diary of Gandam, who as you know put himself under intolerable duress to learn the pegasus language, that he might write the treaty, and died of the strain.”
Everyone knew about Gandam. It was one of the first history lessons all human children learnt. Sylvi had always wondered who had taught Gandam, and if Gandam had tried to teach the human language as well; was there a pegasus shaman who died? She would ask Ebon.
“From that very first meeting—from the first sighting, when the soldiers knelt, for they feared they were in the presence of gods or demons—from that first contact, it is clear: it is not for humans to speak plainly to the pegasi, nor the pegasi to humans: not without the safeguard of a magician’s strong magic between the two. The two races are too dissimilar: any attempt to draw them close together can only do injury—the incomprehension between our two peoples is a warning we ignore at our peril. The only other human besides Gandam who has ever become truly fluent in the pegasus language was the magician Boronax, and he too went mad. Since Boronax there have been rules laid down for us, the magicians and Speakers who serve you, lord, and who have served and will serve all the kings and queens before and after you—rules, so that we may learn enough of the pegasus language to make that service well and truly, and yet not so much as to harm ourselves or you; and even so we use magic to protect ourselves in ways we cannot use to protect you.”
Maybe it’s only magicians it happens to, thought Sylvi, but she was beginning to feel a little frightened. She remembered saying to Ahathin, when he told her of how Speaking was taught, but the pegasi are so light. She thought of Fralialal, and the twinkle of eight-hundred-year-old flower petals.
She looked away from Fthoom, toward Ebon. What’s going on? he said. I can tell you’re not happy, and my father doesn’t like what he’s hearing from your father and Fazuur, but I can’t pick up any of it.
Ebon, do you know about Gandam? The magician who wrote the treaty and then went mad and died? Did a pegasus die too?
What? Gandam died because he was old and sick. I never heard he was mad. D’you mean did a pegasus get knocked on the head to keep him company on the Long Road? Ugh. Is that what old Eyeballs there is telling you?
No. It’s just—oh, I can’t listen and—I’ll tell you later.
Ahathin only just brushed his Speaker sticks—the faint tock they made could only have been heard by Sylvi and Ebon, and possibly the nearest expressionless footman. Sylvi said, Oh—I’m being a featherbrain. Ahathin can tell you. And she made, for the first time, the gesture asking a Speaker to translate.
Fthoom droned on: “. . . the sovereign families of each race are bound to the sovereign families of the other; king to king, king’s child to king’s child: here is the true strength of the treaty, as stone and brick are set together to make a wall....”
Although not always consort to consort, thought Sylvi. And the cousins are always a muddle. And ... Dad’s dad had the same thing happen to him; everybody thought their queen was going to marry someone else. I wonder how often that happens. I’ll ask Ahathin. She could hear Ahathin murmuring to Ebon, and didn’t want to interrupt. And what about when the sovereignship goes to another family, like when the Sword left Grinbad and went to Rudolf ? And what about someone like Erisika? She grabbed the Sword when the king died because she was nearest and then there wasn’t anyone to give it to so she kept it and she won the battle and when the king’s son grew up and became King Udorin he married her even though she was a cabinet-maker’s daughter because, he said, what did he want with a lady when he could have the woman who saved the realm? And she’d borne him three daughters and a son, as fast as she could, she said, because she was old for child-bearing. Sylvi told herself the story with Fthoom’s voice booming in her ears, to give herself courage. Erisika would not have been frightened of Fthoom, and she, Sylvi, had Erisika’s blood in her veins.
Fthoom was still going on, sentence after ostentatious sentence, about the Alliance. I don’t believe any of it, thought Sylvi. It’s like