Sing the Four Quarters

CHAPTER NINETEEN

"… because you've probably been in labor for the last few hours."

"But I've had worse cramping during my flows," Annice protested as Elica sat her down on the end of the bed.

"Good." The healer turned to a bow! of warm water a curious server had just brought in and began washing her hands. "You may breeze right through this. We'll get you cleaned up and into a smock and then we'll find the rhythm of the contractions." She shot a grin over her shoulder at Annice. "You can put it to music if you like."

Annice felt some of her apprehension fade and took a deep breath, unlacing tightly clasped fingers.

"What should I do?" Pjerin hadn't realized how small Annice actually was until he'd carried her down from the top of the tower—all the way from Elbasan, even before at the keep, she'd given the impression of being much larger. She'd convinced him to let her walk once they reached level ground, by the volume of her arguments if nothing else, but he'd kept her arm tucked in his while he sent the first person he saw running to find the healer. He paced to her side, then back to the door, then to her side again. "Should I boil water? Rip up sheets? Rub her back?"

"Ow! Pjerin!"

Elica sighed. "Don't you have a war to fight, Your Grace?"

"A war?" For a moment Pjerin's face went blank. "Center it!" Three long strides and he was almost out of the room, three more and he returned to gently hold her face cupped between his hands. "I can't stay, Annice. I'm sorry. But I've got to…"

"I understand." She pushed her hands up under his. "I'm fine."

He snorted. "You keep saying that."

"Then keep believing it."

Bending forward, he kissed her lightly, then, as the sound of someone shouting for him drifted in through the shuttered window, almost ran from the room.

"Did you want him with you?" Elica asked, helping Annice to her feet and pulling the damp shift up over her head.

Emerging from a fold of fabric, Annice winced at »a sudden contraction more powerful than the rest. "No." Her tone dressed the words in a multitude of meaning. "He got me here. I think he's done enough."

"Are they still holding back?"

Tadeus cocked his head into the breeze. "Yes, Majesty. Just out of bow shot."

Theron grunted and pulled on his gloves. "Stasya ready on the battlements?" The bards would not only use the kigh to carry orders beyond the range of his voice, but would see to it that everyone, regardless of what language they spoke would understand what was happening.

"She's there, but she's not happy. She'd much rather be with Annice."

"I know. I wish I could allow it, but we need her too badly out here. What about you?"

"Me, Majesty?" Tadeus grinned. "No, thank you. I've been with Annice when she's not having a good time, so all things being enclosed, I'd much rather stay here, be shot full of arrows, galloped over by heavy cavalry, have my throat slit by a camp follower, and my broken body left to rot under a merciless sun."

"Idiot," Theron muttered. "Are you sure my message got through to the captain in Elbasan?"

"Perfectly sure, Majesty."

"Then all we can do is wait." He squinted up at the sun. "Still, there's no question that waiting beats dying."

"How much longer is this going to go on?" Pjerin growled, stomping up from the barricades and yanking off his helm. With his hair clubbed back tightly into a wire-bound braid, the angles of his face enhanced an irritated expression. A knee-length vest of scale added a certain barbaric splendor compared to the simple breast-and-back of the king's company. Although he wore greaves, they were boiled leather rather than metal and both arms were covered wrist to elbow in laced leather guards. Waving his huge mountain bow at the keep, he snarled, "I thought the healer was going to tell us when something happened!"

Theron covered a smile. "Then nothing has happened."

"But it's been hours!"

"Pjerin, I sat with Her Majesty through the birth of each of our three children and I've learned from the experience—babies come in their own good time and there's nothing in the Circle you, as a father, can do to change that."

"Gerek was easier," Pjerin muttered, cramming his helm back on. "No one told me when it started, just when it was over. Handed me my son and that was that."

As the due stomped back to the barricade, Theron shook his head. "With any luck, the baby will get his looks, her voice, and someone else's temperament."

"Is he very beautiful?" Tadeus asked, sounding just a little wistful.

"I heard you sing 'Darkling Lover' just outside Caciz," Theron reminded the bard. "It contains some pretty explicit description, don't you think?"

"Explicit, Majesty, is not always accurate."

"Well, allowing for the passage of time, it's accurate enough."

Tadeus sighed. "Lucky Annice."

"How long does this usually go on?" Annice panted, right hand gripping the crook of Elica's elbow and her left pressed flat against the wall to support her weight. She'd lost track of how many times they'd walked up and down the hall, bare feet shuffling against the smooth stone. Although the contractions were definitely coming closer together and with greater intensity, as far as she could tell, nothing much seemed to be happening.

Elica shifted position slightly so that they both fit through the doorway. "It isn't over until it's over, Annice. Every woman is different. Every baby is unique."

"That's not very reassuring."

The village midwife stood as they came back into the room. She was a plump, grandmotherly sort of woman with tiny hands and a perpetual smile Annice was beginning to find extremely annoying. "So, how are we doing?" she asked.

"We," Annice began, but a contraction cut her off. She hadn't been able to talk through them for some time, and when it finally ended, she'd forgotten what she meant to say.

"Fifty-six," the midwife said. They'd established early on that her pulse would be used for timing.

"Good." Elica lowered Annice onto the clean sheet that draped the end of the bed. "I need to have a look and see how far dilated you are."

"A look?" Annice's eyes widened. "Are you talking about what I think you're talking about?"

"Probably." They had a small fire going in the fireplace and a kettle sitting over it on a tripod. Elica poured some of the hot water into a basin and washed her hands.

Fingers twisting the sheet into two sweaty bundles, Annice reclined against the pile of pillows and tried to relax. "How come nobody warned me about all this?" she asked the top of the healer's head.

