They stood on the battlements, limned in winter’s early twilight, and spoke softly -- so much so that one nearing them would have imagined he heard thoughts, not words formed by a human mouth. Or heard nothing at all, for both were mages and diplomats, alike even down to their looks -- both slender, dark-eyed, long-fingered and finely-boned, graceful and eloquent in every gesture. One, still beautiful though age was heavy upon him -- and beautiful was the very word, he had enough of beauty to take an elf’s breath away, -- leaned on the frost-whitened stones, his hair whiter than snow, almost brittle in his delicacy. The other was supple like a hunting cat, her intelligence fierce where his was age-wise, her fire shining proud through the stronger, if less exquisite, features, her own mane of hair a raven-black glistening river.
Truly, none would have wished to come closer and listen in. No one in the Castle would have cared to disturb Ammar al-Khairan, the last of the late Lady’s Shitennou, and Gheida Tenragan, his pupil and appointed successor. The very names held power enough to blind.
… “To every one of his children, he gave what he had to give. I only find it ironic that Samir would count worthless the gift your mother held dearest -- freedom.”
She tossed her head, but did not ask the obvious, did not demand proof of her own captivity to Tenragan’s designs -- she had known her grandsire well. What she did say proved it no worse than what she withheld. “But to us he gave what he held dearest. Power.”
Ammar had to smile. “Yes. And his beloved Border Fleet, and his brainchild, Meretseger, and the place next to the Lion Throne -- all, all that he and Lae had once fought for and won. He made you fight for it too, though.”
Her answering smile was thin. “And treasure it, as he had.” For a brief moment, she fingered a bit of ice-coated gravel. “I wonder what he told Samir.”
“What I have just told you. And that Samir had always been in a different league for him than the two of you. It was Ladgerd's blood that he cherished, not his own.”
“Samir deduced indifference.”
“He was not far wrong.”
“And yet you would not correct what wrongness there is?”
“Your grandsire could care less about what others thought of his words or deeds. In this, he said what he intended to say -- and if there is a lapse in understanding, neither I nor Simon nor anyone else of his team would presume to second-guess him.” Another smile, a much sadder one. “He would not have liked that.”
Another pause. “It seems strange to me that so many people imagined he would go down the wrong path. Perhaps it is what you say -- a lapse in understanding. But he did right.”
Ammar shrugged. “He always did what was right for people, but he did it so -- I don’t know, highhandedly, that they always bridled. Remember how angry Douglas had been! But yes, he did right. He left us a fine Master with a ready team, including a general fit to replace him and a diplomat to succeed me,” he winked at a distinctly pleased Gheida, “brought the Empire safely out of a near collapse…yes, he did well and right. Lae herself could not have faulted him.”
“Grandsir was a great man,” she said with quiet conviction.
“That he was,” he agreed easily. “And saw no obstacles to that greatness of his. Did what he willed -- how was it in that old song? Though hell should bar the way? Irresistibly comes to mind, whenever I think of him.”
It was her turn to shrug. Funny, he thought, that they should do all such little mimic things in turn. “Well, it should. And when battling one’s Wyrd, is it not the best strategy?”
He felt suddenly, oddly exhilarated. “Oh yes,” he near-whispered, a grin spreading on his lips, “and your grandsire was a strategist unrivalled. Perhaps he broke his Wyrd in some way. True enough, he lost Lae, and that seemed fateful enough -- but he managed to keep from… the worst excesses, didn’t he? Yes, I do believe that in my heart -- somehow, something, has been broken. I only wish I knew what,” he added somewhat ruefully.
“The Guardians would know,” she answered, secure in her trust as any starborn, pious as any Terran. He glanced at her, wondering where that cleric of hers was. The little monk was a source of endless amusement for the Castle’s locals, with his insatiable curiosity and holy terror about his findings as often as not. But Father Valentine was guileless as a child and steadfast in his beliefs, and there was a good deal of respect mingled into that amusement, too. With a foothold still in his reminiscences, Ammar recalled that Tenragan at least accorded the chronicler every courtesy he omitted for most.
“Yes,” he agreed, “the Guardians would know.” And then, mischievous as befitted a child of his Heaven-pampered world, “I must make sure to ask!”
She laughed too, but the laughter quickly faded from her eyes. “So, what would you say about that kinsman of mine?” She elegantly skirted the awkward uncle, he noted. “Should we care where Grandsir did not?”
“He has none of Hauer’s ambition, if that’s what you mean,” he said carefully. “But he will make a strong mage and a fine soldier -- in that, if nothing else, Hauer’s blood breeds true.”
“I am no soldier,” she pointed out with an arched brow.
“Most like because you never put your mind to it.”
This time she refrained from comment, admitting tacitly that he might be right. “So you think we should watch him.”
“Does Daniv?”
“Daniv thinks along much the same lines as you. But then he is Master, and they have a mindset different from all. A self-assurance, I guess.”
“Yes,” he agreed, “self-assurance.”
“While Dale feels something like compassion for him. Or pity. Or something so razor-fine between the two that even he cannot tell which.”
“And you?”
She smiled -- a cold, slight, proud smile so like the late dictator's that Ammar’s heart went icy. “I will watch him. Not to the exclusion of all else, but I will. I do not want to ever see him challenge my brothers for anything -- they fought for all they have, and I intend to see them keep it.”
“One should be mad to challenge either,” he rebuked, shocked.
Her smile never wavered. “Grandsir had challenged the Empire’s regent in the arena, and my brother challenged him. And so it is as you said -- the blood breeds true.”
He acknowledged the truth of her words with a slight nod, then reached out a long-fingered, string-sensitive hand to trace her chin. “Yes. But of all his progeny, you are the one bred truest -- and one would have to be downright insane to defy you, I think.”
The smile warmed like winter’s sun. “And that, my teacher, is the best compliment you could give me, I swear.”
“Somehow,” said he who had rejoiced to call Howard Tenragan friend, “I do not doubt that.”