entire realm.'
Now I felt my temper rising, too, and Maram gripped my arm to steady me. To Baron Narcavage, he said. 'That might be true, but at least his, ah, sword is longer than yours.'
Being well-pleased with his riposte, Maram grinned broadly and then winked at Queen Daryana.
Baron Narcavage shot him a dark look and then said, 'Yes, the famed Valari swords
– used mostly to cut each other to pieces.'
I wondered at the Baron's purpose in belittling Maram's and my kingdoms. Perhaps it was pride in Alonian accomplishments; perhaps it was resentment. From talk I had heard in the hall, I gathered that the Baron's grandfather had fought fiercely with King Kiritan's grandfather to keep Arngin an independent domain. But in the end, he had knelt to King Sakandar even as Baron Narcavage kneeled to King Kiritan. It was said that Baron Narcavage was now the most trusted of the King's men and his greatest general. If so, then he must have harbored deep hurts that he chose to inflict on other people.
Queen Daryana seemed to like neither the Baron nor his usurping the conversation.
To distract us all from squabbles almost as old as time -and to reclaim for herself the center of everyone's attention – she said, 'We live in a time of swords, and it's said that the Valari do have long ones. But this is a night of peace. Celebration and song.
Who knows the Song of the Swan? Who will sing it with me?'
As I touched the silver swan embroidered on my tunic, she smiled at me, and I loved her for that. Her warmth and generosity of spirit moved me: this, after all, was Sajagax's daughter, who couldn't want me ever to marry Atara. But she chose to let our natural regard for each other shine forth even so.
Atara and I both drew close to her as we all started singing the song. It was mostly a sad song, telling of a king who falls in love with a great white swan. To gain her love in return, he builds a magnificent castle in which to keep her, and feeds her delicacies even as he dresses her in the finest silks. But the swan soon sickens and starts singing her death song. The grief-stricken king then goes among the people of his realm offering a great measure of gold to anyone who can tell him the answer to the riddle of how he may heal her without letting her go.
As we worked through the verses, Maram and the Valari knights joined us, and then other knights and their ladies came over and began singing, too. One of the women caught my eye: she had iron-gray hair and a pretty, pleasant' face, and around her neck she wore the same gold medallion as did Atara and I. I remembered her earlier giving her name to King Kiritan as Liljana Ashvaran; she was one of the few Alonian woman to have vowed to make the quest. Although obviously no knight, she had an air of courage about her. She pressed in closer toward Queen Daryana, all the while singing with a measured assurance. When she thought I wasn't looking, she stole quick glances at me. Once, for a moment, we locked gazes, and I thought that her penetrating hazel eyes hid a great deal.
We stood there singing beneath the moon and stars for quite a while, for the song was a long one. When we reached the part of it where the king asks his people for advice, 1 took note of a new voice added to the chorus. Although in no way overpowering any other, it distinguished itself in subtle harmonies with its clarity and perfection of pitch. It came from a slender man whose black, curly hair gleamed in the light of the glowstones. He had the large brown eyes and the brown skin of a Galdan, those comeliest of people; his fine features seemed in perfect accord with the great beauty of his voice. His age was perhaps thirty or slightly more: the only lines I could make out on his face were the crow's-feet around his eyes – I guessed from smiling so much. He struck me as being spontaneous, witty, gifted, guileless and wild, and l liked him immediately.
I cocked my head, listening as we sang out the words to the king's terrible dilemma: How do you capture a beautiful bird without killing its spirit?
And then the answer came, from this man's perfectly formed lips and those of many others:
By letting it fly;
By becoming the sky.
The song ended happily with the king tearing down the walls of stone that he had built to imprison his beloved swan – and himself. For he realized that his true realm was not some little patch of earth, but of the heart and spirit, and was as vast as the sky itself.
The Queen took note of this man, too. When we had finished singing she called him over to her. He gave his name as Alphanderry of Galda. Although no noble, with his silk tunic trimmed in gold and elegance of carriage he managed to look more distinguished than any of the princes there. He was a minstrel, he said, exiled because his songs had offended Galda's new rulers. At the Queen's request, he lifted up his mandolet and sang one of these for us.
No bird, I thought, not even a swan, had a voice so beautiful as his. It spread out across the lawn and seemed to touch even the grasses with dewdrops of light. As we all grew quiet, it was much easier to appreciate its power and grace. His words were beautiful, too, and they told of the anguish of love and the eternal yearning for the Beloved. As with the Song of the Swan, its themes were bondage and the freedom that might be attained through the purest of love, like the ringing of a perfect golden bell his verses carried out in the night – so sweet and clear and full of longing that they were both a pain and a pleasure to hear.
And as he made his music, flick suddenly appeared above him and whirled around and around like a tiny dancer raimented in pure light. Alphanderry, I thought couldn't see him nor could any of the nobles gathering around him. But I felt Maram's hand squeeze my shoulder as Atara flashed me a look of relief almost as sweet as Alphandery's singing.
At the end of his song, he lowered his mandolet and smiled sadly. I, like everyone else, was filled with a sense that he had been singing just for me. We looked at each other for a moment, and he seemed to know how deeply his music had touched me.
But there was no pride or vanity in him at this accomplishment, only a quiet joy that he had been gifted with the voice of the angels.
'That was lovely,' Queen Daryana said to him as she wiped the tears from her eyes.
'Galda's loss is Alonia's gain. And Ea's, as well.'
Alphanderry bowed to her, then gripped the gold medallion that King Kiritan had given him. Now his smile was happy and bright; like a butterfly among flowers, he seemed able to flit easily from one color of emotion to another.
'Thank you, Queen Daryana,' he told her. 'I haven't had the privilege of singing before such an appreciative audience for a long time.'
Baron Narcavage stepped forward and raised the wine bottle that he still held. He said, 'Allow us then to show our appreciation with some of this. I think you'll like the vintage – it's Caldan, from the King's special reserve. I was just about to pour Sar Valashu and the Queen a glass.'
So saying, he motioned to a groom, who brought over a tray of goblets. The Baron uncorked the wine, then poured the dark red liquid into eight of them. He handed the goblets one by one to me and my friends, and to Alphandeny and the Queen. The last one he took for himself. I thought it rude of him to ignore Sar Yarwan and the Valari knights – and everyone else who gathered around looking at us. Liljana Ashvaran seemed especially watchful of this little ceremony. She stood with her little nostrils sniffing the air as if any wine not offered to her must be sour.
'To the King,' the Baron called out. 'May his life be a long one. May we honor him in drinking his health as he has honored us in requesting our presence at his fiftieth birthday and the calling of the Quest.'
He nodded at the King, who was still talking with his dukes near the fountain while a dozen of his guards kept watch nearby. Kane, who stood a few yards from me scowling at his goblet, turned to scowl at the King instead. Then I gripped my goblet tightly in my hand as I looked down into the blood-red wine.
'It's not poison, Sar Valashu,' the Baron said to me. 'Do you think the King would poison you in front of his guests?'
I looked into the wine, which smelled of cinnamon and flowers and the strange spices of Galda. I could almost taste its fragrant sweetness. 'Do you think I would drink poison wine?' he said. Then he put the rim of the golden goblet to his thick lips and took a long drink. 'Come now, Sar Valashu, drink with me. All of you – drink!'
I sensed in him no intention to harm me, only a sudden exuberance and desire to win my good regard – most likely to atone for his previous unkindness. And that, I thought, was a noble thing indeed. Kane and my friends were watching to see what I would do. The Queen and Alphanderry, and Liljana Ashvaran – everyone was watching and waiting for me to take a drink of the King's wine.
