Tigana Part 56

She heard a sound from under the canopy and turned in time to see d'Eymon slump forward against Brandin's chair. The hilt of his sword was against the seat-back of the chair. The blade was buried in his breast. She saw it and she pitied him his pain but she could not properly grieve. There was nothing left within her for such a sorrow. D'Eymon of Ygrath could not matter now. Not with the two men lying here with her, beside each other. She could pity, oh, she could pity any man or woman born, but she could not grieve for any but these two. Not now.

Not ever, she realized.

She looked over then and saw Scelto, still on his knees, the only other living person on this hill. He too was weeping. But for her, she realized, even more than for the dead. His first tears had always been for her. He seemed to be far away though. Everything seemed oddly remote. Except Brandin. Except Valentin.

For the last time she looked down at the man for whose love she had betrayed her home and all her dead and her own vengeance sworn before a fire in her father's house so long ago. She looked down upon what remained of Brandin of Ygrath with his soul gone, and slowly, tenderly, Dianora lowered her head and kissed him upon the lips in farewell. 'In Finavir,' she said. 'My love.' Then she laid him on the ground beside Valentin and she stood.

Looking south she saw that three men and the woman with red hair had descended the slope of the wizard's ridge and were beginning to swiftly cross the uneven ground between. She turned to Scelto whose eyes had now a terrible foreknowledge in them. He knew her, she remembered, he loved her and he knew her much too well. He knew all save the one thing, and that one secret she would take away with her. That was her own.

'In a way,' she said to him, gesturing at the Prince, 'it would almost be better if no one ever knew who he was. But I don't think we can do that. Tell them, Scelto. Stay, and tell them when they get here. Whoever they are, they ought to know.'

'Oh, my lady,' he whispered, weeping. 'Must it end like this?'

She knew what he meant. Of course she knew. She would not dissemble with him now. She looked at the people-whoever they were-coming quickly across the ground from the south. The woman. A brown-haired man with a sword, another darker one, a third man, smaller than the other two.

'Yes,' she said to Scelto, watching them approach. 'Yes, I think it must.'

And so she turned and left him with the dead on that hill, to wait for those who were coming even now. She left the valley behind, the hill, left all the noises of battle and pain, walking down the northernmost of the goatherds' tracks as it wound west along the slope of the hill out of sight of everyone. There were flowers growing along the path: sonrai berries, wild lilies, irises, anemones, yellow and white, and then there was a scarlet one. In Tregea they said that flower had been made red by the blood of Adaon where he fell.

There were no men or women on that slope to see her or to stay her as she went, nor was the distance very far to level ground and then to the beginnings of the sand and finally to the margin of the sea where there were gulls wheeling and crying overhead.

There was blood on her garments. She discarded them in a small pile on the wide sweep of that white sand. She stepped into the water-it was cool, but not nearly so cold as the sea of Chiara had been on the morning of the Dive. She walked out slowly until it came to her hips and then she began to swim. Straight out, heading west, towards where the sun would set when it finally went down to end this day. She was a good swimmer; her father had taught her and her brother long ago after a dream she had had. Valentin the Prince had even come with them once to their cove. Long ago.

When she began, at length, to tire she was very far from the sh.o.r.e, out where the blue-green of the ocean near land changes to the darker blue of the deep. And there she dived, pushing herself downward, away from the blue of the sky and the bronze sun and it seemed to her as she went down that there was an odd illumination appearing in the water, a kind of path here in the depths of the sea.

She had not expected that. She had not thought any such thing would be here for her. Not after all that had happened, all that she had done. But there was indeed a path, a glow of light defining it. She was tired now, and deep, and her vision was beginning to grow dim. She thought she saw a shape flicker at the edge of the shimmering light. She could not see very clearly though, there seemed to be a kind of mist coming down over her. She thought for a moment the shape might be the riselka, though she had not earned that, or even Adaon, though she had no claim at all upon the G.o.d. But then it seemed to Dianora that there was a last gathering of brightness in her mind at the very end, and the mist fell back a little, and she saw that for her it was neither of these, after all, not the riselka, nor the G.o.d.

It was Morian, come in kindness, come in grace, to bring her home.

Alone of the living on a hill with the dead, Scelto stood and composed himself as best he could, waiting for those he could see beginning to climb the slope.

