Crown of Vengeance

as a cushion and settled herself upon the thickly carpeted floor.

Thurion? Thurion, are you there?

Since the day she had sent him to the Grand Windsward, Vieliessar had tried to Farspeak him as often as she could. But the Windsward was so far to the east that it might be afternoon there even when night had fallen in the West. And Farspeech only worked when both Lightborn had minds that were still and quiet, awaiting the message. They had missed each other as often as not. The last time she had been able to contact him, she had been in Ceoprentrei.

She could no longer easily recall how many sennights had passed since then.

For long moments she called and received no reply. She was about to give up when:

“Vielle? It has been so long! Are you well?”

She opened her inward eyes and saw what she expected to: the image of a chamber in some Grand Windsward castel.

“We reached the Uradabhur safely enough. Things have not gone well since.”

She quickly told him the whole: the battle with Jaeglenhend, the Alliance’s pursuit, her defeat in battle, her flight. “I can only hope my people survive, but I fear for those who lie in the Alliance’s hands. I hold the fealty of twenty-five Houses, Thurion. Take my army and my life, and the High Houses become rich. They intend to execute all who have sworn fealty to me and divide their domains among themselves.”

“And they have every reason to choose that course,” Thurion said slowly. “Why should they fear the vengeance of the Silver Hooves when it did not fall upon them for the destruction of Farcarinon? But this could help us. Once word spreads that the High Houses now follow a strategy of conquest and annexation…” There was a long pause as Thurion sought for words. “Many will see that choosing your side will allow them to retain their lives, if not their sovereignty. Gain enough Houses, and even this Alliance cannot stand against you.”

This disconcertingly insightful analysis of a situation Thurion hadn’t even known about a tenth-candlemark before only made Vieliessar miss him more keenly.

“If I yet have more army than the handful that accompanied me in my flight. I shall try to reach Aradreleg next, to see what news she can give me. If she lives,” Vieliessar added softly, for Aradreleg had been among those captured, and though no War Prince would execute her, any Lightborn might choose to. “But tell me your news,” she urged. “I need your council. And my own situation I know.”

She felt him laugh just a little. “My news is much as it was the last time we spoke, save for this: the Silver Swords leave within the sennight. Master Kemmiaret swears he will bring the Silver Swords across the Arzhana before the passes to the Uradabhur close.”

“And what does Melchienchiel Penenjil say?” Vieliessar asked.

“She says she will come—this season if she can. But you know she will be more cautious with the rest of her meisne. The southern route isn’t wide or gradual enough for supply wagons, and the northern route is held by Nantirworiel. Methothiel Nantirworiel usually doesn’t care who uses the pass so long as they pay, but—”

“—but it’s different when he’s being asked to let an enemy army through,” she finished for him. “If the Silver Swords would like to conquer Nantirworiel on their way west, that would be very useful to me.”

“I’ll mention that to Master Kemmiaret,” Thurion answered dryly. “The Houses that have declared for you are all mustering their meisnes. Kerethant and Enerchelimier join Penenjil on the march. I think Artholor and Hallorad also plan to come at once, but they lie east of Penenjil and neither will risk a Windsward crossing or an ascent of the Feinolon Range in bad weather. And if the weather turns early, all of them will stay in the Windsward until spring rather than be forced to winter in the Arzhana.”

“And rather than ask their Lightborn to divert the storm—or open the passes,” Vieliessar said.

“Yes,” Thurion said regretfully. “It is much to ask of them.”

Vieliessar sighed in acceptance. “They will come when they will come. At least they are willing to try.” As much as she might rail against the indecisiveness of the Windsward Houses, she would not herself have chosen a course that would force her army to overwinter in a hostile place. As if I had any choice about it, she thought wryly.

“I would conjure summer myself, if it would get me to you faster,” Thurion said. “I’ve missed you.”

“And I, you,” she answered, swallowing hard. “I wish you were here now. I could use your wisdom.”

“Any aid I can give you from this distance, I give you gladly. You know that,” he answered.

“I hope I shall always know enough to value my true friends,” she replied impulsively. The grief and longing she heard in her words was so raw it made her wish she hadn’t spoken.

“I promise I will always be that,” Thurion answered quietly. “But come. Tell me what you need.”

She had tried to reach him on impulse, not truly believing she would manage it, and the pleasure in the contact had allowed her to forget the war for a few moments. But now—

“I need to find the Flower Forest of Tildorangelor,” she blurted. “And I have no idea where to look!”

There was a long, meditative pause.

“I don’t know where it is either, Vielle. But I could find it with enough time—and power,” Thurion answered.

“What are you saying?” Vieliessar asked sharply.

“You took the same lessons I did from Rondithiel Lightbrother, and I am sure he has not changed his lectures from one century to another,” Thurion said.

“Probably not,” Vieliessar said. “And since he is here, I can hear them again any time I wish to.”

Thurion laughed. “I would not dare dream of such great fortune! You are truly blessed. But listen. For spells such as Fetch and Send we must know exactly where we are touching with our Magery. But not to use Door,” Thurion continued, in the cheerful tones of a patient instructor. “Door is a spell that requires great power, and that is why we are taught to cast it only between Flower Forests. And why did Rondithiel Lightbrother say that was?”

“He said it is because within the Light there is only one Flower Forest, which makes no sense at all,” Vieliessar said. “But—”

“But it is true, at least in a sense,” Thurion said. “The Flower Forests all touch one another in the Light. Have you never reached through a nearer Flower Forest to a more distant one? Oh, no, of course you have not,” Thurion said hastily, sounding embarrassed and contrite. “You were not taught to Heal on the battlefield. If you had been, you would know. With enough time, power will flow into the Flower Forest you have tapped from those more distant, but often we cannot wait. So we reach for the distant ones directly. We can, because they all touch.”

“But you can only do that within a domain,” Vieliessar said slowly. That much she knew to be true.

“Yes,” Thurion answered patiently. “The boundaries of domains are bespelled so that one domain cannot drain the power from all the Flower Forests of the land. But that does not mean they are not all linked. If they were not, how could anyone use Door across domain boundaries?”

Vieliessar said nothing. Some of what Thurion spoke of—the philosophy that underlay Magery—made sense to her. Much, she suspected, had been laid down like traps and snares to keep the Lightborn from thinking beyond the rote proscriptions handed down from Mosirinde’s time.

“But that has nothing to do with the question you asked,” Thurion went on. “You can go from any Flower Forest to any other, and so you can go to Tildorangelor as well.”

“With enough time and power,” Vieliessar said. And neither is in great supply. Between us, we and the Alliance have already nearly drained Jaeglenhend’s Flower Forests. It did much to explain why, if the matter was as simple as Thurion said, Amrethion’s city had never yet been discovered. First one would have to believe it existed, and then, allow some powerful Lightborn the liberty to spend years seeking it. “I thank you for your counsel, my friend. I will speak with you again as soon as I may.”

“The Light go with you,” Thurion answered quietly, and the spell was sundered.

It was long before she could steel herself to reach for Aradreleg. Failure will mean nothing, she told herself firmly. Only that she is somewhere from which she may not answer. Not death. Celenthodial Flower Queen—say she still lives!

To her delight and relief, Aradaleg answered her at once. And when she had finished telling Vieliessar all that had happened in the last sennight, Vieliessar began to hope once more.

Rithdeliel had taken Jaeglenhend Keep.

She still had a chance to win.

At dawn two days later, Vieliessar mounted her destrier at the head of her party. From all Aradreleg had told