Knight Or Knave Read online

  Obern reacted to the news of Ashen's impending move from Har-ous's town house to

  Rendelsham Castle with stoic silence. She was, after all, only obeying the

  Dowager's command and he could not know what had gone on in the private interview to which Ashen had been summoned. He did doubt that Ashen had told Ysa of his declaration of love for her.

  This change of residence took her out of Obern's company but also the change removed her from Harous's influence, and that could not be all to the bad. He knew, in the way that a man who loves a woman recognizes when another man wants her as well, that Harous had dark plans somewhere in the back of his sophisticated mind.

  Two

  After Ashen had left the Dowager's apartment to begin packing for her move to

  Rendelsham Castle, Ysa had a few words with Marcala, mostly to soothe her feelings. A servant arrived with the news about Wittern's unexpectedly early arrival. Consulting her daily schedule, she set a time for a meeting with that noble and certain others. Then she dismissed Marcala, to return to Crag-den

  Keep. Ysa had already spent more time on the problems with these women than she could afford.

  The servant bowed himself out, to deliver the Dowager's instructions. Then Ysa went to her writing desk to draft a letter. When it was finished to her satisfaction, she wrote out a fair copy. Then she called for a messenger and sent him off posthaste to New Void Keep, with the polite request that Snolli,

  Chieftain of the Sea-Rovers, come to Rendelsham so that his beloved son might be restored to him in full health. And also, she added, almost as an afterthought, so that good relations might be cemented between their two peoples. She did not specify what this cementing would consist of. Time enough for that, later, after she had met with the man. He was bound to want something in return.

  When that matter had been taken care of, the Queen Dowager,

  Lord Royatice, and the Lord Marshal Harous all gathered to confront the young

  King Florian. They sat at the Council table, with Royance at the head. Wittern and Rannore occupied chairs at the back of the room, just outside the light cast by the candles. Rannore leaned her head on her grandfather's shoulder, and he had one of her hands clasped in both of his. Florian entered last, and sat opposite Royance.

  "Lord Wittern of Rowan has acquainted us with the problem he and his granddaughter now find themselves facing," Royance said, his snowy eyebrows drawn together sternly. "And furthermore, I find his petition worthy. You, King

  Florian, are responsible for this lady's condition, and answerable to her guardian. I tell you this: Do not shame her further."

  "And I," Harous said. "I would not long remain as Count of Cragden, Rendelsham's

  Lord Marshal, if the ruler I guard with my own body and might were shown to be unworthy. A fellow who treats highborn women as playthings and abandons them when he is weary of them."

  "Both of you men are much too nice. I will speak bluntly. I have learned the art, dealing with the late King," Ysa said. She stood up and leaned forward, her hands flat on the table, and Florian shrank back a little in his chair.

  "Florian, your father may have debauched a noblewoman, but he was at least careful enough about it that nobody knew except near the last. And you are well aware of the trouble his indiscretion has caused."

  "You can't talk to me that way," Florian said, but his tone was weak and Ysa knew that he was merely blustering.

  "I can, and I will!" Ysa retorted, her voice like the cracking of a whip. She held up her hands so that the Great Rings, the repository of true power in

  Rendel, glowed in the light. "These show that I can. The Rings still reject you, or they would have gone to you long ago, of their own accord, as they came to me. Faugh! You, the King? You grew up pampered and spoiled, for I had too much on my mind to.spare the time to devote to your training. Know this, you puppy.

  I made you King when I declared it in my husband's death-chamber. I can un-make you as well."

  Florian went pale. "You wouldn't dare."

  "Don't put me to the test. Much as I dislike the thought, my husband's by-blow might prove much more suitable to occupy the throne than you. You would do well to let yourself be guided by me, in this as well as many other matters for, really, you have no other choice."

  The Dowager's words hung echoing in the air while Florian fidgeted in his chair, looking from side to side as if seeking an escape. He refused to meet the eyes of anyone sitting at the Council table. Then a change came over him. He lifted his head and smiled at each in turn.

  "But of course I will marry Rannore!" he exclaimed. "How could you think I would not? I have merely been having some sport, jesting with all of you. And to think how well I fooled you, that you believed I would abandon the dearest creature in all the world to me." He got up and crossed the room to where Wittern and

  Rannore waited. They arose in their turn. Wittern bowed to his sovereign, and

  Rannore dropped in a deep curtsey.

  "Now, now, none of that," Florian said. He took Rannore's hands and raised her to her feet. "We shall be equals, you and I. I am your King, but you shall be my

  Queen, if you agree. Tell me you will. Tell me you will sit by my side, with our son, forever."

  "If that is what you desire," Rannore said shakily, "and my grandfather agrees, then that shall content me as well."

  "Oh, I so desire. And you, my Lord Wittern? Do you agree to this match?"

  As Ysa watched, a number of expressions passed across Wit-tern's face—disgust, contempt, disbelief at the depth of the young King's cynicism. She knew those emotions well, for she had experienced them frequently toward Florian. Then the nobleman mastered himself and nodded. "I agree, Your Majesty."

