— 30 —

News of Tamír’s actions against the recalcitrant nobles spread quickly and heralds bearing conciliatory letters soon began to arrive from nobles up and down the coast. The powerful lords of the north and some of the west remained staunch in their support of Korin, however. Jorvai had been one of the few from that region to support her. According to Tamír’s spies and Arkoniel’s wizards, Korin was still stubbornly sitting at Cirna.

Tamír wasn’t certain what to make of that. In his place, with superior forces, she’d have marched long since, yet there was still no sign of movement. Ki was of the opinion that Korin was scared to fight, but Tamír was certain there must be something else.

Whatever the case, they now found themselves in a period of relative peace and Imonus seized the opportunity once again to urge Tamír to go to Afra.

“It’s time, Majesty. If nothing else, you must be seen honoring the Lightbearer as your ancestors always have.”

“He’s right, you know,” said Illardi. “Every new queen has gone there and brought back a prophecy for the people.”

Tamír needed no convincing. She’d had her fill of court life, and if she couldn’t fight a battle, then the prospect of a journey had its appeal.

On Imonus’ advice, Tamír set the date for their departure for the first week of Lenthin. That would bring them to Afra during the moon’s first waxing—a most fortuitous time, according to the priests.

There was no question of taking a large force. The shrine lay high in the mountains west of Ylani, and was reached by a single, switchback road, which, according to Imonus and Iya, was barely wide enough in places for a single rider to pass.

“The place is sacred ground. Not even Niryn would dare defile it by attacking you there,” Imonus assured her. “And no one would follow Korin if he committed such a sacrilege.”

“I hope you’re right,” said Tharin. “All the same, she must take a sufficient guard to protect her on the road.”

“My personal guard should be enough, especially with Iya and Arkoniel with us,” said Tamír. “With any luck, I’ll be back before Korin’s spies can carry the news that I was gone.”

“Saruel has asked to accompany us,” said Iya. “The Aurënfaie hold the Oracle in high regard, and she would like to visit the place.”

“I’m glad to have her,” Tamír replied. “She’s one of your more powerful wizards, isn’t she? I’ll feel that much safer, with her along.”

The night before their departure Tamír was too restless to sleep. She sat up late, gaming with Ki and Una, then sat by the window as they played the final game, watching the last waning half-moon rise and tugging absently at a braid. Una won at last and took her leave, eager to be off tomorrow.

“What’s the matter? I thought you’d be anxious to go,” said Ki as he scooped their bakshi stones back into their respective bags and put away the wooden board.

“I am.”

“Well, for someone who’s cool as springwater before a battle, you seem awfully fretful over a little ride. Are you afraid of the Illiorans? I know I am.”

She turned to find him grinning at her. “Stop teasing. You’re not the one god-touched. It was eerie, that vision I had, and that was just a little one! This is the greatest Oracle in the land.”

“And who could be safer there, than you?” Ki countered. “Come on, there’s something else, isn’t there?”

“What if I don’t like what she tells me? What if I’m destined to fail, or go mad like the rest of the family or—I don’t know.”

“And?”

“And Brother. He’s still after me about his death. I want to know the truth, but I’m afraid to, too. I can’t explain it, Ki. It’s just a gut feeling.”

“Which are you more afraid of? That he won’t go away once you’ve satisfied him or that he will?”

“I want him gone. I just don’t know if I can give him what he wants to do it.”

They set off early the next day, riding at a trot through the sleeping town. Tamír felt a stir of excitement as the southern high road stretched away before them. It wasn’t just the anticipation of at last meeting with the Oracle who’d defined her life. To ride at full gallop with armed riders at her back was one of the finest feelings she knew.

Lain, youngest of the Afran priests who’d come north with Imonus, rode in the forefront with her as their guide, though Iya and Arkoniel knew the way as well. He was a quiet sort, and Tamír hadn’t paid him much mind, but he was positively glowing today.

“It’s a great honor, Majesty, to conduct a new queen to Afra. I pray you receive a clear answer there, and comfort.”

“So do I,” she replied.

