Knight Or Knave Page 18

  "Rohan]" the child shouted happily. It was one of her few words.

  She struggled out of her nursemaid's arms and toddled across the polished floor toward him. Quickly he scooped her up in his arms. "And you say that I've gotten bigger?" he said to Ashen. "This child is half-grown already!"

  "Greet your father," Ashen told Hegrin.

  The little girl refused to let go of Rohan's neck. She merely waved a few fingers in her father's direction as she gazed lovingly at Rohan. "Da," she said.

  "If I were a jealous man, I'd say she loves you better than me," Gaurin said, laughing.

  "Fortunate for me that you aren't, so you won't be likely to challenge me to a duel once Ashen gives me Father's sword she's got hung up beside yours over the mantle in the Hall. I'm still no good at all with the axe, though I'm passing fair with a throwing-dagger—not that I could get to it with this marmoset clinging to me!" He loosened Hegrin's grip. "There, that's better. At least I can breathe."

  Hegrin insisted on staying with her idol all that day, and Rohan amused her with his silk-flower trick and also, that evening, by lighting candles without touching them though Ashen frowned.

  "Tomorrow or the next day we'll set off for Zazar's house," she said, "and I don't want you showing off."

  "In front of my Grandam? The Wysen-wyf? Not likely. She'd laugh at how little

  Power I possess. And anyway," he said to Hegrin, who had begun to whimper at the prospect of his leaving again so soon, "the quicker we're gone, the sooner we will come back, my marmoset. And I will bring you a new toy, and maybe even a new trick to show youl'

  It had been, Ashen realized, an entire year since she had visited Zazar—indeed, the last time Rohan had returned to the Oakenkeep. "I do not know where the time goes," she told the Wysen-wyf. "I will try to do better in the future."

  Zazar sniffed. She seemed little changed with the passing of the years except that she had become sharper of tongue, if such a thing were possible. "You have your own life now, and welcome to it." She nodded at Gaurin. "Now that you finally had the good sense to marry the man the Weavers intended for you."

  "Whether the Weavers did it, or some other force, I will always thank you for the great boon of my lady," Gaurin said. He took Zazar's wrinkled old hand and kissed the fingers. She took it back with a shade less impatience than she would have shown to another who dared such a liberty.

  "Now, Rohan. Come sit you down by my fire and while Ashen and Gaurin make lovers' eyes at each other, I have something for you." She rummaged in a woven basket and then brought out a tuft of dried herbs and grasses. "Here. This is for you."

  Ashen recognized many of the sprigs that made up the tuft. "No," she said, alarmed. "Surely not—"

  "Do not meddle! I have had this put away for some time, waiting for Rohan to get close to his Shield Year. Oh, yes, I know all about that. And that before long you'll be getting your father's Rin-bell sword that was his father's before him.

  But here, take this. You are to wear it in your helm instead of the usual bunch of feathers or other useless trash."

  "Zazar, some of these herbs are deadly," Ashen said.

  "And others are for healing. I don't expect the boy to chew on them, after all.

  Heed me well. Need drives, and there is a good reason for this."

  Then Ashen turned away with a sigh. When Zazar was this insistent, there was no arguing with her. The Wysen-wyf wrapped the bundle of plant sprigs—some of which seemed remarkably fresh for having been put aside so long before—and set it into a basket of other items she would be sending back with Ashen. She knew the basket contained salves and healing-potions, and packets of dried herbs as well.

  "Do you still study?" the Wysen-wyf asked.

  "I do. The good priest, Esander, has given me several books from the hidden library. He says they are duplicates. Others he has lent me, and those I read and return. Every time there is a traveler who has gone through Rendelsham, it seems that I receive a fresh parcel from him."

  "Good. Only, remember—read, but do not presume to practice what you learn."

  Ashen smiled. "And risk a return of Weyse, to sit on the pages? Though I would be glad to see her again."

  To Ashen's surprise, Zazar actually chuckled. "That was her own idea. I just told her to stop you from being a fool. Anyway, if you and Gaurin will come back during the warm weather, if we ever have a warm spell, that is, I'm of a mind to let you go to Galinth again. I think there is something that may interest him."

  Ashen raised her eyebrows, thinking of the skeleton from which she had received the opalescent stone bracelet that Gaurin had recognized as a treasure of his

  House. "We will return," she promised, "if circumstances allow. In any event, I want him to see Galinth with you as his guide."

  "So now go you back to the Oakenkeep and be careful of the ground. Even frozen, some of the places will still suck you down if you are unwary."

  "I always remember your teachings. But I wish you would come back with us. At least there it is warm—"

  "I do well enough here. You are in the place where you were meant to be, Ashen

  Deathdaughter, even as I am in mine. And so shall it be, until all changes in this world and we must do as must wills."