"Well, possibly because you decided to take a Walk to Ohrid before anyone got the chance." Elica's tone made it quite clear what she thought of that particular choice.

"You're the one who told me pregnancy wasn't a disease."

"I'm also the one who told you there'd have to be some changes in your lifestyle."

"There were. Rescuing beautiful, arrogant men from execution and then waddling across the country with them was not something I'd previously made a habit of."

Elica looked up and smiled. "If you still have enough energy to be witty, you're doing all right."

As compared to what? Annice thought as another contraction hit.

The half-dozen horsemen, lances fixed, galloped wildly at the barricade under a rain of arrows. A horse screamed and stumbled as a feathered mountain-shaft penetrated a boiled leather crupper but managed to keep its feet.

"Hold your fire!" Lady Jura bellowed.

Tadeus Sang the command over the pass.

Behind one of the arrow slits built into the barricade, Pjerin stood, string at ear, triangular arrowhead centered unwaveringly on an approaching breastplate. He'd killed Otik with no time to think, no time to consider what he was doing. He'd tried to save Lukas; perhaps not as hard as he might have, but he'd tried. This was different. This was cold-blooded killing. Not a stag, not a boar, not a bear. A person. With a name and a family.

Who would destroy his name and his family if they could.

He'd told Annice he was tired of death. And he was. And it didn't matter.

Just before they reached the planted spikes, when the Cemandian pulled his horse's head around to wheel back the way he'd come, Pjerin loosed the string. At such close range, the arrow easily pierced the breastplate, the force of the impact lifting the Cemandian out of the saddle.

The body hit the ground, rolled, and lay still.

"Center it! I said hold your fire!" Lady Jura bellowed again. The guard had obeyed, but the people of Ohrid, following the example of their due and less than willing to take orders from a Shkoder noble, continued to fill the pass with little effect.

The riderless horse wheeled and raced away with its companions. One of the remaining Cemandians swayed in the saddle and another carried a crossbow quarrel spiked through stirrup and leg.

One final flight struck sparks, metal against the stone, before the enemy was obviously out of range.

Glaring at the waste, Jura stomped to Theron's side. "Sing this," she snarled at Tadeus. "The next person who shoots after I've told them to stop is in more danger from me than from the Cemandians! And that," she added, twisting around to face Pjerin as Tadeus began to Sing, dropping her voice so as not to be overheard "includes you, Your Grace."

Pjerin stiffened. "Lady Jura, this is my land."

"And your liege has given me battle command."

Under the edge of her helm, her pale eyes glittered dangerously. "If there're Cemandians in that pass and I tell Your Grace to hold your fire, it would be in your best interest if you listened." As he ground his teeth together, she caught his gaze and held it. "We haven't time to turn your people and my people into one unit, but if we want to save your land and my land, we all have to be very clear on who's in charge."

"Your pardon." He inclined his head, the motion in no way a surrender, at best a grudging acknowledgment of the truth. "It won't happen again."

"Thank you, Your Grace." Point made, she nodded and looked away first, making it seem as though he had released her.

"What did Prince Rajmund hope to accomplish with that?" Theron asked, pleased with the way Jura had handled the due. They had too few people to worry about inherited rank over ability, but it was equally important that the leadership they had not be undermined. And she says she's no diplomat.

"He was testing us, Majesty," she snapped. "Drawing our fire to build an idea of our strength and we gave him exactly what he wanted."

"Testing us with the bodies of his own people?"

"Every army has a few hotheads who don't believe they can be killed."

"Well, now he has one less," Pjerin said quietly.

"Shallow breaths, Annice. You don't want to push yet."

"… why… not…"

"Because your body isn't ready."

"… tired…"

"I know."

"… hurts…"

Jazep shoved his way through the underbrush and out into the west end of the valley. The keep of Ohrid brooded in the distance.

By avoiding the kigh and tracking by more mundane methods, he'd managed to very nearly catch up with Annice and her companion. He only hoped he was in time. He hadn't been able to Sing up a kigh since just after dawn. It wasn't that they weren't listening. There weren't any around.

Breathing heavily, he wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of one grimy hand and let his pack slide to the ground. Then he blinked as a low wave ran the length of the distant fields; north to south and back again.

"This isn't good."

Dropping to one knee, he pressed both palms hard against the earth and Sang.

The wave paused, then slowly continued, the swell growing larger with each pass.

"What the…?"

Thanking all the gods in the Circle that the sun had shifted enough to stop blinding them, Jura peered up the pass. "It's called a tortoise. One of His Highness' commanders probably picked it up from the Empire."

Pjerin glared at the advancing square of overlapped shields and knew that the view from the battlements would be the same. "We can't get arrows through that!"

Jura snorted. "That's the idea, Your Grace."

At that moment, the front rank parted slightly in three places and a trio of naming arrows thudded into the barricade, splattering hot pitch against the wood.

Then three more.

Then three more.

"Leave them," Jura barked. "Show yourself to put them out and they'll put one in you. Tadeus, stones."

Tadeus Sang and up on the battlements, Stasya turned and waved her fist in the air. Grinning broadly, Vencel set his bow aside, balanced a head-sized rock on one hand, then heaved. It arced up and over and slammed down onto the top of the shields.

A dozen followed, some smaller, a couple larger.

For a greater part of the night, those not building the barricade had loaded the battlements.

Under the second onslaught, the shield wall broke.

Jura nodded. "Now, fire."

Four more bodies littered the pass.

Elica forced her concentration back to Annice. There was someone hurt, dying. She could feel it even through

Annice's labor. Feel the loss of a life she could have saved.

The rich topsoil of the fields began to heave.