Arkoniel had brought Wythnir with him this time, and the boy rode proudly on a pony of his own, dressed in a fine new tunic and boots. It made him look older. The wizards spent much time riding together and though the boy said little, as always, Tamír could see that he was taking in every word his master said. He bore the long hours of riding without complaint, apparently content to be near Arkoniel rather than left behind again.

They slept at Ero on the second night, and the following day Illardi’s steward proudly showed her the new town springing up along the northern edge of the harbor. Many people were still in tents and makeshift shelters, but men were at work everywhere, hauling stone and hammering away at new house frames, and the air was sweet with the scents of lime and raw lumber. She paused frequently to watch the craftsmen.

Arkoniel smiled as she lingered to watch a woodcarver at work on a fancy lintel. “Do you ever wish you’d been born into a craftsman’s family instead?”

“Sometimes. I lost all my carving tools and haven’t had time to find any new ones.”

Arkoniel reached into his purse and handed her a small lump of fresh beeswax. “Will this do, for now? You never used to be without it.”

Tamír grinned; Arkoniel had been among the first to recognize and support her gift.

But not the first.

The sweet aroma brought back a few precious moments of peace with her mother—a rare smile as her mother had warmed a bit of wax between her hands. It smells of flowers and sunshine, doesn’t it? The bees store up all of summer for us in their waxen houses.

The sting of tears behind her eyelids surprised her. Tamír had so few good memories of her. She looked down at the serene carved countenance on her ring, wondering what Ariani would think, to see her in her true form? Would she love her at last, as much as she’d loved Brother? Would she have loved them both and not gone mad if Brother had lived?

Tamír shook off the bittersweet thought and strode on, hoping Arkoniel and the others hadn’t noticed her weakness.

They soon left the sea road behind, striking south and west toward the mountains for the next few days. This was the same road she’d taken the first time she’d come to Ero. She and Ki shared a silent look of longing as they passed the crossroads that would have taken them to the Alestun keep. Who knew when they would have the time to go there again? Her old nurse, Nari, wrote often, and Tamír always answered, but she couldn’t promise a visit.

Beyond the Alestun road, Lain led them along back roads that avoided the larger towns, moving ever inland. The first few nights they slept in small roadside inns, where people greeted her with respect and wide-eyed amazement, especially when their new queen was content to dine with them in the common room. She and the Companions joined in songs around the hearth at night, and Iya and Arkoniel entertained with simple, colorful spells and cast mendings for those who dared ask.

In return, the villagers spoke to Tamír of crops and bandits. Rogues of all sorts had grown bolder since Ero fell. Tamír sent a rider back with word for Illardi to have some of their idle warriors sent out to deal with brigands.

The great range that formed the spine of the Skalan peninsula loomed closer each day, the jagged peaks still snow-capped.

On the afternoon of the seventh day Lain guided them onto a well-traveled road that led into the mountains. Evergreen forest gradually gave way to thinner groves of quakeleaf and oak.

The way grew steep and began to twist, forcing them to rein their horses back to a walk. The air grew steadily cooler around them and carried the scents of plants Tamír did not recognize. Stunted, wind-twisted trees clung to the rocky slopes, and hardy mosses and small plants lined the road. It was still summer in Atyion but the air here already carried the first hint of autumn, and the quakeleafs were showing golden edges to their round leaves. Far above them the snow-capped peaks shone so brightly against the clear blue sky it hurt to look at them for long.

“It reminds me of my home. Many of these plants are the same,” Saruel remarked, riding beside Tamír.

“You’re from the mountains?”

“Yes. As a child I saw level ground only when we traveled to Sarikali for the clan gatherings.” She inhaled deeply, and the black tracery around her eyes pulled and bunched as she smiled. “I’ve missed these smells, and the coolness. I enjoyed my time in your capital, but it was very different than what I’m used to.”

Tharin chuckled. “Stinking Ero. It came by the name honestly, for certain.”

“I understand. I grew up in the mountains, too,” Tamír said.