When the three men and the tall woman reached the summit he knelt in submission as they surveyed in silence what had happened here. What death had claimed upon this hill. He was aware that they might kill him, even as he knelt. He wasn't sure that he cared.

The King was lying only an arm's length away from Rhun who had slain him. Rhun, who had been a Prince here in the Palm. Prince of Tigana. Lower Corte. If he had a s.p.a.ce of time later, Scelto sensed that the pieces of this story might begin to come together for him. Even numbed as he was now, he could feel a lancing hurt in his mind if he dwelt upon that history. So much done in the name of the dead.

She would be near the water by now. She would not be coming back this time. He had not expected her to return on the morning of the Dive; she had tried to hide it, but he had seen something in her when she woke that day. He hadn't understood why, but he had known that she was readying herself to die.

She had had been ready, he was certain of it; something had changed for her by the water's edge that day. It would not change again. been ready, he was certain of it; something had changed for her by the water's edge that day. It would not change again.

'You are?'

He looked up. A lean, black-haired man, silvering at the temples, was looking down at him with a clear grey gaze. Eyes curiously like Brandin's had been.

'I am Scelto. I was a servant in the saishan, a messenger today.'

'You were here when they died?'

Scelto nodded. The man's voice was calm, though there was a discernible sense of effort in that, as if he were trying with his tone to superimpose some pattern of order upon the chaos of the day.

'Will you tell me who killed the King of Ygrath?'

'His Fool,' Scelto said quietly, trying to match the manner of the other man. In the distance below them the noises of battle were subsiding at last.

'How? At Brandin's request?' It was one of the other men, a hard-looking, bearded figure with dark eyes and a sword in his hand.

Scelto shook his head. He felt overwhelmingly weary all of a sudden. She would be swimming. She would be a long way out by now. 'No. It was an attack. I think ...' He lowered his head, fearful of presuming.

'Go on,' said the first man gently. 'You are in no danger from us. I have had enough of blood today. More than enough.'

Scelto looked up at that, wondering. Then he said, 'I think that when the King used his last magic he was too intent on the valley and he forgot about Rhun. He used so much in that spell that he released the Fool from his binding.'

'He released more than that,' the grey-eyed man said softly. The tall woman had come to stand beside him. She had red hair and deep blue eyes; she was young and very beautiful.

She would be far out among the waves. It would all be over soon. He had not said farewell. After so many years. Despite himself, Scelto choked back a sob. 'May I know,' he asked them, not even sure why he needed this, 'may I know who you are?'

And quietly, without arrogance or even any real a.s.sertion, the dark-haired man said, 'My name is Alessan bar Valentin, the last of my line. My father and brothers were killed by Brandin almost twenty years ago. I am the Prince of Tigana.'

Scelto closed his eyes.

In his mind he was hearing Brandin's voice again, clear and cold, laden with irony, even with his mortal wound: What a harvest, Prince of Tigana What a harvest, Prince of Tigana. And Rhun, just before he died, speaking that same name under the dome of the sky.

His own revenge was here then.

'Where is the woman?' the third man asked suddenly, the younger, smaller one. 'Where is Dianora di Certando who did the Ring Dive? Was she not here?'

It would be over by now. It would be calm and deep and dark for her. Green tendrils of the sea would grace her hair and twine about her limbs. She would finally be at rest, at peace.

Scelto looked up. He was weeping, he didn't even try to stop, or hide his tears now. 'She was here,' he said. 'She has gone to the sea again, to an ending in the sea.'

He didn't think they would care. That they could possibly care about that, any of them, but he saw then that he was wrong. All four of them, even the grim, warlike one with the brown hair, grew abruptly still and then turned, almost as one, to look west past the slopes and the sand to where the sun was setting over the water.

'I am deeply sorry to hear that,' said the man named Alessan. 'I saw her do the Ring Dive in Chiara. She was beautiful and astonishingly brave.'

The brown-haired man stepped forward, an unexpected hesitation in his eyes. He wasn't as stern as he had first seemed, Scelto realized, and he was younger as well.

'Tell me,' the man began. 'Was she ... did she ever ...' He stopped, in confusion. The other man, the Prince, looked at him with compa.s.sion in his eyes.

'She was from Certando, Baerd. Everyone knows the story.'

Slowly, the other man nodded his head. But when he turned away it was to look out towards the sea again. They don't seem like conquerors, Scelto thought. They didn't seem like men in the midst of a triumph. They just looked tired, as at the end of a very long journey.