Bagpipes in one hand, tambour in the other, Jazep ran toward the pass, head down, short legs churning. With all her abilities thrown to earth, Annice was stronger than he thought. He didn't know what was going to happen, but he was afraid he was going to be too late to stop it.

"Stasya says there's something going on. She can see a lot of activity all grouped in one place but can't make out what's happening."

"What about the kigh?" Theron asked.

Tadeus shook his head. "I can't make any sense out of what they're telling me. His Highness seems to be building something."

"Catapult?" the king wondered.

"Too complicated," Jura growled. "He doesn't care about the keep, he just wants us out of his way."

"Battering ram."

King and commander turned toward Pjerin. Jura nodded grimly. "Odds are good."

There was a rhythm to the pain and that was all that made it endurable. Her body Sang a scale, up and down then up again, never so high she couldn't hit that top note, but every time it trembled just at the edge of her range.

During the high notes, her whole world narrowed to Elica's voice soothing, supporting, keeping her focused on what she had to do.

Which was nothing.

Except ride the pain.

Sing the scale.

Endure.

During the low notes, when she could think a little, all she could think of was how totally her body had moved out of her control. All her personal boundaries had been breached. She felt as though she were being physically invaded.

And she didn't like it.

The valley stirred in answer to her Song. A hillock began to form in the cornfield, shoots growing out of it at odd angles as more and more earth moved into the shape.

A head.

Shoulders.

Two more bodies lay sprawled in the pass. One had managed to crawl back far enough to be dragged to safety.

"What's he doing?" Pjerin demanded, wiping his eyes as smoke and steam rose off the barricade. "He knows we can break up those unclosed turtles of his before the fire really catches. He's wasting lives!"

"He also knows how long we had to prepare, that we have a limited number of missiles on the battlements, and a limited number of people to get more." Jura explained without taking her gaze off the pass. "My guess is his ram's nearly done and he wants to disarm us as much as possible before he brings it out. He's forming up another square."

"Then we'll let it come!"

"We can't risk a lucky shot actually burning down the barricade, Your Grace."

"There has to be another way we can stop him then." Pjerin spat the words out like a challenge. "Ohrid will not tall."

"What about the kigh?" Theron asked, turning to Tadeus. "The Cemandians are terrified of the kigh. Couldn't you Sing something at them?"

Tadeus shook his head, dark curls lifting slightly in breeze only he could feel. "We're not allowed to use the kigh that way, Majesty. We've taken vows."

"And if I release you from them?"

"Begging your Majesty's pardon, but we didn't make them to you." All at once, Tadeus smiled. "But that does give me an idea. Captain!"

The troop captain, one leg straddling the top layer of logs, crossbow trained down the pass to cover the four guards attempting to put out the latest fires, grunted without turning.

"Does your troop know 'Shkoder's Glory'?"

He snorted and a couple of the guards glanced up at the bard with surprised expressions. "Of course they do. Why?"

Tadeus twitched his heavily embroidered, turquoise silk collar into place. "The next time that shield wall approaches, we're going to give a little concert, your troop and I." Turning the brilliance of his smile on Theron, he explained. "The Cemandians are so terrified of Singing the kigh that they have very little vocal music. A chorus of 'Shkoder's Glory' by an entire troop of guard in this enclosed space ought to give them something to think about."

Jura nodded approvingly. "Think about anything other than what you're doing and a tortoise falls apart; not enough room in there for mistakes. Might work."

"Sire?" The troop captain came off the barricade and stared up at the king.

"Best decide, Majesty," Pjerin called. "Here they come again."

Theron nodded. "Do it."

Tadeus straightened and took a deep breath. His clear tenor rose over the noise around him. "Seven hearts and seven hands and seven lives are all that stand…"

Lady Jura laid a surprisingly strong alto under the bard's voice.

"… shall we yield such hard bought land…"

One by one the guard joined in.

"… not while breath remains. Though no one lives to tell our story, we fight for greater gain than glory…"

The left arm pulled itself free. And then the right.

"This is impossible." When Terezka had given birth, although the kigh had been very present, they'd been no larger than usual. "Trust Annice."

Eyes on the huge kigh forming between him and the keep, Jazep fell, somehow managing to avoid landing on either instrument. With one foot back under him, he paused. Over the sound of his breath scraping in and out of his lungs, he could hear singing.

The kigh cocked its massive head to listen as well. * * *

Vencel clutched at Stasya's arm as the song echoed between the mountain and the keep. "What are they doing?"

The bard shrugged. "I'm not sure." She knew the song. It was one of those patriotic death before dishonor anthems sure to be requested if there were two or more guards in the same inn.

"Is it bardic?"

"Not the way you mean." She frowned down at the approaching Cemandians, tried just for a moment not to think about Annice, and almost understood.

"Why aren't we stopping them?" Vencel scooped up a melon-sized rock in each hand. When they were gone, he had only three remaining. Along the battlements, other villagers began shouting similar questions.

Stasya waved at them to be quiet. Even if the words were in another language, surely they could hear what was going on.

The guard seemed to be throwing the song at the enemy.

This square was not as solid as the others had been. Cracks were definitely showing.

The first naming arrow hit the barricade, but the second plowed into the dirt a body length away.

An answering arrow flashed from the barricade and into the space between two shields.

The song gained in defiant volume.

The square fell apart as those at the rear, without the press of bodies to drive them forward, broke and ran.

"Bows!" Stasya yelled. "Your due's quite a shot," she added a moment later as a second Cemandian fell. Pjerin was the only one at ground level using a mountain bow.

Vencel grinned and notched an arrow. "We eat a lot of venison."

"All right, Annice, on this next contraction, I want you to push."

