Tigana by Guy Kay (novel24 txt) 📕

the chair. Her high laughter turned into another desperate fit of coughing; the blue silk came up, and when it was withdrawn there was a great deal of blood again. She clutched at the arms of her chair to steady herself.

‘You are a child,’ she pronounced finally. ‘And my son is a child for all the grey in his hair. And I have no doubt that Baerd bar Saevar is exactly the same, with half the grace and the gifts his father had. “Something has happened this spring,”’ she mimicked with cruel precision. Her voice grew hard and cold as midwinter ice: ‘Do you infants have any idea what has really just happened in the Palm?’

Slowly her son rose from his knees to stand before her. ‘We have been riding for a number of days and nights. We have heard no tidings. What is it?’

‘I told you there was news,’ Danoleon said quickly. ‘But I had no chance to give you the—’

‘I am pleased,’ Pasithea interrupted. ‘So very pleased. It seems I still have something to tell my son before I leave him forever. Something he hasn’t learned or thought out all by himself already.’ She pushed herself erect again in the chair, her eyes cold and bright like frost under blue moonlight. There was something wild and lost in her voice though, trying to break through. Some terrible fear, and of more than death. She said:

‘A messenger came yesterday at sunset, at the end of the Ember Days. An Ygrathen, riding from Stevanien with news from Chiara. News so urgent Brandin had sent it by his sorcerous link to all his Governors with instructions to spread the tidings.’

‘And the tidings are?’ Alessan had braced himself, as if preparing to receive a blow.

‘The tidings? The tidings, my feckless child, are that Brandin has just abdicated as King of Ygrath. He is sending his army home. And his Governors. All those who choose to stay with him must become citizens of this peninsula. Of a new dominion: the Kingdom of the Western Palm. Chiara, Corte, Asoli, Lower Corte. Four provinces under Brandin on the Island. He has announced that we are free of Ygrath, no longer a colony. Taxes are to be shared equally among us now, and they have been cut in half. Beginning yesterday. Cut by considerably more than half here in Lower Corte. Our burden will now be equal with the others. The messenger said that the people of this province—the people your father ruled—were singing Brandin’s name in the streets of Stevanien.’

Alessan, moving very carefully, as if he were carrying something large and heavy that might shift and fall, turned towards Danoleon. Who was nodding his head.

‘It seems that there was an assassination attempt on the Island three days ago,’ the High Priest said. ‘Originating in Ygrath: the Queen and Brandin’s son, the Regent. It apparently failed only because of one of his Tribute women. The one from Certando who almost started a war. You may remember that, twelve, fourteen years ago? It seems that in the wake of this Brandin has changed his mind about what he has been doing. Not about staying in the Palm, or about Tigana and his revenge, but about what must be done in Ygrath if he continues here.’

‘And he is going to continue here,’ Pasithea said. ‘Tigana will die, still be lost forever to his vengeance, but our people will be singing the Tyrant’s name as it dies. The name of the man who killed your father.’

Alessan was nodding his head reflexively. He seemed, in fact, scarcely to be listening, as if he had suddenly withdrawn entirely inside himself. Pasithea fell silent in the face of that, looking at her son. It grew deathly still in the room. Outside, far away, the uncontrolled shouts and laughter of the children in the field came to their ears again, the louder for the silence within. Devin listened to that distant mirth and tried to slow the chaos of his heart, to attempt to deal with what they had just heard.

He looked at Erlein, who had laid down his harp on the window-ledge and walked a few steps into the room, his expression troubled and wary. Devin tried desperately to think, to gather his scattered thoughts, but the news had caught him hopelessly unprepared. Free of Ygrath. Which was what they wanted, wasn’t it? Except that it wasn’t. Brandin was staying, they were not free of him, or the weight of his magic. And Tigana? What of Tigana now?

And then, quite unexpectedly, there was something else bothering him. Something different. A distracting, niggling awareness tugging at the corner of his mind. Telling him there was something he should know, should remember.

Then, equally without warning, the something slid forward and into place. In fact . . .

In fact, he knew exactly what was wrong.

Devin closed his eyes for a moment, fighting a sudden paralysing fear. Then, as quietly as he could, he began working his way along the western wall away from the fireplace where he had been standing all this time.

Alessan was speaking now, almost to himself. He said: ‘This changes things of course. It changes a great deal. I’m going to need time to think it through, but I believe it may actually help us. This may truly be a gift not a curse.’

‘How? Are you genuinely simple?’ his mother snapped. ‘They are singing the Tyrant’s name in the streets of Avalle!’

Devin winced at the old name, the desperate pain at the heart of that cry, but he forced himself to keep moving. A terrifying certainty was rising within him.

‘I hear you, I understand. But don’t you see?’ Alessan dropped to his knees on the carpet again, close to his mother’s chair. ‘The Ygrathen army is going home. If he has to fight a war it will have to be with an army of our people and what few Ygrathens stay with him. What . . . oh, Mother . . .