Knight Or Knave Read online

  Ashen knew that Zazar was secretly laughing at her. "You know I would welcome

  Weyse at the Oakenkeep if she will agree to visit," she said, trying to keep her own voice neutral.

  "Well then, that's settled. Why don't you find a room for me to use? Of course

  Anamara will be staying with me where I can keep an eye on her, so be kind enough not to shove us out of the way in some stable or other outbuilding."

  Ashen took a deep breath to keep herself from a furious outburst. "You know full well there is always an apartment here in the Residence kept ever ready for you," she said, trying to keep the anger out of her voice, "and has been since first we came to live in the Oakenkeep, in hopes that you would come and visit, or even to stay permanently with us. I'll give orders that the fire be lit and the beds freshened."

  "Oh, no need," Zazar said airily. "I can brush away a cobweb if need be. Just show me the way."

  Grateful for something to do, Ashen briskly led Zazar and An-amara—who would have lagged behind, gaping at the tapestries and furnishings, if Zazar had not held her by the hand—through the upper hallway to the suite that had been set aside for the Wysen-wyf. Their breaths were visible in the frosty air. She opened the door, expecting the interior to be as cold and dusty as it had been the last time she had visited, and scolded the maids for not maintaining it better. However, to her surprise, all was warm, clean and tidy, with a fire burning briskly on the hearth. Weyse, curled up on the bed in the far corner, looked up with sleepy eyes. Then she uttered a glad cry of greeting, jumped down out of the trundle bed that was already set up, and waddled toward the people at the opened door.

  Involuntarily, Ashen stepped back, astonished, and Weyse altered her course and made for Zazar instead. "Here already, you scamp?" she said, picking Weyse up and cuddling her. "I might have known." She turned to Ashen, who reached out and stroked Weyse's head. "If we could have some hot water, perhaps, so I can give

  Lady Lackwit a bath, and some food. I still have a little of that grain and fruit that Weyse likes so well, but unfortunately our bird-girl likes it, too.

  Some warm clothing for her wouldn't go amiss, either. And shoes."

  "Of course," Ashen said through stiff lips. "I will send Ayfare to you. She was my personal maid in Rendelsham, and now she is the head housekeeper of

  Oakenkeep. She will see to it that you have everything you need."

  "Good. Now, I'm sure you have better things to do than let the warmth out into that cold hallway." With that, Zazar closed the door practically in Ashen's face.

  Ashen resisted an impulse to pound on the door, demand entrance, and have an open row with Zazar then and there. But what would it accomplish? She had a distinct feeling that the Wysen-wyf would ignore such an encounter as easily as she had avoided Ashen's objections earlier.

  No, better to leave her to her task. The sooner she could restore Anamara's wits, the sooner the girl could be sent back to the Dowager's Court, where she belonged. Or—Ashen's eyes narrowed.

  She was not the ignorant Bog-Princess she had once been, when first she came to

  Rendelsham. She was very aware of the remnants of Ash holdings that now, by the law of inheritance, were hers. There still existed places where Anamara could be sent and where she would be hidden so completely that Rohan could never find her—particularly if he were commanded to return to the capital city and resume his responsibilities in the Dowager's Levy. Gaurin had told her of his offhand question to Rohan: Would he now be knight, or knave? She knew instinctively that

  Rohan, now a knight, would not turn knave and desert his duty just to look for a none-too-bright girl who had run afoul of the Dowager's schemings, and suffered for it. Perhaps later, when his responsibilities would allow, he would stay with her as he chose, but not at the present.

  Rohan slogged along in Gaurin's wake through the woods to the north and east of the castle. The snow had started again, though not heavily, and he was not at all sure they would be able to start a coney, let alone anything large enough to feed the household at the Oakenkeep. He was grateful for the thick boots and fur-lined garments—clean and dry and, above all, warm—that Gaurin had given him.

  Both men were armed with bows, in addition to the swords that were always at their sides, and full quivers of arrows were at the ready on their backs. A distance behind them trailed Lathrom and half a dozen soldiers from the keep. No hunters except possibly for the captain, they would be ready to carry home what

  Gaurin and Rohan tracked.

  "Is Ashen often like this?" he asked.

  "Like what?" Gaurin paused, searching the ground for tracks that might show in the new-fallen snow. "Ah. Tracks. Come this way."

  "Like she was back at the keep." Rohan moved up to walk beside Gaurin, keeping the line of cloven footprints between them. "I've never seen her so dead set against anyone as she is against Anamara. And for no reason that I can tell."

  "Nor I. But I have learned, with Ashen, that she often keeps her own counsel until she is ready to tell me her reasons for this or that. I believe it will be that way now."

  "I hope so. After all, Anamara is, in a way, Ashen's kindred. You'd think she would feel more kindly disposed toward her, wouldn't you?"