Annice forced her eyes open for the first time in what seemed like days. "Push… what?" she croaked. She'd always thought that when it came to it, her body would know instinctively what to do. Her body didn't have the faintest idea.

The legs under the great curve of belly were short and took very little time to form.

"I don't expect that'll work twice," Theron pronounced as the song fragmented into insults and jeers hurled at the retreating foe. "Prince Rajmund has proven himself too well prepared to invade without someone around who knows how things actually work."

"Albek," Pjerin snarled.

Theron nodded. "Very likely. Tadeus, what's wrong?" The bard had gone pale and his hands had come up as though he were… blind.

"The kigh. They're gone."

Up on the battlements, Stasya groped at the air. "Shit. Shit. Shit!"

"What?"

"They're coming with the battering ram!"

"So?"

She swallowed fear. This isn't like it was in the hole. This isn't like it was in the hole. "So we're on our own."

"That's it, Annice. Push."

Screaming would take more than she had left.

They'd had to cannibalize at least two wagons to hold the length and weight of the tree. A spiked metal cup hammered onto the head protected the men at the cross-pieces from the archers behind the barricade while shields fixed to the ram covered them from above.

Iron-bound wheels struck sparks against the stone of the pass.

"We can't stop that," Theron yelled. "Clear the barricade! Get ready for what follows!"

"To horse!" Jura bellowed.

Pjerin fired one last arrow, then ran with the rest. It infuriated him that he had to turn his back on Cemandia if only for a moment.

The earth trembled.

Several of the guards were flung to their knees.

Someone on the battlements screamed.

Paying no attention to the tiny creatures around its feet, the huge kigh reached the barricade an instant before the battering ram. As the metal head shattered the spikes, it ignored the shards of splintering wood that slammed into its legs and the lower curve of its belly and reached down, wrapping both hands around the massive trunk.

Over surrounding sounds of disbelief and terror, came a wet crackling, and the two Cemandian soldiers caught under its grip stopped moving. The rest, unable to see because of the shield protecting them and unable to hear over the impact, felt the ram lifted skyward. The lucky ones let go.

"What is it?" Theron demanded, shaking Tadeus by the arm.

"Majesty! I can't see it!"

The kigh held the ram for a moment, then threw it back over its shoulder.

"Take cover!"

Corporal Agniya dove for the side of the track and hit the ground shrieking as a piece of jagged metal as big around as her thumb went through her thigh.

"Push, Annice! I can see the top of the head!"

Pjerin threw himself flat as a wheel whistled over his head, then crawled to Theron's side.

"How do we stop it!"

"We can't!"

"Jazep?" Tadeus twisted around and grabbed at the panting bard. "What are you doing here?"

"Was following Annice's trail. She's doing this."

"Doing what?" Tadeus wailed.

"Near as I can figure, it's a giant, uh, well, earth kigh."

Pjerin rolled over and stared at the creature methodically stomping the barricade to kindling. He should have known. "I've got to get to her!"

"Hold it!" Theron snapped. "No one goes anywhere until we know what's going on!" He jabbed a finger toward Jazep. "Bard?"

"Yes, Majesty." Jazep swallowed, trying to catch his breath. "I Sing earth. Annice is…" He broke off, searching for the words. "Annice is earth right now."

Theron gritted his teeth. "Very bardic. I thought the kigh were less… physical."

"Usually they are, Majesty."

"Can you stop it?"

"I don't think so, Majesty. If I'd been here since the beginning, I might have been able to contain it, but…"

"Try!"

"Yes, Majesty!"

"Would you stop that!" Stasya shrieked as Vencel and everyone else on the battlements frantically flicked their fingers out in the sign against the kigh. "It doesn't work! It never works! And it certainly won't work against this!"

Pushing people aside, she ran for the stairs in the inner tower. She had to get to Annice. If anything had gone wrong, she'd never forgive herself for not being there. She knew that if she closed her eyes, she'd see the crushed bodies of the two Cemandians etched into the lids, but the only thought she could hold onto was, I warned her about this Mother-goddess shit.

"Just a little more, Annice, and I can help. Deep breath. Hold it. Now push."

Jazep began to Sing. The kigh paused, one foot raised. It shivered, as though it were shaking off a fly, and then continued to shuffle forward.

"Keep Singing," Theron commanded.

Clear of the debris, Pjerin stood and began to run for the gates.

Exactly halfway between the two forces, the kigh stopped and suddenly swung one massive arm, the blow taking a huge chunk out of the mountain.

"Head's clear." Elica bent and sucked the tiny mouth and nose free of mucus.

A faint cry of protest seemed to fill the room.

Annice tried to track the sound and failed. "What…?"

"It's your baby, Annice. Give me one more push and we'll get the shoulders…"

"My baby…" Staring down over the bulge of her body, Annice found herself responding to her first glimpse of an oddly shaped crescent of wet hair with a sudden surge of energy. She didn't know whether it was caused by rapture or relief. She used it without caring.

The kigh began to rock back and forth, shifting its weight from one leg to the other. Jazep fought to Sing to another rhythm. The mountain began to tremble. The walls of the keep began to shake.

"It's a girl, Annice."

Annice lay back against the pillows, the midwife's arm supporting her shoulders. Very gently, she touched the grayish-pink and bloody bundle still connected to the faintly pulsing cord that Elica laid on her stomach. "A girl?"

"Healthy in every way."

"You sure?" She'd never seen a baby that looked quite so… so…

"Trust me." Wrapping the umbilical cord around her finger, Elica kneaded Annice's abdomen with the other and began to work the afterbirth free. "I'm a healer. If there was something wrong, I'd know."

"She's beautiful, Annice."