  Thirteen

  The Dowager Queen Ysa found herself in an awkward position politically. Perhaps it was expectable, but the threat from the North, so long in arriving, had receded in the minds of most of the inhabitants of Rendel. The only overt sign of oncoming trouble was the increasing cold of the climate, with short summers and heavy winters characterized by thundersnows, to which the people had adjusted and accepted. Business for merchants and tailors and dressmakers had never been better—coarse woolen clothing, sometimes mixed with linen, for ordinary people; fine wools and fur-lined silks for the nobles. Many of these fribbets had made of it a game of fashion, seeing who could outdo the next in finery. Tunics were long these days, reaching to the heels, made of the gaudiest colors the dye-masters could devise and dripping with gold-and-silver embroidery. To look at these preening peacocks strutting about the Court, one would never dream that disaster loomed just over the horizon. Ysa, however, knew that this threat was merely delayed. She regularly sent her little servant Visp winging northward where, under the cloak of invisibility, it observed and then brought back information for the Dowager to ponder.

  She was preparing Visp for another such mission now, taking the flyer out of its fur-lined home and instructing it on what it must do. "Not to the southeast," she told it, for it was straining in that direction, flapping its wings as if desiring to go contrary to Ysa's command. "Later, you may go and look in on

  Ashen. Now you must obey me."

  Sighing, the Dowager released the flyer and watched as it winged its way northward, winking out when it was still over the housetops of the city.

  Obedience she could command of Visp, but she had never been able to overcome its inexplicable affection for Ashen.

  Well, affection could wait upon necessity. And if it came to a choice, Ysa preferred obedience. Perhaps she should seek another servant, versed in the ways of Power. Instinctively she knew that she must call on help from every direction, marshal her forces, be prepared for whatever might come.

  She set out a dish of grain and dried fruit, and some fresh water for when the flyer came back to its nest. She had not lighted the brazier, so, rather than wait in the chilly, drafty tower room for Visp to return, she descended the stairs to the comparative warmth of fireplaces and braziers. There, as acknowledged Regent, she would conduct the business of the realm. She made a note to have woolen curtains made for the windows in the tower, to replace the thin coverings that let too much cold seep through the glass panes of the windows.

  The possibility of civil war was brewing, and this, Ysa knew, must be avoided at all costs. She had been pondering how to accomplish this, and believed she had come up with a plan that would work, and even accomplish a dual purpose. Not only could so
me of the bellicose posturing going on between this noble and that be turned to a positive end, but also some of the young men of Rendel, on whom the brunt of fighting would fall when it came, could receive some sound training. There was no question who should conduct this. Without a second thought, she had determined to put Harous in charge of the project.

  Through her agents, she had caused a rumor to be put about that she was expecting yet another strong Nordorn war party to serve under her personal banner. It was false, of course, for those men who were going to leave the lands to the north had already come to Rendel. From them she learned that Cyornas

  NordornKing, along with a small contingent of his most-dedicated followers, remained behind. When the menace finally began to move, it would be he who took the brunt of the first attack. He was the guardian of the Palace of Fire and

  Ice, wherein this Great Foulness, as it was called, had been entombed. However, some years past, the Palace of Fire and Ice had suffered great harm from the impact of a great thunder-star. One wall—the one adjacent to the tomb that held the sleeping body of this Great Foulness—had cracked. Inside the tomb, the

  Foulness had now awoken and, it was feared, was even now gathering its strength for a new assault upon the land of men.

  For Ysa to divulge to the nobles of Rendel what she had learned was unthinkable.

  Therefore, once again she had had to work in secret—she must take up the burden the Great Rings had placed upon her, scheming and devising a new plan—to accomplish what she knew must be done.

  On her table waited the proclamations to be sent throughout Rendel, calling for a show of allegiance in the form of a levy of men, of which some must be at least of the rank of minor nobility, to receive training in the art of war.

  Ysa did not even attempt to conceal from herself what must be apparent to all who would receive this proclamation. The nobles among this levy would, if war came, become hostages to assure further assistance.

  "That it should come to this," Ysa murmured to herself, "and we must use such means to raise armies for our own defense."

  With some bitterness, she considered that the most loyal men in Rendel were those who had fled from the first stirrings of trouble in the North. The

  Sea-Rovers, now firmly in control of the old Ash-enkeep, for example. But in their defense it could be said that when their homes were destroyed they had had little recourse other than to gather the remnants of those who had survived, and move south.

  And the Nordors, under the overall command of Count Gaurin, could truly be said to have fled only so that they could fight again, in strength, when the troubles came. She was glad that she had alliance with such stalwart people.

  Such, Ysa felt, as she seated herself and began putting signature and seal to the proclamations, could not be claimed for a good percentage of her Rendelian nobles whose names appeared on the summoning papers. Gattor of Bilth, for example. He had never been an open fighter, disdaining the clash of arms as the proper way to settle a quarrel. Gattor looked like exactly what he was—someone who was indolent and slow to act. His very appearance underscored that fact, for he was thick of body and round of face. Even his eyes looked perpetually sleepy.

