Free Spear of Heaven by Judith Tarr Page A

that
encompassed both herself and the emperor’s heirs. There was a placid deadliness
in the way they stood, hands well away from swordhilts, faces hidden behind the
black veils, yellow eyes calm, fixed on nothing in particular.
    All but Chakan, who took an easy stance beside and just
behind Daruya’s chair. Kimeri looked up from playing with what looked like a
ball of string, and smiled.
    He did not do anything that Vanyi perceived, but the child
got to her feet, dusted herself off conscientiously, and held up her hands. The
Olenyas swung her whooping to his shoulders, where she sat like an empress on a
throne.
    Vanyi wondered very briefly if there was more to that than
anyone would admit—if the child had been fathered by the Olenyas. But her bones
said not. If Olenyas and princess-heir had been lovers, it was utterly discreet
and long over. They were guard and princess, friend and dear friend, or Vanyi was
no judge. But nothing more than that.
    Pity, rather. An Olenyas in Daruya’s bed might be better
protection than an army of mages.
    No one spoke while they waited for the Guardian to come
back. The mages were still stunned by the Gate’s fall. Miyaz and Aledi seemed
to cling together. Kadin, who had lost his lightmage, sat with them and yet
irrevocably alone. He had eaten nothing, drunk little. His fine dark face was
grey about the lips. His long fingers trembled as he picked up his cup, paused,
set it back down again.
    Vanyi watched him but did not speak to him. It was too early
yet. A mage who lost the half of himself died as often as not, either from
grief or by his own hand.
    She did not think that this one would do that. He was a
northerner, from Ianon itself that had been the Sunborn’s first kingdom. He had
pride, and strength of spirit.
    The mark of his clan was painted fresh on his forehead—a
good sign, even if it were no more than habit. His beard, that had been
chest-long and plaited with gold, was cut short, his hair cropped to the skull
in mourning. Again, good enough. He could have turned the blade against
himself.
    They would all suffer if he did. Six mages and a master had
been ample for the embassy that Vanyi had in mind. Three of them dead left the
rest overburdened, even if Kadin came through this grief intact. If he did not . . .
    She would think of that when she had to. She let her eyes
return to the map, tracing and retracing the ways they must take. Guides they
might and must have, but she never trusted to one expedient if several would
do.
    “Daruya,” she said abruptly. “Come here.”
    Daruya came, for a wonder; what was more, she seemed
inclined to pay attention as Vanyi set about teaching her the map and the
journey. But, thought Vanyi, this mattered to the girl. It touched her pride.
    Pride was useful in swaying kings, and kings’ heirs.

8
    The guides were a woman and her three husbands. Daruya at
first would not believe what her magery told her she was hearing; surely her
gift of tongues was failing or turning antic. But the woman’s mind quite
clearly perceived the three men with her as husbands—men who shared her bed and
stood father to her children. They were brothers, sturdy-built middling-tall
men like heavyset plainsmen, with bronze skin seared dark by sun and wind, and
narrow black eyes, and black hair worn in cloth-wrapped plaits. Their wife was
much like them, near as tall as they and quite as solid.
    She did the speaking for them all. Her name was Aku, which
meant Flower; she named her husbands, but Daruya paid little attention. Names
were not what they were. They were stolid, at least to look at, but there were
festoons of amulets about their necks, and they eyed the Olenyai in what they
fancied was well-concealed terror.
    The Olenyai, without the mages’ gift of tongues, had leisure
to observe, and to be amused. Daruya hoped that one of them would not take it
into his head to do or say something appropriately demonic, and lose them their
guides before they even