Daughter of Ancients

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Authors: Carol Berg
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The Bridge—To cross these past two days—my first crossings since they anointed her—has been extraordinarily difficult, as if I were a minnow swimming against a torrent, as if my heart knows I don’t belong there any more.”
    There must be something. You have never been driven by pride or greed. Think. Then tell me one thing that makes you doubt.
    Ven’Dar folded his arms, closed his eyes, and held still for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was calmer, uncertainty banished. “She has built herself a great house in Grithna Vale, and in the last two months she has begun to take in people the Healers have judged too ill to benefit from their gift.”
    Those like me.
    â€œYes.” The prince stepped to the bedside. “A hospice she calls it. Lady D’Sanya uses her power to ease their suffering—suspend their death, as it were. Those who were bound to their beds are no longer; those whose eyes or heart or limbs were failing now have use of them. As long as they do not leave the confines of the hospice, they are as they were before they were stricken . . . except for their talents. They cannot pursue sorcery of any kind. But they feel no pain and do not die. Even after so short a time, public opinion considers those who suggest this result is not a blessing to be, at the least, foolish and self-deceiving. I don’t know what’s come over them all.”
    A seductive . . . most seductive outcome . . .
    Ven’Dar wandered across the room to the wide windows and back again. “Je’Reint and I have gone over this a hundred times. Dar’Nethi have viewed death as a passage to be accomplished in peace and care when the Way leads us to it, not some fearful event to be avoided at the cost of our innermost being. I have spent my life teaching that the source of our power is accepting whatever joys and sorrows life grants us and viewing them in the larger perspective of the universe. To admit that this woman is D’Arnath’s daughter and this hospice a reflection of his philosophy that we have called our Way is to give up my foundation. I cannot do it. Not until I’m sure.”
    Though he spoke to all of us, Ven’Dar’s gaze settled on Gerick, who sat with his chin propped on his clenched fists and his eyes on the floor. “And she has come out of Zhev’Na. How can I trust her? I came to you yesterday to ask if you would meet with her . . . read her . . . and tell me where I’m wrong.”
    I hear more urgency in you than these events can explain. You’ve five months before a final decision must be made. You say the woman herself does not push for you to yield, and even the people see how she needs time to be ready for such responsibility. Why the hurry?
    Ven’Dar sighed and looked down at Karon with sorrow and affection. “You leave me no choice but to burden you with everything?”
    You may have service of all the resources I can muster at present—the paltry few.
    Ven’Dar’s rueful smile unfolded like a moth’s wings, and he returned to the bed, perching on the stool once again. “Despite all, I’m happy you’re here, my friend. It is a considerable relief to share all this with you. Can you forgive me?”
    Tell me.
    â€œWe never knew how many Zhid the Lords controlled. We captured or killed a great number in the year following the Lords’ death. Though leaderless and directionless, they couldn’t stop fighting. Over the next two years, Zhid renegades drifted in one by one from the Wastes, often starving, weak from lack of power. Still vicious, though. Some of them claimed that thousands more were holed up in the northern mountains. But our Finders could locate no such colonies, so we dismissed their claims.
    â€œIn the fourth year, the trickle stopped. Not one more Zhid in the months after. We’ve kept searching with no result. But half a league from the place the Lady

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