'So it wasn't me, after all,' the grey-eyed man was saying, almost to himself. 'After all my years of dreaming. It was his own Fool who killed him. It had nothing to do with us.' He looked at the two dead men lying together, then back at Scelto. 'Who was the Fool? Do we know?'

She was gone, claimed by the dark sea far down. She was at rest. And Scelto was so tired. Tired of grief and blood and pain, of these bitter cycles of revenge. He knew what was going to happen to this man the moment he spoke.

They ought to know, she had said, before she walked away to the sea, and it was true, of course it was true. Scelto looked up at the grey-eyed man. she had said, before she walked away to the sea, and it was true, of course it was true. Scelto looked up at the grey-eyed man.

'Rhun?' he said. 'An Ygrathen bound to the King many years ago. No one very important, my lord.'

The Prince of Tigana nodded his head, his expressive mouth quirking with an inward-directed irony. 'Of course,' he said.

'Of course. No one very important. Why should I have thought it would be otherwise?'

'Alessan,' said the younger man from the front of the hill, 'I think it is over. Down below, I mean. I think ... I think the Barbadians are all dead.'

The Prince lifted his head and so did Scelto. Men of the Palm and of Ygrath would be standing beside each other down in that valley.

'Are you going to kill us all now?' Scelto asked him.

The Prince of Tigana shook his head. 'I told you, I have had enough of blood. There is a great deal to be done, but I am going to try to do it without any more killing now.'

He went to the southern rim of the hill and lifted his hand in some signal to the men on his own ridge. The woman went over and stood beside him, and he put an arm around her shoulders. A moment later they heard the notes of a horn ring out over the valley and the hills, clear and high and beautiful, sounding an end to battle.

Scelto, still on his knees, wiped at his eyes with a grimy hand. He looked over and saw that the third man, the one who had tried to ask him something, was still gazing out to sea. There was a pain there he could not understand. There had been pain everywhere today though. He had had it in his grasp, even now, to speak truth and unleash so much more.

His eyes swung slowly down again, away from the hard blue sky and the blue-green sea, past the man at the western edge of the hill, past d'Eymon of Ygrath slumped across the King's chair with his own blade in his breast, and his gaze came to rest on the two dead men beside each other on the ground, so near that they could have touched had they been alive.

He could keep their secret. He could live with it.

E P I L O G U E.

Three men on horses in the southern highlands looking over a valley to the east. There are pine and cedar woods beyond, hills on either side. The Sperion River sparkles in the distance, flowing down out of the mountains, not far from where it will begin its long curve west to find the sea. The air is bright and cool, with a feel of autumn in the breeze. The colours of the leaves will be changing soon and the year-round snow on the highest peaks of the mountains will begin moving down, closing the pa.s.s.

In the tranquil green of the valley below them, Devin sees the dome of Eanna's temple flash in the morning sunlight. Beyond the Sanctuary he can just make out the winding trail they had ridden down in the spring, coming here from the east across the border. It seems a lifetime ago. He turns in the saddle and looks north over the rolling, gradually subsiding hills.

'Will we be able to see it from here, later?'

Baerd glances over and then follows his gaze. 'What, Avalle and the Towers? Easily, on any clear day. Meet me here in a year's time and you'll see my green-and-white Prince's Tower, I promise you.'

'Where are you getting the marble?' Sandre asks.

'Same place as Orsaria did for the original tower. The quarry is still available, believe it or not, about two days' ride west of us near the coast.'

'And you'll have it carried here?'

'By sea to Tigana, then on river barges up the Sperion. The same way they did it back then.' Baerd has shaved his beard again. He looks years younger, Devin finds himself thinking.

'How do you know so much about it?' Sandre asks with lazy mockery. 'I thought all you knew was archery and how not to fall on your face when you were out alone in the dark.'

Baerd smiles. 'I was always going to be a builder. I have my father's love of stone if not his gift. I'm a craftsman though, and I knew how to look at things, even back then. I think I know as much as any man alive about how Orsaria built his towers and his palaces. Including one in Astibar, Sandre. Would you like me to tell you where your secret pa.s.sages are?'

Sandre laughs aloud. 'Don't boast, you presumptuous mason. On the other hand, it has been almost twenty years since I was in that palace, you may have have to remind me of where they are.' to remind me of where they are.'