“This feels like one of our hunting trips, doesn’t it, Tharin?” Just then something caught Ki’s eye and he leaned far over in the saddle to pluck a blossom from a clump of bell-shaped pink flowers growing from the cliff face. He kept a precarious grip on his horse’s sides with his knees, and came back up with a grin to present the flower to Tamír. “Look. Heart’s Ease, for better memories.”

Tamír sniffed at it, savoring the familiar heady scent, and tucked it behind her ear. Ki had never done such a thing before. The thought sent a giddy flutter through her chest and she nudged her horse into a trot so the others wouldn’t catch her blushing.

They camped beside a stream in a high, windswept valley that night. The stars showed large in the velvet sky, just as they had at Alestun, so bright they turned the snow on the peaks to silver.

Saruel and Lain gathered handfuls of small blue berries and brewed a sweet, resinous tea from them.

“Most of you haven’t traveled such high passes. The air grows thinner as we climb,” the priest explained. “Some feel ill with it, but this tea will help.”

Tamír had felt no ill effects so far, but Nikides, Una, and the new squires admitted to feeling a little dizzy toward the end of the day.

The owls here were numerous and larger than the ones in the lowlands, with tufts like a cat’s ears on their round heads and bands of brilliant white on the ends of their tail feathers. Ki found a few fallen feathers in the gorse by their campsite, and gave them to Tamír. She cast a few into the campfire with a murmured prayer for luck.

They slept on the ground, wrapped in their cloaks and blankets, and woke to find the valley in a thick, chilly mist that coated their hair and their horses’ coats with jeweled droplets. Sounds carried oddly. Tamír could hardly hear the conversation of those standing across the campsite, but the knocking of a woodpecker sounded as close as over her shoulder.

After a cold breakfast and more of Saruel’s tea, they continued on, walking their mounts until the mist cleared.

The peaks closed in around them and the way narrowed. To their right sheer rock face bore down on them, even overhanging the narrow trail in places so they often had to duck and lean precariously as they rode in single file behind the wizards and priest. On their left a sheer precipice fell away into the lingering mist below. Tamír cast a stone over the edge, but never heard it strike.

The afternoon was waning when Tamír noticed the first crescent shapes and bits of writing scratched into the bare rock face, left by other wayfarers and pilgrims.

“We’re getting close,” Iya told her as they rested their horses and let them graze on the sparse grass that lined the trail. “A few more hours will bring us to the painted gate you saw in your vision. Afra lies just beyond.”

Arkoniel scrutinized the inscriptions as they rode on. Presently he reined and pointed to one in particular. “Look, Iya, here’s the prayer I left the first time you brought me up here.”

“I remember,” Iya said with a smile. “I must have a few marks around here somewhere, too.”

“Why do you do this?” asked Saruel.

“Custom, I suppose. For luck, too,” Iya replied.

“Isn’t that what people always say about such things?” said Lynx, still a staunch Sakoran despite all he’d seen.

“You’d do well not to mock the devotions of the Illior, young lord,” Lain said, overhearing. “These prayers last far longer than any charm burned up in a fire. They shouldn’t be taken lightly, or made thoughtlessly.” He turned in the saddle. “You should write something, Queen Tamír. All your forebears have done so, somewhere along this route.”

The thought was a comforting one, and gave her a sense, once again, of being connected to the line of women who’d come before her.

Everyone dismounted and hunted for sharp stones to scratch their names and messages.

Saruel joined them, but instead passed her hand across the stone. A small silver crescent and words in fine script appeared. “It’s a good thing, to honor the Lightbearer on the way to his sacred place,” she murmured, watching approvingly as Lynx’s young squire made his mark.

“You’ve ’faie blood in you, Tyrien í Rothus,” Saruel said. “I see it in the color of your eyes.”

“So my grandmother told me, but it’s a long way back, so I can’t have much,” the boy replied, those grey eyes alight with pleasure that she’d noticed. “I’m no wizard, anyway.”

“The amount makes no difference, but the lineage, and even that’s no sure thing,” Iya told him, overhearing. “A good thing, too. If every Skalan with a drop of ’faie blood in their veins was wizard-born, there’d be little for warriors to do.”

