He clenched his one fist, the stumps of the other hand twitching, and stepped back into the silence. Jenevesse cocked an eye at Lyn, who swallowed.
She tried to remember how her mother did it: address such a great assembly, sound poised and certain, not the frightened child so far out of her depth. Her heart was hammering, but she heard the voices of her tutors in her head and took hold of her breathing, levelling and slowing it, picking people from the crowd to look in the eye, nodding, spreading her hands to show her sincerity.
“News of the Ordwood’s plight has reached Lannesite, as you hear,” she told them, and heard her own voice steady and clear. At the corner of her vision, Esha gave her a nod of approval.
“It is an ill time for all when evil magic is loose in the world,” she told them, “and threats such as this demon cannot go unanswered. But we have seen such magic before, in the hands of monsters and evil men. We all of us have heard a tale of Lucef Half-Elder, in whose day the land was plagued with monstrous beasts, some that destroyed and others that simply poisoned the world with their presence. And Lucef, who was wise in the ways of sorcery, destroyed each one or bound it with strong words so that it would not trouble his people. Lucef, it is said, was born half of our people and half of the ancient strain of makers, so that even as a child his understanding of the secrets of the world was beyond the ken of wise men.” And yes, everyone knew the Lucef stories, or their own version of them. So: “Let me tell you, then, of my own ancestor, Astresse Once Regent, when her land was threatened by the sorcerer warlord Ulmoth, who had raised from deathly sleep some of those beasts that Lucef bound. Ulmoth brought his army of monsters and madmen onto the soil of Lannesite, but the Once Regent knew that craft must be fought with craft.
“In that time of need she braved the journey to the Tower of the Elders, where dwelled the last of that line, Nyrgoth, and he rode alongside her and used his words of power to bind Ulmoth’s beasts and send them back to the earth.” More and more eyes were flicking to the sorcerer’s tall, silent presence at her shoulder. She saw the current of understanding ripple out through the crowd, mouth to ear, people craning their heads for a better view of the man’s twisted horns and not-quite-human features. She saw hope break like the dawn sun over hills.
“I have brought no armies,” she confirmed to them. “I have brought the great sorcerer himself to confront the demon and break its hold over these lands. With his craft and his power he will go to its lair and break its grip over your sons and daughters; he will purge its taint from your orchards and pacify the corrupted beasts of the forest. He is Nyrgoth Elder, last of the ancients, of a race whose very thoughts are magic such as no human wizard ever dreamt of.” And she was seeing wide eyes, smiles, the desperate need to believe in her, in her, Lynesse Fourth Daughter, least valued of her line. For just a moment she could forget all that had gone before, all the years of falling short of the standards demanded by her mother and demonstrated by her siblings.
I am doing this, she realised. I have found my place. She would go back to her mother in triumph. She would be given honours and responsibilities fit for a princess. She would be the champion of her line, the wonder of the age.
“We will drive the demon back to the otherworld it came from!” she declared to them. “We will free your homes from its corruption! For Watacha and Ordwood, for Lannesite and the world!”
They cheered her. They actually cheered her, enough that Jerevesse Third Daughter gave her a worried look, as though fearing that there might be a change of ruling house in the city sometime soon. And while Lyn had no plans in that direction, it was refreshing to be taken seriously.
Nyrgoth himself said nothing, and his hooded eyes showed nothing of what he might think or feel. He simply shadowed her heels back to the palace at Watacha, to the suite of rooms Jenevesse had prepared for them. It was agreed that they would set out for the lands of the demon the next day, and Lyn had asked if the criminal Allwerith could be found for them, because despite his pedigree his knowledge seemed useful.
Only when they were behind closed doors did Esha say, “You might have overdone it.”
“It was what they wanted to hear,” Lyn told her carelessly.
“‘Want and need are distant cousins,’” Esha quoted.
“What,” broke in Nyrgoth Elder’s stern voice, “was that?”
She started. Caught up by her own words, she had almost forgotten that he was a thinking, living thing, rather than some legendary weapon she would wield. His face was . . . immobile, more so even than usual, as though it had become a mask carved from sallow wood.