  "I would, but remember that women's ways are not always our ways, my young knight. And what may seem complicated and even devious to us, to them is perfectly natural and straightforward. It is a mystery."

  "Yes," Rohan agreed glumly. "And one that I have yet to fathom. Perhaps you will teach me."

  Gaurin turned toward him, amused. "I have already imparted to you all the wisdom

  I possess about the ways of women!" he said. Then his expression became a little more serious. "I love Ashen, from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet. And I know that nothing you or I may say, or even that Madame Zazar might say, would have any effect on her. The one who wins her over to Anamara will have to be Anamara herself."

  Rohan bowed his head. "I must accept that," he said, "even though I would have it otherwise." Then he remembered another matter that had been almost overlooked in the tumultuousness of his arrival at the Oakenkeep with Grandam Zaz and his afflicted lady. "Where is Hegrin? I thought to see her long before now."

  "We sent Hegrin, with her own household, to Rydale, one of Ashen's holdings. It used to belong to the late King Florian, but nobody wanted it because it lies to the east, near the shore. We found it perfect for Hegrin because it is remote and, thus, likely to be safer than we are here when the attack from the North comes. Also, being close to the sea, it is warmer."

  "You must miss her."

  "We do, both of us. And that is one more reason I thought Ashen would welcome

  Anamara as a kind of substitute for the daughter she no longer can see every day. Perhaps, though, she sees her as a rival instead—"

  Gaurin broke off abruptly, holding his hand up to signal Rohan to stop.

  Rohan obeyed, looking around for signs of whatever it was that had alerted

  Gaurin. "What is it?" he whispered.

  The other man made an impatient signal for silence, and then Rohan heard it—the sound of something large and close ahead, pushing its way through the underbrush. "Fallowbeeste," he said, so softly the sound of the word barely reached Rohan's ears.

  Then he gestured again, and Rohan moved off in the opposite direction. He knew at once what Gaurin had in mind. They would try to flank the prey, and then, between them, bring it down. He drew an arrow and nocked it to his bow. Gaurin did likewise. And then the hunt was on in earnest.

  Rohan knew that fallowbeeste were sturdy enough to take several arrows and still escape their hunters. He and Gaurin would have to be quick and, above all, accurate if they hoped to provide meat for the castle household. They crept forward carefully, making certain not to step on a warning twig.

  Then he spotted it. There it was, beyond the trees in a small clearing! A fine buck, it had paused to search out a bit of grass beneath the coverin
g of snow.

  The rack of horns adorning its head would make a fine trophy, mounted and hung above a fireplace. Rohan readied his bow, and could see Gaurin, also with arrow nocked. They were too close together for a flanking maneuver. It would have been better also if they could have worked their way around so that they had a clearer shot, from the front, but Rohan knew they dared not risk it. More than one fallowbeeste had fled untouched when an unwary hunter, trying for a more advantageous angle, had stepped on a twig or otherwise sounded an alarm.

  He drew back the bowstring and took aim at a point just behind the animal's front leg. With any luck, either he or Gaurin would get the vital spot and the fallowbeeste would die immediately, without pain. The animal froze, lifting its head, and Rohan knew it had sensed the hunters' presence.

  Without hesitation, he loosed the arrow, half a heartbeat behind Gaurin's shot.

  At least one of them hit squarely home, for the fallowbeeste dropped in its tracks without even a grunt.

  The men hurried over to make sure it was really dead and not just pretending, so it could scramble to its feet and dash away at the first opportunity.

  "The arrows are scarcely a hand-span apart," Gaurin said. "Good shooting, Rohan.

  I believe you got him."

  Rohan knew better; the arrow marked with the spring-green band had struck more truly. He recognized Gaurin's gesture as being that of a good host, and a generous one. "The trophy is yours, though. Or, at least, yours to keep for me.

  What would I do with this, even if I had it?" He knelt and examined the rack of horns. Sometimes people used them as handles for knives, or sliced them into disks for buttons, but these were much too fine for such a humble use. They deserved to be displayed, as a tribute to the noble beast that had once worn them.

  Gaurin took the horn from his belt and blew a clear note. "Lath-rom and his men will be here shortly. They will do the skinning and will cut it into sections for the roasting spit. We will finish the stew with fresh bread tonight, and then feast well tomorrow. And we will have some fine leather from this fellow's hide, as well. New slippers for your lady, perhaps, and for mine. A new belt for you, at least, to remember the occasion and I will give you a buckle shaped like the amulet Madame Zazar gave you. We have done a good day's work, Rohan."

  "Yes," he agreed, but his satisfaction was dimmed somewhat at the mention of

  Anamara. New slippers she might have, but what good would they be if her wits could not be restored to her?

  During the days and weeks that followed, a peace of sorts descended between the quarreling women. That it was accomplished primarily by Ashen's holding her tongue was immaterial. She could almost feel the relief emanating from both her husband and her stepson. Still, her mind had not changed on the matter. She held against Anamara, and could not articulate a clear reason why.