“Were your parents mages?” Saruel asked Wythnir, who was making his mark a little way on.

“I don’t know,” the boy replied softly. “I was just little when they sold me off.”

That was more than Tamír had ever heard him say at one go, and the most he’d ever confided. Tamír smiled at the way Arkoniel’s hand rested on the boy’s shoulder, and the worshipful look it earned him. Tamír found herself wishing she’d given him more of a chance as a child. He’d been just as kind with her, then and now. He was her friend.

Ask Arkoniel! Brother’s challenge still sent an uneasy chill through her.

Tamír pushed the thought aside for later and stared at the bit of flat wall she’d chosen, at a loss as to what she should write. Finally she scratched in simply, “Queen Tamír II, daughter of Ariani, for Skala, by the will of Illior.” She added a small crescent moon under it, then passed the stone she’d used as a stylus to Ki.

He leaned in beside her and scratched his name and a crescent moon under hers, then drew a circle around both their names.

“Why’d you do that?” she asked.

It was Ki’s turn to blush as he said softly, “To ask the Lightbearer to keep us together. That was my prayer.”

With that he hurried away and busied himself checking his girth strap. Tamír sighed inwardly. First the flower, and now this, but he still kept his distance. Once she’d thought she’d known his heart to the core. Now she had no idea what was held there, and feared to hope.

The sun was sinking behind the mountains when Tamír rounded a bend and was struck with a dizzying sense of familiarity.

The vista before her was the exact scene from her vision in Ero. The narrow track twisted out of sight, then back into view in the distance. There stood the incongruous gate straddling the road, painted with bright colors that glowed in the fading light. She knew it was real, but it still seemed like something from a dream. As they rode closer, she made out stylized dragons painted in brilliant shades of red, blue, and gold twined around the narrow opening, as if they were alive and guarding this sacred way with fangs and fire.

“Illior’s Keyhole.”

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” said Arkoniel. “Do you recognize the style?”

“I saw work like that in the Old Palace. It’s centuries old. How long has this been here?”

“At least that long, and it’s only the most recent one,” said Iya. “Others have fallen to ruin and been replaced. Legend says a gate already stood here when the first Skalan priests followed a vision to the sacred place. No one knows who built the first gate, or why.”

“We are taught that a dragon built the first gate, from the stones of the mountain, to guard Illior’s sacred cavern,” Lain told them.

“My people tell the same tale of our sacred places,” said Saruel. “Of course, dragons still do things like that in Aurënen.”

“Dragon bones are sometimes found in the higher valleys. Now and then we even get little fingerlings at the shrine.” Lain turned back to address the others. “I should warn you, if any of you see what appears to be a little lizard with wings, pay it proper respect and don’t touch it. Even fingerling dragons have a nasty bite.”

“Dragons?” Wythnir’s eyes lit up with a child’s excitement.

“Tiny ones and very rarely seen,” Lain replied.

They had to dismount at the gate and lead their horses along a narrow, rocky trail. Afra lay up a narrow pass less than a mile or so beyond. Presently the cleft opened into a deep, barren place. It was already shrouded in shadow, but several red-robed priests and a handful of young boys and girls carrying torches were waiting for them. Behind them, the trail twisted away into the shadows.

Ki sniffed the air, which carried the smell of cooking. “I hope they saved us some dinner. My belly thinks my throat’s been slit.”

“Welcome Queen Tamír the Second!” the lead priest cried, bowing low with his torch. “I am Ralinus, high priest of Afra in Imonus’ absence. In the name of the Oracle, I welcome you. She has watched long for your coming. Praise to you, the Lightbearer’s chosen one!”

“Did Imonus send you word?” asked Tamír.

“He did not have to, Majesty. We knew.” He bowed to Iya next. “The Oracle bids me welcome you, too, Mistress Iya. You have been faithful and accomplished the difficult task set for you, all those years ago.”

The priest caught sight of Saruel and held out his tattooed palms in welcome. “And welcome to you, daughter of Aura. May you be of the same heart with us, here in the Lightbearer’s place.”

“In the darkness, and in the Light,” Saruel replied with a respectful nod.