The midwife's smile was no longer irritating. "She's slippery." Annice tried to cup an arm around her daughter's tiny back, but she was just too tired. "Are you sure she's not going to fall off?"

"As if in response, the baby squirmed and made another, louder, protest.

"She looks… annoyed."

"She's been through a lot." Elica tied off the cord, cut it, and wrapped the afterbirth in a piece of clean sheeting. "Let's get the two of you cleaned up and…"

The room shivered.

Loose rock careened down into the pass.

The hall rose up to meet her boot. Stasya staggered and kept running. I should have been there. I should have been with her.

The huge oak gates creaked on their hinges and the portcullis shook against its supports as Pjerin pounded into the court.

Elica threw out one hand to support the baby and another to support herself against the bed. "What in…"

"Annice!" Stasya exploded into the room. "Annice are you all… oh."

"It's a girl, Stas." Her voice was gone yet again. It didn't seem to matter.

"Oh, Nees." Stasya sank to her knees by the bed. "Are you all right?"

Annice reached out and touched the other woman's cheek, realizing now what had been missing all along. "I'm glad you're here."

Tears in her eyes, Stasya turned her head to softly plant a kiss on Annice's palm. "She's…"

The room shifted again. A crack ran down the outside wall.

Suddenly reminded of what was happening outside, Stasya rocked back onto her feet and darted to the window, wrestling the shutters out of their clamps. "You've got to sing a gratitude, Nees."

Annice looked up from investigating five perfect fingers. "A what?"

"A gratitude. Now."

Elica took the bard firmly by the arm. "Stasya, this is no time…"

Stasya shook herself free and returned to Annice's side. "Have you ever delivered a bardic baby before?"

"Well, no, but she's a baby like any other."

"Granted. But Annice Sings all four quarters and right now, the answer to the Song she's been Singing the last few hours is outside indiscriminately tearing the pass apart."

"She hasn't been Singing…"

Annice remembered the rhythm of the pain. High notes. Low notes. "I think," she said slowly, "I have." She looked at her daughter and smiled. It wouldn't be hard to Sing a gratitude.

The kigh fell apart so quickly it very nearly took Jazep with it. He rocked back on his heels and would have fallen had Theron not flung up an arm in support.

He blinked at the pile of dirt nearly blocking the pass and let his Song trail off.

"Annice?" Theron demanded.

"She's fine," Tadeus was grinning broadly, his hair blowing around his head. "She had a girl. They're both fine. Stasya's with her."

Jazep gestured into the pass. "Shall I try to Sing it away, Majesty?" he asked.

Theron looked thoughtful. "No," he said after a moment. "I think we'll leave it there while Prince Rajmund and I discuss a new treaty as a reminder of what Shkoder can call to its defense."

"But, Majesty, we were in as much danger from it as the Cemandians were. We weren't controlling it. Annice wasn't even controlling it. And unless the circumstances were repeated exactly, I doubt anyone could ever call the kigh up like that again."

The king smiled. "I don't see any reason we have to tell Rajmund that."

"Annice!" Pjerin entered the room much the way Stasya had, only more heavily armored. "Are you…"

Smiling up at him from the circle of Stasya's arms, Annice stroked one finger over the soft cap of dark hair, dry now and feeling like nothing else in the world. "I told you it was a girl."

Pushing off his helm, Pjerin slowly crossed the room to the bed. "A girl? A daughter?"

Annice watched him stare down at the baby and thought, I never believed in love at first sight before.

•'Have you decided what you're going to call her?" The king of Shkoder looked as besotted as everyone else as a tiny hand grabbed onto his finger.

Annice shifted the baby's weight a little and yawned. She hadn't slept in the last two days. Although Elica had taken care of much of the pain, it seemed that every time she closed her eyes, the baby started to cry. "Well, Stasya's pulling for Cecilie, Pjerin wants Evicka, and Gerek said something about naming her after a goat."

"That was before I knew she was a girl!" Gerek protested indignantly from the floor by the window.

Theron smiled and held out his arms. "May I?"

He has three children of his own, Annice reminded herself as she hesitated. He's not going to drop her. Lower lip held between her teeth, she passed the baby to her brother and attempted to relax.

"She looks like you did," Theron murmured, lightly kissing the tiny forehead. "Her hair's darker, but she has the same way of screwing up her face and turning red."

Annice felt her own ears grow hot. "Uh, Theron, that means she's…"

"I know."

As he didn't seem to mind, she tried not to.

"Have you decided what you want to do about raising her?" He looked over at her, his expression serious. "She needs a family."

"I know." Annice glanced over at Gerek, who was, he said, building a palace for his sister out of wooden blocks. "I know," she repeated. "But I'm a bard."

Theron shook his head and sighed. "I thought we were past that."

"I can't give it up."

"No one's asking you to."

"Then what?" She picked at the hem of her borrowed robe. "Stasya and I can walk together for a while, and, well, we're used to planning our lives around what we do, but what about Pjerin? I can't ask him to come to Elbasan, or the Bardic Hall in Vidor even if the captain would agree to base us there. Which she probably wouldn't because it's tiny and they've already got someone who Sings all four quarters. And it could be years before I Walk this way again." Reaching out, she stroked the perfect curve of her daughter's ear. "I'm babbling."

"If there's anything I can do…" He laid the fussing baby back in Annice's arms. "… will you ask me?"

Would she? "I don't know."

He nodded, as aware of the ten years as she was.

"Nees, she's beautiful."

Annice grinned and tweaked a long dark curl. "How can you tell?"

His smile more brilliant than she'd ever seen it, Ta-deus bent forward and kissed her cheek. "I'm blind," he said softly. "I'm not stupid."