  But that was, in its own way, show. Gat-tor's warring was always conducted in the shadows and seldom could men do more than speculate about his part in the sudden collapse of someone rumored to be encroaching upon his own holdings.

  Unfortunately, Gattor was not alone. There were many who chose to emulate him. with more or less success.

  Such was the overall caliber of the nobility of Rendel. Yes, there was Royance, that old burhawk, loyal to the last drop of blood in his body, and Count Harous,

  Lord High Marshal and hereditary master of Cragden Keep, the castle that was

  Rendelsham's primary defense. But men like them were, unfortunately, rare.

  Though she would not hesitate to put this army of unevenly trained men into his care, Ysa did not fully trust Harous because of his onetime pursuit of Ashen and his present involvement with Marcala. However, lacking no better to replace him, and also to keep him too busy to think of any possible mischief, she now allowed him to assume overall leadership of the muster of Rendelian fighting men, even as Gaurin led the transplanted Nordors.

  At least there had never been any doubt of Gaurin's loyalty, nor that of the men he commanded. Though, years ago, Ysa had summarily turned away his father, Count

  Bjauden, when he had come looking for permission to emigrate with some of the

  Nordorn peo-pie, she had since come to regret her hasty action. It had all been

  Florian's fault, with his inexpressible rudeness to the Count. Looking back on the incident, she knew that Bjauden had been severely provoked, and that his offer of mending the Prince's ways was one that she should have considered more carefully. If she had, perhaps many things would have turned out differently. To this day she could remember his exact words.

  "Your manners are worse than those of the lowest churl," he had said, his voice low and pleasant, "and if I had but an hour and a little privacy I would mend you of them to your mother's rejoicing."

  Yes, Florian might still have been alive, and even a decent King, had she heeded

  Bjauden's words. Perhaps, if she had but known his lineage—But she hadn't, and there was no use wasting time with regrets. Fortunately, Bjauden's son, Gaurin, seemed to have much of his father about him. When first she saw him, she had thought he must be Bjauden, with his youth renewed.

  Too late, she had learned of the close familial ties between Bjauden and Cyornas

  NordornKing. He had been, though he had not claimed the title, a Prince. That made his son Gaurin a Prince in turn. He would be steadfast when the time came.

  Fleetingly she wondered how Ashen was faring, married to such a splendid man, and then decided that she really didn't care, as long as the Bog-Princess, that hateful reminder of her late husband's infidelity, was well away from where important matters of state were being conducted.

  She came to the proclamation intended for the Sea-Rovers. Snolli, of course, was too high in rank to be summoned. Also, he was probably too old by now for anything but symbolic leadership. Who, then, would lead them? That son that

  Obern had, surprisingly, brought to Court? Now, what was his name—Ysa searched her memory. Rohan, that was it. He must be of man's estate by now. There was something about him, as a son of Obern, something that nagged at her memory, but she could not remember what it was.

  As she wrote his name under that of the Chieftain, she hoped that the sorry influence wielded by the Bog-Princess had not ruined him entirely.

  Ashen fingered the paper covered with large, decorative writing with Snolli's and Rohan's names and the capital letters picked out in red and gold, looking at the unmistakable signature and the seal at the bottom, in dark green wax over a red-and-gold ribbon. She pulled her fur-lined mantle closer about her, still necessary though the spring was upon them, and gazed up at Rohan. "This is none of Zazar's doing," she said. Rohan had just come from spending nearly a week in the Wysen-wyf's company, being instructed in matters she had not seen fit to divulge to Ashen.

  "No. I had it with me. Grandam Zaz found it interesting, and gave me some pretty explicit instructions as to how I was to conduct myself once I was in high company."

  "It is definite, then," she said to Rohan. "You must go and take your place in the levy of the Queen's army."

  "My men are already with me, and they are finding places to sleep with your own soldiers. Don't be sad, Ashen," Rohan said. His eyes twinkled with suppressed mirth. "You could always come with me and hold my hand, you know, if you think I won't do well in Rendelsham."

  Ashen laughed, but not in amusement. "That snake-pit of intrigue? Thank you, but

  I would much rather stay here, in the Oak-enkeep. I can, however, add to Zazar's instructions and tell you what I know of matters at Court, and the pitfalls that you may encounter, though some of my information
must be stale by now."

  "I would appreciate that," Rohan said, sobering a little. "I came to know a little of what you are referring to, in the short time I was there. When my father—"

  "Yes. When your father was killed by the King. But remember always, when Obern died, he took his enemy with him. That, I believe, is important among the

  Sea-Rovers."

  "And not just them," Gaurin said as he entered the room where Ashen and Rohan were deep in conversation. "Greetings, my dear. I understand that you command a company of your people, do you not, young Rohan?"

  "I do, though they can't exactly be said to be my followers. Grandfather has seen to it—and I must say that I gave him plenty of help—that the Sea-Rovers in general think of me as being not of much account. I am not nearly serious enough to suit them."