“Quarters have been prepared for you, and a meal. This is most fortuitous, Majesty. A delegation of Aurënfaie arrived three days ago, and await your coming at the guesthouse across the square from your own.”

“Aurënfaie?” Tamír glanced suspiciously at Iya and Saruel. “Is this your doing?”

“No, I’ve had no contact with anyone there,” Saruel assured her.

“Nor have I,” said Iya, though she looked very pleased with this news. “I did think some might show up, one place or another.”

The torchbearers took charge of their horses and led them around the final bend in the trail.

Pinched in a deeper cleft between two towering peaks, Afra at first glance was nothing more than a strange configuration of deep-set windows and doorways carved into the cliffs on either side of a small paved square. This was ringed with tall torches set into sockets in the stone. Carved fretwork and pillars of some ancient design framed the doors and windows, similar to the decorative work on the Keyhole, Tamír noted absently.

What captured her attention at the moment, however, was the dark red stone stele standing at the center of the square between two brightly burning braziers. There was a bubbling spring at its base, just as the wizards had described, welling up in a stone basin and flowing away through a paved channel into the shadows to her left. In the waning daylight, the leaping flames cast dancing shadows across the inscriptions that covered it.

She touched the smooth stone reverently. The Oracle’s words to King Thelátimos were carved there in Skalan and three other languages. She recognized one of them as Aurënfaie.

“‘So long as a daughter of Thelátimos’ line defends and rules, Skala shall never be subjugated,’” Ralinus said, and all the priests and acolytes bowed deeply to her. “Drink from the Lightbearer’s spring, Majesty, and refresh yourself after your long journey.”

Tamír again felt that deep sense of connection and welcome. Suddenly the air around her stirred, and from the corner of her eye she caught the faint, misty shapes of spirits. She couldn’t tell who they were, but their presence was comforting, nothing like Brother’s cold anger. Whoever they were, they were glad she’d come.

There was no cup. She knelt and rinsed her hands, then scooped up a handful of icy water. It was sweet, and so cold it made her fingers and teeth ache.

“Can the others have some?” she asked.

The priests all laughed at that. “Of course,” Ralinus told her. “The Lightbearer’s hospitality knows no rank or limit.”

Tamír stood back as her friends and guard all took a ritual sip.

“It’s good!” Hylia exclaimed, kneeling to drink with Lorin and Tyrien.

Iya was the last to drink. She moved a bit stiffly after the long ride, and Arkoniel gave her his arm to help her back to her feet. The old woman pressed her hand to the stele, then to her heart.

“The first Ghërilain was called the Oracle’s Queen,” she said, and Tamír was amazed to see tears in her eyes. “You are the second queen foretold here.”

“And yet you took the name of a different queen, and one of the lesser ones, at that,” Ralinus noted. “I’ve wondered about that, Majesty.”

“The first Tamír appeared to me in Ero, and offered me the great Sword. Her brother murdered her, just as so many of my female kin were murdered by my uncle, and her name was all but forgotten in my uncle’s time. I took it to honor her memory.” She paused, staring down at the silvery ripples of the spring. “And to remind myself and others that such ruthlessness must never be repeated in the name of Skala.”

“A worthy sentiment, Queen Tamír,” a richly accented man’s voice said from the shadows across the square.

She looked up to see four men and a woman approaching. Tamír knew them for Aurënfaie at once by the sen’gai they wore, and the fine jewelry at their throats, ears, and wrists. They all had long, dark hair and light eyes. Three of the men were dressed in soft-looking tunics of woven white wool, over deerskin trousers and low boots. The woman wore similar clothing, but her tunic reached below her knees and was slit up both sides to her belt. The fifth, an older man, wore a long black robe. His fringed, red-and-black sen’gai, facial markings, and the heavy silver earrings dangling against his neck marked him as a Khatme. The woman and one of the younger men wore the bright red and yellow Tamír recognized as the colors of Gedre. The others wore dark green of some other clan.

As they came into the brighter light by the stele, Ki let out a happy whoop and ran to embrace the younger Gedre.

