I noticed right away that no one was in their finest finery, even if it was never as fine as mine. Attending the pyre clearly was not a cause for celebration, an opportunity to show off or a fashion parade. It was what it was, a sad occasion, the marking the end of a life – this one more tragic than most and every death held tragedy so that was saying something.
Zahnin moved forward to spot me while I mounted then instantly walked to his steed, swung up and off we went, two warriors in front followed by Feetak and Narinda next to Bohtan and Nahka. Me with Diandra’s roan falling in on my side. Seerim behind us next to Bain and Oahsee, Zahnin then the last two warriors.
“The pyre is far away, my dear,” Diandra said to me then she lifted her chin to the air, “the wind,” she finished as an explanation.
She was right, it was windy. Luckily, the rain had wet the dust and sand so it wasn’t swept up to bite us. Not that the wind was fierce but it was no cool breeze either. It was good the pyre was set far; we didn’t need a spark to fly and the Daxshee to burn to the ground.
We’d had enough heartbreak for awhile.
“Are you all right?” I asked her.
She turned her head and gave me a small smile. “This is what I was going to ask you.” I returned her small smile, reached out a hand, she grabbed it and gave it a squeeze. Then we dropped hands and she answered, “I am sad,” she turned forward and said with feeling, “it was sad.”
She could say that again.
“You?” she prompted.
“Lahn took care of me last night,” I replied and felt her eyes on me so knew her head turned my way. I sighed, thinking of my crazy romantic Korwahkian friend and how she would take this news.
Then I admitted honestly, “It’s true. He was lovely.”
I felt her eyes leave me as she muttered, again with feeling, “I am pleased.”
I was too.
Damn.
We rode through the chams at a sedate walk for awhile in silence.
Then Diandra spoke and I was surprised to hear her voice held a vein of hurt. “Why did you not tell me you held magic?”
I blinked and looked at her. “What?”
She didn’t answer my question. Instead she said, “I do understand, my friend, why you would hide it. I must admit, I have long since given up many of the beliefs I held growing up in the Vale, but the ones I have given up do not include my disdain for magic. So, you growing up in that part of the world, I can see you wishing to withhold this information perhaps thinking it is the same here. But you should know,” she looked at me, “that the Korwahk do not hold such disdain for those who have magic. They are few and they are revered.”
I kept staring at her. Then I repeated, “What?”
Again she ignored my question and stated, “But I do wish you would have trusted me enough to tell me. It was a grave surprise to see you command the heavens.”
There it was again.
“Diandra, I didn’t command the heavens,” I told her and she looked at me.
“As I explained, you do not have to hide this. In fact, I wish I had known earlier.” She faced forward again. “You are my friend and even if you shared your secret with me, it would not change how I feel about you. It is obvious, considering your personality, that you hold noble magic.”
“Diandra, sweetheart, I don’t hold magic, noble or any other kind,” I asserted and her eyes came my way again.
“Circe, I was there,” she replied. “I saw you shout your lament to the heavens and the instant you did, they wailed.”
“I didn’t do that. That storm was brewing all day,” I pointed out.
“This is true, but you called it down,” she returned.
I shook my head and whispered gently, “That’s insane.”
“It is? I do not see why you think this, considering I and thousands of Korwahks witnessed the same.”
I shook my head again and started, “I –” but she cut me off.
“This, too, has been whispered through the night. Many a cham stayed lit as husbands and wives put heads together, neighbors met with neighbors.” She looked forward. “Your storm coupled with the unprecedented acts of the warriors on behalf of Dortak’s bride…”
she nodded her head once and finished, “if there were any nonbelievers, there are none now.”
I blinked then again asked, “What?”
She turned to me. “The golden queen of legend, her fierce king, the Golden Dynasty, there are many stories and as the years pass, these stories, as they have a tendency to do, grow and build until they become mythical, fantastical.”
“And what is the fantastical story of the Golden Dynasty?” I enquired although I was uncertain I wanted to know.
Of course, Diandra told me. “The one I always thought was a flight of fancy was the one that stated the mighty king and his golden queen were god and goddess. He had strength that was unparalleled, cunning beyond compare and his queen had magic. He was impossible to kill and she commanded the moon and stars, the sun, the rivers and seas, the heavens and the earth.”
I stared at her.
She kept talking. “The story tells that they never grow old, they live in youth until their first son succeeds the Dax. Then they fly on winged horse into the heavens.”
“That’s absurd,” I said softly.
She peered at me closely. “Circe, last night, I could feel your despair. I could feel your frustration at your powerlessness. It shone off you like an aura. And when you stood and shouted your lament, your one word felt like it pierced my skin. And it was your word that did that, my dear, not the thunder and lightning, which, I will remind you, does not come at once while the heavens open at the