Grinning, Devin looks over at the Duke. It has taken him a long time to adjust to seeing Sandre without his dark Khardhu guise. 'You will be going back after the wedding, then?' he asks, feeling a sadness at the thought of another parting ahead.

'I think I must, though I will say that I'm torn. I feel too old for governing anyone now. And it isn't as if I have any heirs to groom.'

After a moment's stillness, Sandre takes them smoothly past the darkness of those memories: 'To be honest, the thing that interests me most right now is what I've been doing here in Tigana. The mind-linking with Erlein and Sertino and the wizards we've managed to find.'

'And the Night Walkers?' Devin asks.

'Indeed, Baerd's Carlozzini as well. I must say I'm pleased that the four of them are coming with Alienor to the wedding.'

'Not as pleased as Baerd is, I'm sure,' Devin adds slyly. Baerd gives him a look, and pretends to be absorbed in scanning the distant line of the road south of them.

'Well, hardly as pleased,' Sandre agrees. 'Though I do hope he'll spare his Elena for a small part of the time she's here. If we are going to change the att.i.tude of this peninsula to magic there's no better time to start than now, wouldn't you say?'

'Oh, certainly,' Devin says, grinning broadly.

'She's not my Elena,' Baerd murmurs, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the road.

'She isn't?' Sandre asks in mock surprise. 'Then who's this Baerd person she keeps using me to relay messages to? Would you know the fellow?'

'Never heard of him,' Baerd says laconically. He keeps a straight face for a moment longer, then gives way to laughter. 'I'm beginning to remember why I preferred keeping to myself. And what about Devin, if you're on that subject? You don't think Alais would be sending him messages if she could?'

'Devin,' says the Duke airily, 'is a mere child, far too young and innocent to be getting involved with women, especially the likes of that guileful, experienced creature from Astibar.' He attempts to look stern and fails; both of the others know his real opinion of Rovigo's daughter.

'There are are no inexperienced women in Astibar,' Baerd retorts. 'And besides, he's old enough. He even has a battle scar on his ribs to show her.' no inexperienced women in Astibar,' Baerd retorts. 'And besides, he's old enough. He even has a battle scar on his ribs to show her.'

'She's seen it already,' Devin says, enjoying this enormously. 'She taped it up after Rinaldo healed me,' he adds hastily as both of the others raise their eyebrows. 'No thrill there.' He tries and fails to conceive of Alais as guileful and deceptive. The memory of her on the window-ledge in Senzio keeps coming back to him of late though; the particular smile on her face as he stumbled along the outside landing to his own room.

'They are are coming, aren't they?' the Duke asks. 'It occurs to me that I could sail home with Rovigo.' coming, aren't they?' the Duke asks. 'It occurs to me that I could sail home with Rovigo.'

'They'll be here,' Devin confirms. 'They had a wedding of their own last week, or they'd have arrived by now.'

'I see you are intimately versed in their timing,' Baerd says with a straight face. 'Just what do you plan to do after the wedding?'

'Actually,' Devin says, 'I wish I knew. There must be ten different things I've thought about.' He evidently sounds more serious than he'd meant to, for both of his friends turn their attention fully to him.

'Such as?' Sandre asks.

Devin takes a breath and lets it out. He holds up both hands and starts counting on his fingers. 'Find my father and help him settle here again. Find Menico di Ferraut and put together the company we should have had before you people sidetracked me. Stay with Alessan and Catriana in Tigana and help them with whatever they have to do. Learn how to handle a ship at sea; don't ask me why. Stay in Avalle and build a tower with Baerd.' He hesitates; the others are smiling. He plunges onward: 'Spend another night with Alienor at Borso. Spend my life with Alais bren Rovigo. Start chasing down the words and music of all the songs we've lost. Go over the mountains to Quileia and find the twenty-seven tree in the sacred Grove. Start training for the sprint race in next summer's Triad Games. Learn how to shoot a bow-which reminds me, you did promise me that, Baerd!'

He stops, because they are laughing now, and so is he, a little breathlessly.

'You must have gone past ten somewhere in that list,' Baerd chuckles.

'There are more,' Devin says. 'Do you want them?'

'I don't think I could stand it,' Sandre says. 'You remind me too painfully of how old I am and how young you are.'