“Arengil!” he exclaimed, lifting their lost friend off his feet in his excitement. “You found your way back to us!”

“I promised I would, didn’t I?” Arengil laughed, regaining his feet and clasping Ki by the shoulders. Ki was half a head taller than he was now, though they’d been the same height when Arengil had been sent home. “You’re bigger, and you’ve sprouted a beard.” He shook his head, then caught sight of Una among the Companions. “By the Light, is that who I think it is?”

She grinned. “Hello again. Sorry I got you into so much trouble that day. I hope your father wasn’t too angry.”

His aunt arched an eyebrow at that. “He was, but Arengil survived, as you see.”

Tamír took a hesitant step forward, wondering what his reaction would be to the changes in her appearance. Arengil’s smile only widened as he closed the distance between them and hugged her.

“By the Light! I didn’t doubt the seer, but I didn’t know what to expect, either.” He held her at arm’s length and nodded. “You look very good as a girl.”

The Khatme man looked scandalized by such familiarity, but the others only laughed.

“My nephew had a great deal to do with our coming, and would not be left behind,” the other Gedre told her. Her Skalan was perfect, with only the slightest accent. “Greetings, Tamír, daughter of Ariani. I am Sylmai ä Arlana Mayniri, sister of the Khirnari of Gedre.”

“I’m honored, lady,” Tamír replied, not sure what to make of all this, or how to address them. The Aurënfaie used no formal titles, apart from the clan chief, or khirnari.

“Greetings to you, as well, my friends,” Sylmai said to Iya and Arkoniel. “It has been some time since we saw you in our land.”

“You know each other?” asked Tamír.

Iya clasped hands with Sylmai and kissed her on the cheek. “As she says, it has been years, and only a single visit. I’m honored that you remember us. Arkoniel was only a boy.”

Sylmai laughed. “Yes, you’re much taller now. And this?” She touched her chin as if stroking a beard and grimaced playfully. “Even so, I’d know you by your eyes. The blood of our people shows there. And you have more of our cousins, too, I see,” she added, smiling at Tyrien and Wythnir.

Tamír extended her hand to the dour Khatme. “And you, sir? Welcome to my land.”

“I am honored, Tamír of Skala. I am Khair í Malin Sekiron Mygil, husband of our khirnari.” His voice was deep and his accent much thicker. “One of my clan stands with you, I see.”

Saruel bowed. “I am honored to meet you, Khair í Malin. It has been many years since I’ve been home.”

The two men wearing dark green sen’gai came forward last. The older one looked no older than thirty, and the younger one was hardly more than a boy, but that was no measure with the ’faie. They might be two hundred years old, for all she knew. They were also two of the handsomest men she’d ever seen, and her heart tripped a beat as the taller of the two smiled and bowed to her in Skalan fashion.

“I am Solun í Meringil Seregil Methari, second son of the Khirnari of Bôkthersa. This is my cousin, Corruth í Glamien.”

Corruth took her hand and bowed, giving her a shy smile. “I am honored to meet a queen of Skala. My clan stood with your ancestor against Plenimar in the Great War.”

“I am honored to meet you,” Tamír replied, feeling a bit shy herself. The beauty of these men, even their voices, seemed to weave a spell, making her heart race. “I—that is, I understand you are not here by chance?”

“Our seers claimed there was a queen in Skala again, one who bears the mark of Illior,” Solun replied.

“I see for myself that you are indeed a woman,” said Khair of Khatme. “Do you still bear the mark?”

“Your birthmark,” Arengil explained. “It’s one of the signs we’re to know you by. That, and that moon-shaped scar on your chin.”

Tamír pushed back her left sleeve, showing them the pink birthmark on her forearm.

“Ah, yes! Is it as you remember, Arengil?” the Khatme asked.

“Yes. But I’d have known her without it by those blue eyes.”

“But you’ve only just arrived, and you have business of your own here,” Solun interjected. “You should eat and rest before we talk.”

“Please, won’t you join us?” Tamír said a bit too hastily, and saw the annoyed look Ki gave her.

Solun’s answering smile made her heart beat that much faster. “We would be delighted.”