Jazep, the baby held securely in the cradle of his hands, stared down at her, his eyes wide with wonder. "A new life," he murmured through the catch in his voice. "A new beginning"

"You are such a suck," Tadeus declared fondly. He reached over and with one finger lightly traced the moisture on Jazep's face. "I just got the best idea for a song…"

The terms of the new treaty were thrashed out much as Theron dictated.

"The world is changing," he told a glowering Due of Ohrid as they walked back to the keep from the huge tent that had been set up at the midpoint in the pass. "We can not close ourselves off from it because if we do it's not only trade we prevent, but the spread of knowledge and new ideas. Ignorance breeds intolerance. Intolerance breeds war."

Pjerin snorted. Kings and princes both he'd discovered over the last few days, were much given to that type of pronouncement. "I don't trust the Cemandians, Majesty. Suppose they suddenly decide to start developing the kigh as weapons."

"It isn't that easy for an entire people to change their beliefs, Your Grace." Or, Theron added silently, for one stubborn due to change his.

"Will he give us what we want?"

"We're negotiating from a position of strength. There's no reason why he shouldn't."

"Will he give me what I want?"

"I think so. He has no reason to protect her and every reason to distrust her. There's an old Riverfolk saying: 'A snake on the left bank is still a snake on the right.'"

"And Albek."

"No. By Cemandian standards, Albek is a patriot. Prince Rajmund is no fool. He'll let it be seen that he protects his own people." Theron raised a hand to cut off a growled protest. "You'd do the same. Don't push on this, Your Grace. You won't win."

"What about Adelka?"

Stasya shook her head. "Nees, she doesn't look like an Adelka. What about Cecilija?"

"That's almost the same as Cecilie," Annice protested, wincing as the baby nursed. No one had told her that it was going to hurt—although everyone was telling her now that it would soon stop, she'd decided not to believe them. "What do you think, Pjerin?"

Pjerin turned from the window, brows drawn in. "I don't trust the Cemandians," he said. "Prince Rajmund still hasn't agreed to all the terms of the treaty."

The two bards exchanged identical expressions.

"We know that," Stasya sighed. "But what do you think about Cecilija as a name for the baby?"

"Even when he does, I don't think they're going to stop trying." His hands curled into fists. "They need to be watched."

"Fine. Watch them." Stasya used just enough Voice that she was sure of gaining his attention. "But first, tell us what you think about Cecilija before your daughter reaches her first name-day without a name."

"Cecilija?" Frown lifting, he crossed the room to sit on Annice's other side. "I don't think so." He enclosed a flailing hand in his. "What about Kornelia?"

"Yuk!" Stasya made a face. "I had an Aunt Kornelia. She smelled like seaweed all the time."

"The Cemandians need to be watched…" Annice stared at nothing, her attention distracted from the ache in her breasts.

"Nees, don't you start. He's bad enough. What about Tasenka?"

Pjerin snorted. "Forget it. What about Milena?"

The Cemandians need to be watched. Annice smiled. She had an idea.

"Theron? Can I talk to you?"

"Of course." He gestured his valet from the room and closed the door behind him. "What is it?" he asked. "Does my niece finally have name?"

"Well, yes." Annice settled gingerly into a chair. "I pulled rank as her mother and we settled on Magda."

"Magda," Theron repeated, pleasantly surprised. "Grandmother's name. Magda i'Annice a'Pjerin. Maggi. I like it." He perched on the edge of a parchment covered table. "But that's not why you've come?"

She took a deep breath and released it slowly. "No.

Did you mean it when you said, if there was anything you could do?"

"Shall I have it Witnessed?"

Half-smiling, she wiped her palms against her shift. "In a way, I suppose you already did." Ten years. Will he understand? "I've thought of something you can do."

"A Bardic Hall here? In Ohrid? In the keep?"

Theron hid a smile at the tone of Pjerin's voice. "You have plenty of room, Your Grace.

"Yes, Majesty, but…"

"A Bardic Hall here will serve a number of purposes. The Cemandians need to be watched. Ohrid has been promised closer ties with the rest of Shkoder. Your people need to learn that the kigh are no threat. And I would just as soon not have our next war with Cemandia be a religious crusade. The more contact the Cemandians have with the kigh and with bards the better—this way, every Cemandian through the pass will have contact."

"Ignorance breeds intolerance," Pjerin murmured, a little stunned. "Intolerance breeds war."

This time, Theron allowed the smile to blossom. "Well said, Your Grace." He sat back in the chair and fingered his collar button. "It will, of necessity, be a minimal Hall, with one bard who Sings all four quarters and one other, strong in air, to Walk."

"Majesty?" Stasya stepped forward, suddenly understanding why all four Bards had been commanded to attend the king and why Jazep and Tadeus both had been told to recall. "If you're saying that Annice and I are going to form a new Bardic Hall here at the keep, would you please just say it."

"You and Annice are going to form a new Bardic Hall here at the keep," Theron said. He grew serious. "It won't be an easy task, half of Ohrid still believe the kigh to be outside the Circle. You'll have to work against that, against their fears. Convince them otherwise. Convince them that their future lies with Shkoder, not Cemandia."

"We can do that, Majesty."

Bards, Theron mused, have found more than their share of self-confidence in the Circle.

Pjerin glanced from the king to Annice, who was serenely contemplating the swaddled bundle in her arms, and back again. "Maggi will be raised here? As a bard?"

"By a bard," Theron corrected. "And by you. the child will discover for herself what the Circle holds for her."

"Begging Your Majesty's pardon." Stasya hated to bring this up, but someone had to. "But what about the captain?"

"What about her?"

"What if she doesn't agree?"

Theron stood. "I," he said, "am king in Shkoder."

Annice looked up and smiled. "Witnessed."