  "Then we shall hold the wedding as quickly as possible," Florian said with weird gaiety. "We wouldn't want to delay very long, would we? People might talk."

  Then, to everyone's dismay and embarrassment, the King tittered.

  Iaobim and Haldin, once proud Sea-Rovers but now confined to land, stood watch while other men, not warriors, worked to erect a kind of shelter over a small field of grain. Because of the unseasonable cold that had blotted out the summer, it was thought that such a shelter might gather what warmth there was to help the faltering plants. Dordan the archer stood watch on the other side of the field. All three of the warriors wore warm cloaks over their chain mail.

  The workers had erected pairs of poles at intervals up and down the field, each with a crossbar at the top, and now were stringing lengths of thin cloth along these supports. Iaobim shifted, resettling his sword in its scabbard, more than a little bored with guard duty.

  "We should be out on the GorGull," his companion muttered, loudly enough for

  Iaobim to hear. "Not nursemaiding a cornfield."

  Iaobim laughed. "You got your orders from the Chieftain, same as me," he said.

  "D'you think the tales about Bog-men's raids are just for scaring children with?"

  Haldin sighed, leaning on his spear. "I haven't seen any evidence. And until I do, I won't believe—"

  He was interrupted by a shout from Dordan, from across the field. "Here they come!" he cried. He was already fitting an arrow to bowstring.

  Iaobim and Haldin sprinted toward their companion, trying to avoid trampling the tender plants underfoot and also trying to keep from wrecking the shelter their countrymen had been laboring so hard to erect. They reached Dordan's side, and

  Iaobim shielded his eyes with his hand, trying to see what had alarmed the archer. "You have long eyesight," Iaobim said. "I can see nothing."

  "They disappeared in a little dip in the land yonder." Dordan pointed. "But they're coming this way."

  At that moment, the Bog-men did appear, topping a small rise. They ran at a steady, distance-consuming trot. There were six—no, eight of them. Iaobim glanced at his companions. "Odds are a little longer than I like," he said.

  "I'll see what I can do to even the odds before they get
close," Dordan said. He sighted and let fly with an arrow.

  One of the Bog-men dropped and did not rise. His fellows paused only for a moment, and then kept running. It was clear that their goal was the field, and the workers in it. Dordan fired again, and another Bog-man stopped, clutching his leg. Dordan's arrow protruded from it. He had time for one more shot and then, with a bloodcurdling screech, the Bog-men were upon them.

  For an instant Iaobim wished he had chosen a spear this day. Spears were the weapon of choice for the Bog-men—those, and clubs studded with shell spikes—and fighting with a sword let an enemy get too close before he could deal with him.

  He dodged when one of the Bog-men lunged, and dispatched him with a single blow.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that his companions were likewise employed. In the space of only a few heartbeats, the attackers were down, dead or dying—all but the one Dordan had wounded. This one managed to slip around the cluster of fighters, obviously intending to take Iaobim from behind, but one of the farmers smashed his head in with the sturdy hoe he had been using to grub up weeds.

  "Thanks, Ranse," Iaobim said.

  "Pleasure's mine," the farmer replied.

  The three fighters quickly dispatched the wounded, and dragged the bodies of the

  Bog-men to one side, to examine them. "Looks like they're feeling the pinch of the cold weather, too," Haldin commented. "They aren't dressed mainly in mud.

  What kind of leather is this they're wearing?"

  "Skins off those infernal jumping horrors that you find everywhere in the Bog,"

  Dordan said. "And breastplates, too." He indicated a crude form of armor, shell-reinforced, that most of them wore. Then he pulled a couple of empty sacks off one man's belt.

  "They came prepared to cart home as much as they could carry."

  "Hmmm." Iaobim squatted beside the body he had been going over, thinking. "I wonder what Obern would make of all this."

  "No way of asking him. He's probably safe and warm, inside a grand house somewhere in that big city up north. Being catered to by servants of the fine lord who took him." Haldin gestured to a couple of the farmers and they began digging a shallow grave. "Seems he's been gone more than long enough to have gotten loose to come back to us, though."

  "Maybe he doesn't much want to escape," Dordan said, grinning. "That lady the city men took out of the Bog when they got Obern—she was a nice-looking wench, for a land woman, even if she was skinny and pale. He might be having a nice tumble with her even now."

  Haldin laughed, and even Iaobim had to smile. He had no idea what was going on in the mind of Snolli, their Chieftain, that he would not immediately go and demand the return of his son, but Iaobim knew that Snolli was a far-thinker. He had to have a plan somewhere in that long head of his. But Iaobim, too, wondered what Obern was doing.

  "I think we're safe enough from a return visit from these Bog-people, at least for the moment," he said. "Haldin, you go back to the keep and report that the rumors were true. Bog-men have learned to cross the river on this side as well as where it curves to the north, and anytime any of our people are outside our strong walls, they will need to have an armed guard with them. These are fell doings, and perilous times. It is not safe to be abroad in the land these days."

