The Song of Andiene - By Elisa Blaisdell Page 0,112
can command, and see them scattered to the ends of the earth, so his city lies defenseless and he has no place to hide!”
Then she spoke more gently, and told Ilbran all her plan, as she had told it to Kallan, speaking proudly and confidently.
Ilbran caught his breath in horror. “You cannot mean it. How many will die? These are your own people.”
“Not many will die, and only those that serve the usurper.”
“Ones will die that did not serve willingly. I might be among them, if my life had not been driven astray from its course, when I found you.”
For the first time, he had reminded her of the debt she owed him. It angered her.
“I might have lived without your aid,” she said, and her voice was hard. “I had another one to guard me and to guide me. But I will be bound this much by the debt of gratitude. Show me a gentler path to my kingdom, and I will take it.”
Ilbran shook his head helplessly. “I can think of none. But what of my child? Where is her place in your plans? Does she join in the slaughter?”
“No! You brought this about. I had another plan, a gentle one. With Kare to help me, I could have wrought so that none died but one—you know which one.”
“Have you forgotten already what happens when she joins with you? I thought she would die.”
“It was the same with me,” Andiene said confidently. “She has not been trained. I can teach her to bear her power.”
“You will not!” Ilbran exclaimed. “I want her to forget her past, what she has done. I want you to teach her nothing.”
Andiene’s voice sharpened, though they spoke in whispers so the sound would not carry to the camp below.
“Even her mother taught her good things, the herb-lore that she used to heal you.”
That blow struck near the heart. Ilbran had to force himself to speak calmly. “You do not know what you are saying. Her mother broke the Law, delved deep in the earth to bury the men she destroyed. She taught her child and filled her with knowledge in the same way that the butcher fattens a calf for the slaughter.”
Even in the dim light, he could see the color leave her face. “No! I did not realize … Very well then, you are her father. She can stand apart from the battle. Lenane will have no part of it either. You can be with them if you wish.”
Ilbran saw himself waiting in safety like another girl-child, while she went into battle. It was an unbearable picture. “I will fight for you, not hide coward-like and ashamed!” he exclaimed.
Andiene gave a little laugh, and spoke more gently. Harsh words had been said, but none that could not be forgotten. And on that autumn night, they found it easy to forgive.
But the battle plan ran through Ilbran’s mind—to use magic and fear to destroy the greatest army that a king could muster. When he slept, he dreamed of it. He walked through a wide valley, abloom with rusty flowers. Dead men lay in it, too many to carry to their rightful resting places.
Though it was a dream-country, it had bright colors, the texture and scent of reality about it. From across the fields came Ilbran’s comrades. Kallan’s eyes were bright with pride as he surveyed the morning’s work. Syresh was more pale and grim, but full of pride also. The others, the newcomers, straggled after them, Sireles, Eliad, Mikel brown, and all the others. Though blood marked their skin and clothes, they lived, all of them. They lived and were strong. Their laughter shook the far-off mountains. Only Andiene and Ilbran joined hands and wept, as he cast aside his bloody sword.
At last they rose, and walked up the hill, silent in victory, to where Lenane and Kare waited for them. But Lenane came to them sobbing, and Ilbran’s heart grew chill as death. Kare lay on the crest of the hill, between the dragon’s paws.
Dead beyond the shadow of a doubt. Even from a distance, that was dream-clear. Ilbran ran to her. Dead and diminished she lay, next to that gray-scaled massiveness. A scrap of nothingness, as fragile as the empty robes of the grizane.
Then he woke.
When he rose from Andiene’s side, she turned and flung out her arm, but did not wake. Fragments of Lenane’s songs drifted through his mind.