Soul of the Fire

"Minister Chanboor is a man of honor. His policies have been good for Anderith. He has been respectful of the laws Edwin has proposed." She took another gulp of wine. "We are fortunate to have Bertrand Chanboor as the Minister of Culture. I have a hard time imagining another man who could do everything he does."

Linscott lifted an eyebrow. "Quite a ringing endorsement, from a woman of your renown. We all know that you, Claudine, are as important to those laws as Edwin.", "You are too kind," she mumbled, staring into her cup. "I am just the wife of an important man. I would be little missed and quickly forgotten were I to have broken my neck out there tonight. Edwin will be honored long and well."

Linscott puzzled at the top of her head.

"Claudine thinks far too little of herself," Dalton said. He caught sight of the seneschal, impeccably dressed in a long-tailed red coat crossed with a sash of many colors, opening the double doors. Beyond the doors, the lavers, with rose petals floating in them, awaited the guests.

Dalton turned to the Director. "I suppose you know who will be the guest of honor tonight?"

Linscott frowned. "Guest of honor?"

"A representative from the Imperial Order. A highranking man by the name of Stein. Come to tell us Emperor Jagang's words." Dalton took another sip. "The Sovereign has come, too, to hear those words."

Linscott sighed with the weight of this news. Now the man knew why he had been summoned, along with the other Directors, to what they had thought was no more than an ordinary feast at the estate. The Sovereign, for his own safety, rarely announced his appearances in advance. He had arrived with his own special guards and a large contingent of servants.

Teresa's face glowed as she smiled up at Dalton, eager for the evening's events. Claudine stared at the floor.

"Ladies and gentleman," the seneschal announced, "if it would please you, dinner is served."

CHAPTER 21

She spread her wings, and her rich voice sang out with the somber strains of a tale more ancient than myth.

Came the visions of icy beauty, from the land of death where they dwell.

Pursuing their prize and grisly duty, came the thieves of the charm and spell.

The bells chimed thrice, and death came a-calling.

Alluring of shape though seldom seen, they traveled the breeze on a spark.

Some fed twigs to their newborn queen, while others invaded the dark.

The bells chimed thrice, and death came a-calling.

Some they called and others they kissed as they traveled on river and wave.

With resolve they came and did insist: every one touched to a grave.

The bells chimed thrice, and death came a-calling.

Roving to hunt and gathering to dance, they practiced their dark desires by casting a hex and a beautiful trance, before feeding the queen's new fires.

The bells chimed thrice, and death came a-calling.

Till he parted the falls and the bells chimed thrice, till he issued the calls and demanded the price, the bells chimed thrice and death met the Mountain.

They charmed and embraced and they tried to extoll but he bade them in grace and demanded a soul.

The bells fell silent and the Mountain slew them all. And the Mountain entombed them all.

With an impossibly long note, the young woman concluded her bewitching song. The guests broke into applause.

It was an archaic lyric of Joseph Ander and for that reason alone was cherished. Dalton had once leafed through old texts to see what he could learn of the song's meaning, but found nothing to shed light on the intent of the words, which, there being a number of versions, weren't always the same. It was one of those songs which no one really understood but everyone treasured because it was obviously a triumph of some sort for one of their land's beloved venerable founders. For the sake of tradition the haunting melody was sung on special occasions.

For some reason, Dalton had the odd feeling that the words now meant more to him than ever before. They seemed somehow nearly to make sense. As quickly as the sensation came, his mind was on to other things and the feeling passed.

The woman's long sleeves skimmed the floor as she held her arms wide while bowing to the Sovereign, and then once again to the applauding people at the head table beside the Sovereign's table. A baldachin of silk and gold brocade ran up the wall behind and then in billowing folds out over the two head tables. The baldachin's corners were held up with outsized Anderith lances. The effect was to make the head tables appear as if they were on a stage-which, in many ways, Dalton supposed they were.

The songstress bowed to the diners at the long rows of tables running down each side of the dining hall. Her sleeves were overlaid with spotted white owl feathers, so that when she spread her arms in song she appeared to be a winged woman, like something out of the ancient stories she sang.