Part 19 (2/2)
”A gift from Falken and Melia. They asked me to give it to you once we were on the road.”
Grace opened the bundle, and inside was a folded piece of cloth. Grasping two corners, she shook it out.
It was a banner. The colors were like those of Calavan, though the blue was deeper, and the symbol embroidered in silver thread was not the crown and swords of Calavan. Instead it was a star surrounded by a knot with four loops. Grace knew the symbol well. Falken always clasped his cloak with a brooch that bore the same design.
”It's the emblem of Malachor,” she said in wonder.
”You must select a man to be your standard-bearer, Your Majesty,” Durge said, his brown eyes thoughtful. ”He must be a man you trust above all others, one whose heart will never fail you. For if your standard ever falls, then all is lost.”
Grace didn't even need to think about it. ”You, Durge. I want you to carry it.” She held the banner toward him.
His hesitation was visible. ”My lady, I can . . . that is, surely there is another better suited.”
For a moment an icicle of fear stabbed at Grace's heart. Durge had never avoided any duty she had ever asked of him. Why would he resist this? She thought of his words, how the standard must be carried by one whose heart would never fail . . .
But he can't know about the iron splinter, Grace. He's being modest, that's all.
She nudged Shandis close to Blackalock and pressed the banner into his hands. ”Please, Durge. For me.”
He drew in a breath, then took the banner from her. ”As you wish, Your Majesty. I will guard it with my life.”
Durge called for a lance to be brought to him. He fastened the banner to the end, then turned it upright, planting the b.u.t.t of the lance in his stirrup. At that moment a gust of wind raced over the river, and the banner leaped to attention, embroidered star gleaming. Grace heard a murmur rise from the men behind her. She kept her gaze forward, but she knew if she looked back she would see wonder in their eyes. To these men, all their lives, Malachor had been a legend-a story of a golden age long lost. By unfurling this banner, she had just brought the legend to life.
”Don't look now, Your Majesty,” Tarus said softly, leaning in his saddle toward her, ”but everyone's staring at you.”
”Then I'd better not fall off my horse.”
It was in the late afternoon of that first day out from the castle when All-master Oragien brought his dun-colored mule close to Shandis.
”Excuse me, Your Majesty, but may I take you up on your offer and ride near you for a time?”
Grace winced at the reverence in his voice. Everyone was taking this whole queen thing far too seriously, but she supposed there was no way around it.
”You may ride with me anytime you wish, All-master.”
”Thank you, Your Majesty. I fear the cold makes a cruel companion to these old bones, despite young Master Graedin's diligence in speaking the rune of fire. Have you met him? I have not seen such a promising student in all my years at the Gray Tower. Except for Master Wilder, of course.”
”I look forward to meeting him,” Grace said.
Oragien laughed. ”Then you are in luck, Your Majesty, for here comes Master Graedin now. I imagine he's thrilled at the prospect of meeting you, and no doubt he saw my riding beside you as an opportunity. He's nothing if not bold.”
”Then he'll go far, I'm sure.” If I don't get him killed first, that is, If I don't get him killed first, that is, Grace added to herself. Grace added to herself.
The man who bounced on the back of a mule toward them was so young-looking that on Earth Grace would hardly have taken him for a college student. His beard was no more than a light fuzz on his cheeks, and his gangly legs and arms flapped wildly as he rode. For a moment Grace feared his mule would crash into her and Shandis, but at the last second the young man managed to slow the beast down.
”I do trust you have better control over runes than you do over beasts, Master Graedin,” she said, her voice sharp, though she couldn't help smiling as his boyish face turned red.
”Forgive me, Your Majesty,” he said, his tone one of chagrin. ”I've just learned today there is no rune for mule mule. And now I know why. This beast is completely uncontrollable.”
Actually, now that Graedin was no longer yanking at its reins, Grace thought the mule looked placid, even relieved. ”I find it's usually best to let Shandis decide where to go and how fast to get there. You might try the same, Master Graedin.”
The young runespeaker grinned. ”A remarkable idea, Your Majesty. You are wise indeed.”
”No, I just prefer to worry about the things I can control rather than the things I can't.”
”That's a lesson Master Graedin would be wise to heed,” Oragien said, giving the young runespeaker a pointed look. ”He has a tendency to try for runes that are beyond his reach.”
”But how do you know they're beyond your reach unless you try?” Graedin said.
Grace bit her lip but couldn't stifle a laugh. ”I'm afraid he has you there, All-master.”
Oragien shook his head. It was clear the elder runespeaker was very fond of his student.
”I wish we had more time, Your Majesty,” Oragien said. ”We've learned much since you and Master Wilder left us last summer-more than I ever would have believed we could. We've managed to reunite several shards of the runestone, thanks in large part to the efforts of Master Graedin here. Yet there's so much we still don't know.”
”We'll just have to keep learning as we go,” the young runespeaker said.
Grace smiled at him. ”I like that idea. I think we're all going to be learning on this trip.”
They rode in silence for a time as their shadows lengthened before them.
”So, are you truly a witch, Your Majesty?” Graedin said without warning as they pa.s.sed through a stand of leafless trees.
”Master Graedin!” Oragien exclaimed, blue eyes flas.h.i.+ng.
Grace held up a hand. ”It's all right.” She imagined many of the men in her army had been whispering about her power. She might as well set the rumors to rest. ”I suppose you could say I'm a witch, though not a terribly good one, I'm afraid.”
”I doubt that, Your Majesty,” Graedin said, eyes gleaming. ”Could you do a spell? I've always been curious about the magic of witches, and if there are any similarities between it and runespeaking. You see, I have a theory about-”
”That's quite enough, Master Graedin,” Oragien said sternly. ”It's time we returned to our brethren. We thank you for your indulgence, Your Majesty.”
The All-master shot Graedin a meaningful look, then turned his mule around and started back toward the other runespeakers. Graedin waved at Grace, then kicked his mule, so that the beast gave a buck before starting after the All-master. Grace was sorry to see him go. She liked the young runespeaker, and she was intrigued to know about his theory concerning rune magic and witch magic. She had thought the two irreconcilable, only then she had seen the hag Grisla-who was surely a witch-work a spell with runes in King Kel's camp.
”By Jorus, I thought those two would never leave.”
Grace nearly jumped from the saddle at the sound of a man's voice to her right. She glanced that direction. The tangle of bare branches overhead wove a premature gloom on the air, and it was a moment before she saw Aldeth riding not six feet away. His horse was as gray as his mistcloak, causing them both to blend into the twilight, and bits of soft felt were wrapped around every buckle and ring, so that the horse made hardly a sound as it walked over the mossy turf.
”Aldeth, I didn't see you there.”
”That was sort of the point, Your Majesty.”
She gave him what she hoped was a piercing look. ”You're my spy, Aldeth. You don't have to hide from me, just everyone else.”
”I find it's best not to make exceptions. That way I'm always covered.”
Grace gave up. ”What's going on? Is something wrong?”
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