  All of Rendelsham was buzzing with the news of King Florian's coming marriage—quickly arranged, even more quickly prepared for. And though it was common knowledge that the bride, Rannore of Rowan, was proving fertile perhaps a little earlier than custom demanded, most were polite enough not to mention it.

  At least in public.

  Naturally, Ashen would be there. She had been established in one of Rendelsham

  Castle's many guest apartments, located in one of the twin three-story buildings flanking the taller main structure where the royal family lived, and the officials who actually ran the country had their quarters. Under her maid

  Ayfare's watchful eye, the house steward assigned Ashen's suite on the second floor—close enough to the heart of the castle to provide easy access to all the servants' chatter. Ashen was grateful, for this was near enough for quick access if she was summoned, and still far enough away that she no longer worried about having to encounter the Queen Dowager every time she stepped outside her door.

  And summoned she was, frequently, for she had, will or nil, become involved in the hasty preparations. She would, she was informed by the Ceremonial Steward who was arranging the elaborate protocols, walk directly ahead of the happy couple in the procession, bearing the marriage rings.

  This created a near-panic in Ashen. She turned for help to Ay-fare, with whom she had formed a friendship. "I cannot do this!" she said. "I can't show myself to the Court this way. I am here only because the Dowager ordered it, and not through any desire of my own."

  "There, there now, sweeting," Ayfare said soothingly. She smoothed Ashen's hair.

  "You act like you'll be the center of all eyes. Never fear, my poppet. You'll be very much in the shadow of the King and his bride. That's who they'll be looking at." The maid winked conspiratorially. "Besides, everybody'll be whispering behind their hands, counting on their fingers and trying to judge how far along the bride is."

  Despite herself, Ashen had to smile. In this matter, she had not had to rely on

  Ayfare to bring her the gossip. Everyone was talking about it, and about how

  Wittem, the new Lord of the House of Rowan, had brought King Florian to heel.

  "There's rumor that all in the procession will wear white samite and velvet,"

  Ayfare continued. "They say it's to be a very virginal wedding."

  That comment made Ashen laugh outright. She was very glad that Lady Marcala had given her Ayfare as her personal maid. Younger than the other maids in attendance upon Marcala, and presumably less experienced, her fine features and bearing suggested that she might be a bastard offspring of some noble as well.

  Once Ayfare had remarked on it, and this circumstance also brought the two girls closer.

  There was, Ashen discovered, a place in the festivities for nearly everyone at court. Fitting for his place as the castellan of Cragden Keep, Lord High

  Marshal, Champion and Defender of Rendelsham, Harous would carry the great sword of state as he had at the coronation. Royance, also duplicating his role in that ceremony, would carry the mace. And so on with other nobles. Each would bear some emblem or symbol or trinket of office and this, Ashen learned, was an honor to be vied for. Even Obern, Ayfare told her, would be included. As there was no actual official station he occupied, he would be given a model of a Sea-Rover ship, in token of the alliance the Dowager and the King hoped to make between the two peoples.

  The thought of Obern clad in white samite made Ashen shake her head in rueful wonder. Well, at the very least, all the hustle and bustle served to divert the

  Dowager's attention—and Harous's and Obern's as well, she hoped—from the matter of her own marriage.

  Ayfare's information source about the color chosen for the wedding party proved to be correct, and, sending the castle seamstresses away, she personally set about the task of designing and sewing a dress of white velvet for Ashen. The sitting room of the apartment was soon cluttered with sketches of other ladies' dresses, and with scraps and cuttings of velvet.

  Even Ashen, who had come to like the luxury and comfort of Rendelian clothing but who knew little about styles, recognized Ay-fare's talent. The skirt was split in a daring fashion, showing an underdress with a front panel of white samite, embroidered lightly in gold thread mixed with touches of blue. More of the embroidered samite would show at neck and sleeves, and the pillow on which

  Ashen would carry the rings would also be made of the same fabric.

  "Oh, you'll look fair and fairer than the bride once I'm finished," the maid said effusively.

  "I'll look like a specter," Ashen said. "I am too pale to wear white unadorned."

  "Most people are, including the bride.
I'm told she's more than a little green around the gills these days."

  Ashen had to bite her lips, hard. "Ayfarel"

  "Yes, ma'am." The maid obediently subsided, but her eyes were twinkling and

  Ashen knew it would be only a matter of time before she came out with yet another remark that would prompt Ashen to forget her station and double up with laughter.

  It was a welcome respite, here in a place where Ashen knew danger lurked behind every corner, outside the snug haven of her borrowed quarters. Also, it served to bring the two girls closer together.

  In New Void Keep, Snolli Sea-Rover gazed contemplatively at the messenger dressed in the Dowager's livery, who stood before him. "Give your letter to

  Kasai," he said, indicating a small man who hovered nearby, a drum hanging by a cord from his neck. "He is my trusted adviser. Also, he reads your language better and more easily than I do."