"Olina i'Katica, step forward."

A murmur ran around the court as the people of Ohrid, packed shoulder to shoulder on the ground and on the battlements tried to get a better view. Theron had intended the Judgment to be held in the Great Hall, but Pjerin had insisted that all the people of Ohrid had the right to attend.

Prince Rajmund had agreed to all the terms of the treaty.

Back straight, expression disdainful, Olina stepped away from her escort and stood alone in the only empty space in the court. Her cold gaze swept over Theron—seated in her favorite chair, she noted with bitter irony—past the bard standing beside him, and over the three bards off to one side. She stared for a moment at Annice, at the tiny bundle in her arms. No one had told her exactly how things had gone so impossibly wrong, but with the sister of the king bearing her nephew's child, it wasn't difficult to find the probable cause. If she hated anyone, she hated Annice.

"I heard," she said, turning at last to Pjerin, "that congratulations are in order. A daughter?"

Teeth clenched, Pjerin nodded.

Theron sat forward. "Olina i'Katica, do you know why you are here?"

She inclined her head graciously. "So that your bards can use the kigh to put words in my mouth and a foreign king can take my life."

The crowd stirred. The sound that followed the motion was tinted with doubt. Words had been put in the mouth of their due. Who knew what was true anymore? Here and there, fingers flicked out in the sign against the kigh.

"You have been given no command save that of stepping forward," Theron told her evenly. "And I am king in Ohrid as in Shkoder by virtue of oaths sworn by your great-grandfather to mine."

Olina spread her hands. "I swore no oaths. You cannot accuse me of treason."

"I am not accusing you of treason. The Death Judgment is called for another crime. Do you deny that you arranged, with the help of Cemandia, to have your nephew killed?"

"I deny nothing. I admit nothing. To do either, would acknowledge your right to judge me, which I do not."

Pjerin stepped forward. "Do you deny that I am Due of Ohrid?" he asked quietly.

The crowd stilled to hear him.

"Does your master allow you to speak, then?"

"Answer me, Olina. Do you deny that I am due?"

"You are the due," she answered. She knew where he was going with this and planned to meet him there. Over the last few days when Cemandian guards made it clear that Prince Rajmund would not protect her, she'd had little to do but plan.

With a hiss of steel, Pjerin pulled the Ducal sword free of the scabbard and held it out, point aimed at her heart. "The day I gave my blood to Ohrid with this sword, you swore to have me as your lord."

"Agreed." Her smile held no humor. "But if you wish to be a part of Shkoder, then you should know that only the king can sit in a Death Judgment. You have surrendered your right to judge me to someone who has no right." She turned and addressed the people. "The kigh rule the bards, the bards rule the king, the king rules your due. Do you want the kigh to rule in Ohrid?"

"NO!"

The cry still echoed off the mountain when Vencel pushed his way into the open.

"The kigh," he declared, "are not the issue."

"Vencel…" Pjerin began, but Theron cut him off.

"Let him speak. If Lady Olina wishes the people to decide whether I am to judge her, I will abide by their judgment."

Sweat darkened the pale sides of Vencel's tunic but he wet his lips and went on. "How anyone feels about the kigh doesn't change the fact that you arranged to have His Grace killed."

Ebony brows rose. "Who says I did?"

"Well, His Grace!"

"Who you also heard say that he broke his oaths and sold Ohrid out to Cemandia. Which time was he telling the truth?"

"You ran to Cemandia when he returned!"

"Have you seen my nephew in a rage?" Her voice was silken reason. "I had no wish to meet him until he calmed. You know what happened to Lukas."

The crowd fell silent, and she felt her chance slip free. She'd heard that Lukas had gone off the inner tower, that Pjerin had been up there with him. She knew his rages. How could he not have taken advantage of that opportunity?

Urmi slipped between two of her stablehands to stand at Vencel's side. "Lukas threatened to drop Gerek off the tower. Whatever was between you and His Grace, or Lukas and His Grace, Gerek wasn't a part of that. We," her gesture took in everyone in the court, "all heard you insist that Gerek had been taken away by a bard you knew was half-conscious in a pit…"

"Lukas," Olina began.

Gerek twisted out of his nurse's grasp and ran across the court to stare up at his aunt. Except for the sword, his stance was a copy of Pjerin's. "I saw you!" he told her. "I saw you put Stasya in the pit, and if you say you didn't, you're telling lies."

"You were willing to let a young child die!" Urmi spat. "And for what?"

"So all of Ohrid would have a chance to be more than it was," Olina snarled.

"Less!" Vencel shouted. "You can't be more if the cost is an innocent life!"

When the shouting died down, Theron stood. "People of Ohrid. Am I to judge?"

The response was deafening. It was one thing for ambition to remove a grown man and quite another for that same ambition to demand the life of a child. In all the confusion, that, at least, was certain.

Pjerin stared into Olina's eyes, the Ducal sword still pointed at her heart. "I promised that I'd nail you to the door of the keep with this," he growled.

Her smile was ice. "I wonder if you've found everything we put in your head," she purred. "You'll never know, will you?"

"It's over, Olina."

"Yes. It's over. But I said in the beginning that no one would take my head." Her face twisted and a trickle of blood ran down her chin as she bit through her lip.

Pjerin stared down at her grip on his wrist, too astounded to react.

She yanked herself a little closer and another hand-breadth of the blade slid in under her breastbone.

Someone screamed as the point ripped out through her back.

Pjerin could still feel the heat of her fingers on his skin as they slid off to stiffen, once, twice, in the air. She stumbled. Fell to her knees, the blade pulling free with a rush of crimson. Eyes wide, her mouth worked as she tried one last time to speak. She tumbled forward.

