feeling very much like a fifth wheel-a curious fifth wheel.
”Chosen,” Bellusdeo said in a voice that didn't tremble at all.
Kaylin joined her, and this time Bellusdeo caught, and held, her hand. Maggaron began to kneel, but she caught his hand, as well, denying him the shelter of obeisance.
Mejrah's eyes were a brilliant gold; they matched Bellusdeo's as the old woman gazed down at her. She knelt and placed the crystal at Bellusdeo's feet, and this, Bellusdeo allowed-she had only two hands, after all.
Kaylin's marks began to glow; they were warm, not uncomfortable, and the light they shed was golden. As the Norannir began to speak, she knew why: she could understand them.
”Bellusdeo,” Mejrah said in a rough voice. She frowned and glanced up; the Elders to either side s.h.i.+fted from formal bows to knees at her unspoken command. ”You return to us.”
”Yes, Elder.”
”And you bring the Ascendant.”
”Yes. I come at the side of the Chosen to the lands of my birth.”
A whisper went up in a circle around Bellusdeo. Standing almost between the tenting, lingering like children who are afraid to get too close in case they catch too much attention, stood a dozen armed and armored Norannir; a third of them were women.