But Derlian seemed to shake off a spell, And he turned and gazed at the city on the hill, A faint smile on his face, his voice like a bell. "My lady, come with me, if you will, And I will show you the inside of the palisade, Where I invite you to go, man or maid." He darted her a glance, and Alferia thought, Well. He can stand there, a kepibaum kill,
And then refer to my statement in teasing note. She smiled as best she could, and said, "My lord, gasps of wonder might tear my throat, And continue to assault me until I am dead. Would it not be better if I stayed out here?" And she had to pause as his eyes flared with cheer, And he laughed, but not as one who would gloat. "No, my lady. If such wit you have," he said,
His eyes still glowing, bright if not hard as jewels, "Then I think it best you come inside Summerfire. Such wit as was born there too often cools. We need you to teach us again the meaning of fire!" He bowed to her, and then stepped forward. Alferia took a step after, and then the sward Seemed to explode, sweeping up like whirlpools From the maw of a sea's hungry desire.
Alferia froze in terror; Derlian glanced back, And made a face, and gave a sudden sharp call. Alferia briefly saw a flash of blue-black, And then there was nothing but scent there at all. She glanced up, and saw his hair lifted aloft By the magewinds that around their lord were soft. "I am sorry, my lady. Some grace my winds lack, And would have made you, at the least, trip or fall."
Derlian seemed to her to frown at the air, And spoke in what seemed a low chiding whistle. Alferia subjected the nothingness to a hard stare, And received back hostility that made her bristle. But the magewinds let her see them, twining streams Of the kind of pale green and gold seen in dreams, And Alferia felt them briefly pass through her hair. Derlian said, "They can sting like a thistle,
"Or be sweet as clover, when they but wish." He shook his head and turned back to the city, With magewinds sporting in his hair like fish. Alferia followed, thinking it was a pity That she could not command wild magic of her own. The magewinds had had her for a moment thrown, And she wanted such vengeance as she could but wish. Then she looked up; and her anger seemed a small ditty
Before the symphony of awe that overcame her. The palisade could not hide the buildings of gold, Or some material like it, reflecting back the shimmer Of summer sun as though too brilliant to hold. Derlian let out a soft laugh, and something strange Passed through the buildings; the nearest a change Underwent, to something with a dark glimmer. Derlian turned to Alferia. "My lady, now behold
"The wonder that is and always was Summerfire!" He held up a hand, and suddenly Alferia's gaze Seemed to be speeding on a magewind of her desire, Passing over the palisade into the glinting blaze Of buildings, and streets, and tree-lined corridors, Made of a silver that somewhere Laerfren adores. Alferia could see shining faces, hear notes of lyre, And then she seemed to pass into a maze
Made of so many different and clashing kinds of trees That she could not name them, or so she thought, Even were she not passing them on the wings of a breeze. But still the magewind in that maze was caught, And she wandered past rocks as craggy as tiny mountains, And glinting snow-rills borne into sleek silvern fountains, And here and there a glade made for heartsease. Then the magewind that her to this place had brought
Seemed to shake its head, and like a dolphin spring Into the air, to take her to places she had not seen. Alferia heard glinting trills and birdsong past her ring, And then she was somewhere in a world of ultimate green, Green as the Auda-water on a perfect summer day Made for the singing and the lazing and the whiling away. Alferia felt her heart rise, and beat, and sing, And she reached out her will towards that deep sheen.
It came closer, and she found herself in a grove Made of trees with that green in their leaves and veins, While their trunks were as silver as honor or love. Alferia saw butterflies with lavender in their trains Of tails and wings as thin and fragile as silk. She saw an ivy-like plant the color of milk Draped about the boughs like a snake too lazy to move. Green and silver and white, they burned her like flames.
She turned, and the magewind let her turn, And Alferia's gaze fell on a small perfect pool, So blue that once again her soul began to burn, So blue that Alferia thought she could desire no jewel- Not the tourmaline that her mother so prized, Not the night sapphire that so often surprised One with the colors that its darkness could learn- Next to that water motionless, deep, and cool.
Alferia came closer, and knelt as if on the bank. It seemed to her that a deep and sacred stillness lay In this place, as if someone came here to thank A deeply loved goddess each and every day. She opened her mouth to say or whisper a prayer, And then hesitated. There was something else in the air, Like joy presented in rank on serried rank, The kind of joy presented and held in art or play.
She closed her eyes, and as if it had been waiting There came to her a face, in the dark of her mind. It looked much like the face her mother had been fating Her to destroy since she was in the womb blind. But though the hair was red, the red of Summerfire, The eyes were green-gold as summer leaves' desire For the sun and the light. Alferia felt she was not hating The spirit that prompted it enough, and tried to bind
In her wonder, her sharpness, her hysterical joy, To the purpose for which she had ultimately come. Then the green-gold eyes moved, making light a toy, And gazed upon her with sadness that struck her dumb. One hand reached out, as if to grasp her own hand, The hand of one who was once Lord of this land, And Alferia hesitated, wondering if she could destroy, Even for the sake of her own and Mariera's freedom,
One who stood there and looked like that at her, One whose soul shone in utter peace through his eyes, One whose face was less of fire, more of summer. He looked mild, unhateful, both wild and wise. And then she remembered her mother's taut look, And reminded herself that she knelt in a nook Of a place where the wild magic could still stir, Tame though it might seem, and tamed her surprise.
Of course the face of the enemy would seem fair. Of course she could see the point in not destroying Something that was a place that others found fair. But she and her mother should be here, enjoying The delights and the riches and the wonders of Summerfire. Her mother should have been granted her one desire, To rule as she was made for, in this place where The rule of the Lords true freedom was cloying.
Alferia opened her eyes, and the face was gone, Though she still knelt by the peaceful small pool. Then the whole vision swam with light like the dawn, And she found herself looking at a faceted jewel, Not as rich to the eye, though still a goodly green. She looked up, and found herself by other eyes seen, By the eyes of Derlian, who glided like a swan Into a small room by magewinds kept cool.
"Are you well, my lady?" he asked in concern. "I would not have withdrawn you from the wind, But you seemed to tremble, at other times to burn, As if fear and desire within you were twinned. I thought it best, not knowing what you might see, To draw you back. I am sure that you agree?" And he tilted his head. Alferia wanted to spurn Such patronizing blither. Against her he had sinned
Almost constantly since she had come here. But her goal was to win entrance into his heart, And so she drove back the words that would sear, And forced herself to take a modest maid's part. Casting down her eyes once again to the floor, She murmured the words her mother had said before, "My lord, I am content, and if you must fear For my safety, then I will yield to your art."
"You have little choice." Alferia looked up then, And saw Derlian frowning at her, wind in his hair. "Such demure things are not at all Elwen," He said, "and neither to me nor yourself fair. My lady, tell me the truth: am I patronizing?" And words leaped out, both her and him surprising: "No, I do not really think so. But women Are not the frail creatures you think we are."
"I never said so," said Derlian. "But a man rules Summerfire always, or so I have heard." Derlian's eyes once again flashed like jewels, And his voice was the song of some bitter bird. "That is because the wild magic so chooses. A female heir it always scorns and refuses. I do not know why. Such a fate cools A wandering spirit here, and makes absurd
"With hate and longing another who, maybe, Would do a better job of ruling Summerfire, Better than my ancestors, and better than me." Alferia stared at him; was her mother's desire Legitimate by his lights? But then, before She could speak the words, a knock on the door Interrupted her. Derlian sighed. "I am not free To ignore that, if I wish to stay off the pyre."
Or, if you like, on to the sixth canto.
Or, if you want, back to the fourth canto.