An instant later, the sword rang on the cobblestones beside the body.

"What a waste," Theron said softly. "What a terrible waste."

"Are you sure about this, Annice?"

"I'm sure." Annice settled the baby more securely in her sling and carefully sat on the stool Stasya had carried out for her.

"His Grace won't like it," Jazep murmured, adjusting the tambour strap around his neck.

"His Grace doesn't have to like it," Annice pointed out tartly as Tadeus reached out and twitched Jazep's collar down. "This has nothing to do with Pjerin. It's bardic business."

Overhead, the stars seemed close enough to touch. Around them were the remains of Annice's kigh. Most of the earth had been returned to fields—as far as the people of Ohrid were concerned, fear of the kigh did not extend to starving to death over the winter. Newly planted crops were already nearly the height of the corn that had been destroyed. Luxuriant growth hid any crack or crevasse in the pass that hadn't been completely cleared.

"Are you sure you're strong enough for this, Nees?" Stasya squatted beside the stool. "You haven't really slept for more than an hour at a time since you had the baby and remember the captain's message—you're supposed to be resting your voice."

"Stas," Annice reached out and stroked the other woman's cheek. "Tadeus and Jazep are leaving tomorrow with the king. It has to be tonight."

Tadeus turned toward Cemandia. "He might not be anywhere he can hear us."

"He is."

"How can you be so certain?" Jazep asked softly.

Annice sighed. "I'm not."

Shaking her head, Stasya stood. "They've crippled him, Nees. He might not be able to come to us even if he hears."

"I know." She checked her sleeping daughter and when she looked up, her expression was grave. "But how could we live with ourselves if we don't try?"

The night came alive as Jazep stroked a heartbeat out of the drum. Eyes closed, he Sang. He wasn't calling the kigh, but he was calling, voice anchored to the earth and reaching into Cemandia.

Tadeus nodded in time and added a Song that burned along the path Jazep laid.

One hand resting lightly on Annice's shoulder, Stasya's Song rose to touch the stars.

Earth. Fire. Air.

"Annice, he's a spy, and a saboteur, and …"

"And in Shkoder, he would have been a bard."

Water.

Tears.

The other three faltered as Annice added her voice to theirs. For a moment, the longing, the pain, the loneliness overwhelmed everything but the steady beat of Jazep's drum.

Stasya recovered first. Then Tadeus wrapped his denial around hers. When Jazep gathered them all together, they stopping Singing and became the Song.

Slowly, they answered the longing, and eased the pain, and reached out to the loneliness.

Annice saw him first and fell silent.

The Song she'd been Singing carried on. The voice was untrained, rough, but it didn't matter because it was the heart that was Singing.

A moment later, he Sang alone, then the kigh, gathered thickly about him, spun away and carried the last note into the night.

His face twisted with terror, trembling so violently he could hardly stand, Albek stared at the four bards. "What have you done?" he whispered hoarsely.

Annice stood and reached out toward him. "Only told you that we understand."

He shook his head and took a step back. "No." Another step back. In moment he was going to bolt and run.

Then the baby began to cry,

Albek started at the sound.

Without thinking, Annice Sang comfort to her.

When she looked up, Albek was on his knees, sobbing in the circle of Tadeus' arms, the dark head bent close to the gold one, and Singing the same Song.

"… and nursing my daughter on the Cemandian border in the middle of the night." Pjerin wanted desperately to yell—had wanted desperately to yell since he and Theron and half the inhabitants of the keep, who'd been roused weeping from their beds by Annice's song, had met the five of them coming back through the gates—but the baby was asleep and Annice wouldn't leave her. "What were you thinking?"

"I don't need to explain myself to you, Pjerin."

"You know who he is. What he is."

She reached into the cradle and touched the rosebud curl of her sleeping daughter's hand. "Better than you do."

Pjerin sucked in a deep breath and jabbed a finger at her. "Don't hand me some crap about bards being more sensitive, more all-seeing than the rest of us because I'm not in the mood. I heard what you Sang; you pulled out all the stops on telling him how pathetic his life was and then promised you'd make it better."

"That's not quite what happened, Your Grace." Stasya unfolded her legs and slid off the bed.

"Stay out of this, Stasya. This is between Annice and me."

"That wasn't his Song she was Singing, Pjerin. It was her own."

"What are you talking about?" He frowned down at Annice. "What's she talking about?"

"Don't even try," Stasya cautioned as Annice opened her mouth to deny the accusation. "Words might hide the truth, but a Song never lies. That was your pain. Not Albek's."

"Was," Annice admitted, refusing to look at either of them. "But I let go of it."

Stasya sighed and shook her head. "How am I supposed to believe that when you spent ten years telling me it didn't exist?"

Brow furrowed, Pjerin heard again the incredible loneliness, the heartbroken sense of betrayal that had pulled him out of a dream where he'd had Olina by the shoulders and was asking her over and over again, "WHY?" "Your brother did that to you." His tone bordered on treason.

"No." This time she looked up. "I did it to myself. Or maybe we did it to each other, I'm still not sure how Theron feels. Albek had it done to him, but I don't have his excuse." She stroked the baby's cheek and smiled a little at the dark line of lashes so like Pjerin's. And so like Stasya's, too, for that matter. "If I'm going to be responsible for her life, I've got to take responsibility for my own."

"And everyone else's?" Pjerin wondered, thinking of how she'd thrown herself in front of Albek and Tadeus when he'd charged across the court demanding the Cemandian's heart. The edge had left his voice and it wasn't really a question as he already knew the answer.

"I'm someone's mother now, Pjerin. I'm no longer that extreme…"

Over her head, Stasya and Pjerin exchanged identical expressions of disbelief.