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Authors: Lynn Flewelling
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the Harriers?
Riding into the market town that misty winter afternoon, he reveled as always in his anonymity. It was poulterers’ day, and the crowing, quacking, and honking of the birds in their pens echoed loudly inside the walled marketplace. Niryn smiled to himself as he guided his mount through the crowd. Who among them guessed that thehorseman they jostled or muttered at or smiled upon had the power to end their lives with a word?
Leaving the markets behind, he rode up the hill to the most affluent neighborhood and the fine stone house he owned there. A young page answered, and Vena, the half-blind old nurse, met him in the hall.
“She’s been fretting at her window since morning, Master,” she scolded, taking his cloak.
“Is that him?” a girl called from upstairs.
“Yes, Nalia, my dear, it’s me!” Niryn replied.
Nalia hurried down the stairs and kissed him on both cheeks. “You’re a whole day late, you know!”
Niryn kissed her back, then held her at arm’s length to admire her. A year older than Prince Korin, she had her kinsman’s black hair and eyes, but none of his handsome looks. She was a homely girl, made homelier by a weak chin and the irregular pink birthmark that ran like spilled wine down her left cheek and shoulder. It made her shy, and she shunned society of any sort. This had served him well, making it a simple matter to keep her hidden away in this remote backwater town.
Her mother, a second cousin to the king on the matrilineal side, had been even uglier, but somehow managed to find a husband and whelp a pair of girls. Her good fortune had been Niryn’s. He’d seen to the murders himself, stopping the father’s heart as he opened the door to the wizard and killing the mother in the birthing bed. That had been in the early days of Erius’ massacres, when Niryn still saw to such things personally.
Nalia’s twin had been a pretty little thing, untouched by the unkind fate that had marred her mother and sister. She would have grown up a beauty, and beauty was hard to hide. Or control.
Niryn had meant to kill all of them, but as he’d lifted the second squalling infant from her dead mother’s side he’d had the vision—the one that had guided his every action since. From that moment on, he knew he was nolonger merely the king’s coursing hound, but the master of Skala’s future.
Other wizards glimpsed her in their own visions, and some of the Illioran priests, too. Preying on the king’s fears for Korin, Niryn had wrested the power and the means to crush others before they could see clearly and reveal his sweet, tractable little Nalia. No one but he must bring this future queen forward when the time was right. No one but he must control her when she reached the throne.
He controlled Erius, but knew he would never be able to control headstrong young Korin. The boy had too much of his mother’s blood in him and no hint of madness. He would rule long, while plague and ill fortune grew on the land until Skala gave way to her enemies like a rotten beam.
Mad Agnalain and her brood had tainted the crown; no one would argue that. His Nalia could trace her lineage back to Thelátimos on both sides. Niryn could prove it, when the time came. He, and only he, would restore the Sword of Ghërilain to a woman’s hand when the Lightbearer gave the sign. In the meantime, she had grown up safely anonymous, unknown even to herself. She knew only that she was an orphan, and Niryn was her kindly benefactor and guardian. Allowed no other male companions, she doted on him and missed him terribly when he was away—as she believed—attending to his shipping business in the capital.
“It’s very cruel of you to make me wait so long,” she said, still chiding, though he saw the flush rising in her unblemished cheek as she drew him by the hand to his chair in the sitting room. Settling happily on his lap, she kissed him again and gave his beard a playful tug.
Despite her disfigured
Riding into the market town that misty winter afternoon, he reveled as always in his anonymity. It was poulterers’ day, and the crowing, quacking, and honking of the birds in their pens echoed loudly inside the walled marketplace. Niryn smiled to himself as he guided his mount through the crowd. Who among them guessed that thehorseman they jostled or muttered at or smiled upon had the power to end their lives with a word?
Leaving the markets behind, he rode up the hill to the most affluent neighborhood and the fine stone house he owned there. A young page answered, and Vena, the half-blind old nurse, met him in the hall.
“She’s been fretting at her window since morning, Master,” she scolded, taking his cloak.
“Is that him?” a girl called from upstairs.
“Yes, Nalia, my dear, it’s me!” Niryn replied.
Nalia hurried down the stairs and kissed him on both cheeks. “You’re a whole day late, you know!”
Niryn kissed her back, then held her at arm’s length to admire her. A year older than Prince Korin, she had her kinsman’s black hair and eyes, but none of his handsome looks. She was a homely girl, made homelier by a weak chin and the irregular pink birthmark that ran like spilled wine down her left cheek and shoulder. It made her shy, and she shunned society of any sort. This had served him well, making it a simple matter to keep her hidden away in this remote backwater town.
Her mother, a second cousin to the king on the matrilineal side, had been even uglier, but somehow managed to find a husband and whelp a pair of girls. Her good fortune had been Niryn’s. He’d seen to the murders himself, stopping the father’s heart as he opened the door to the wizard and killing the mother in the birthing bed. That had been in the early days of Erius’ massacres, when Niryn still saw to such things personally.
Nalia’s twin had been a pretty little thing, untouched by the unkind fate that had marred her mother and sister. She would have grown up a beauty, and beauty was hard to hide. Or control.
Niryn had meant to kill all of them, but as he’d lifted the second squalling infant from her dead mother’s side he’d had the vision—the one that had guided his every action since. From that moment on, he knew he was nolonger merely the king’s coursing hound, but the master of Skala’s future.
Other wizards glimpsed her in their own visions, and some of the Illioran priests, too. Preying on the king’s fears for Korin, Niryn had wrested the power and the means to crush others before they could see clearly and reveal his sweet, tractable little Nalia. No one but he must bring this future queen forward when the time was right. No one but he must control her when she reached the throne.
He controlled Erius, but knew he would never be able to control headstrong young Korin. The boy had too much of his mother’s blood in him and no hint of madness. He would rule long, while plague and ill fortune grew on the land until Skala gave way to her enemies like a rotten beam.
Mad Agnalain and her brood had tainted the crown; no one would argue that. His Nalia could trace her lineage back to Thelátimos on both sides. Niryn could prove it, when the time came. He, and only he, would restore the Sword of Ghërilain to a woman’s hand when the Lightbearer gave the sign. In the meantime, she had grown up safely anonymous, unknown even to herself. She knew only that she was an orphan, and Niryn was her kindly benefactor and guardian. Allowed no other male companions, she doted on him and missed him terribly when he was away—as she believed—attending to his shipping business in the capital.
“It’s very cruel of you to make me wait so long,” she said, still chiding, though he saw the flush rising in her unblemished cheek as she drew him by the hand to his chair in the sitting room. Settling happily on his lap, she kissed him again and gave his beard a playful tug.
Despite her disfigured
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