  Zazar always brought Anamara to the table for the evening meal in the Hall, and painstakingly taught her to eat not with her hands but with a spoon, as she could not yet be trusted with handling an eating-dagger. Weyse stayed in Zazar's suite; at least, she never appeared anywhere else in the Oakenkeep. When Ashen wanted to visit the little creature who had befriended her in the lost and ruined city of GaUnth, she must perforce go there. She chose times when Zazar was absent.

  After dinner, when the Wysen-wyf was in the mood, she proved to have an unexpected talent for the telling of tales from the far-distant time, back before GaUnth had fallen into decay and the Bog had formed. But the evening's entertainment never lasted long. The Oakenkeep was too large and firewood becoming too scarce to heat it more than absolutely necessary. People were glad to retire early, to their beds, warmed with heated stones wrapped in wool, where they could pull the woolen curtains shut and thaw cold fingers and toes. Though the custom had always been for people to remove their clothes and sleep bare, it was too cold for that. Men and women aUke wore long nightgowns, also made of wool.

  Ashen hoped the frigid weather would at least abate enough so that the river thawed. When the meat ran low, people from the castle had to chop holes in the ice before they could hope to catch a mess of fish for their evening meal. At least meat seldom went off these days, as it once did in milder weather. It froze too quickly for that, which was, in a way, a blessing.

  Twenty-three

  Lord Royance strode back and forth in front of the fireplace in the Dowager

  Queen Ysa's apartment. There was a youthful bounce in his step that had not been seen in a long time. "What a great day for Rendel!" he exclaimed. "Our fighting men must be the best in the world, judging from their performance in the Grand

  Tourney. Even the youngsters."

  "And you as well, my lord?" Ysa said. She sat watching, hoping to appear interested, when in truth the boasting of the Head of the Council bored her nearly into insensibility. Marcala was with her, but the younger woman seemed to be paying genuine attention to Royance's retelling of the tourney's events.

  "If I had to, I know now I could take up weapons and fight," he said, obviously greatly pleased with himself. "I would, in fact, welcome the test in real combat! I only wish I had been matched against someone more able than Wittern.

  Great friend though he is, he is not the man he once was and even in our youth I could have him on his back in a stroke or two."

  "You showed yourself very competent. I am only glad that no harm came from it."

  Royance stopped his pacing and frowned into the fire. "That was a very bad situation, with that Magician fellow, or Sorceress, or whoever or whatever he or she was. Most confusing. Even while it was going on, with the fellow working his spells, I knew that I had no real quarrel with Jakar, or even with Gattor, for that matter. And yet it seemed that I could not help myself. Whatever possessed you to put such a person in your hire? What were you thinking of?"

  Ysa felt a faint chill down her back, in spite of the heavy green velvet dress she wore. "I did it for the good of the country, my lord Royance," she replied,

  "as everything that I do is for the good of the country." She held out her hands, with the Four Great Rings on them. "My entire life is devoted to keeping

  Rendel safe and secure— even while the dangers surrounding us pile one upon the other. Surely you must know that."

  "I do," Royance said. "Yes, of course, I know that you have worn yourself thin when it came to the good of the land. But it does seem that you could have checked the fellow's credentials—"

  "Do have some more heated wine," Marcala said hastily. "And tell us more about your exploits." She leaned forward to pour, and the scent of her vaux lily perfume wafted out into the air. "We are mere women, you know, and can't be expected to recognize the finer points of arms-play."

  "I thought that you would have learned, being so close to Har-ous as you are, and in a position to watch the youngsters at their training. Pity that I didn't provide two prizes. But Gaurin won the standing-cup fair and square. I hope

  Harous is not disappointed."

  "Of course he would rather have won, but he holds no ill will toward Gaurin. He recognizes and, indeed, admires Gaurin's great skill at arms."

  "Harous has a noble heart," Ysa said, "and this brings to mind a matter that I have been thinking on. Let us discuss it, my Lord Royance, now that we are all three here together, for I want your thoughts and sage advice. Then, if you will, you can regale us with more tales of the tourney."

  "Why, of course, Your Highness," Royance said. He took the chair that had been set out for him and became once more the Head of the Council rather than the old warrior yearning for one more battle. "What may I offer my advice on?"

  "It is the matter of Count Harous's marriage." Beside her, Ysa heard Marcala draw in her breath sharply. "I think it is time and more that he marry, and get heirs. Someday, we might well have a great struggle ahead of us, every indication tells me, and I would not leave his branch of his Family childless."

  And also, she thought, I would put Marcala that much more into my debt. This
lady has become much too independent of late. She could, if she would, be very helpful regarding a certain matter that Ysa had been thinking on and which needed to be resolved.

  "Let us be frank and open with one another," Royance said. The firelight gleamed on his snowy head. "It is not only time for the boy to marry and get heirs, but also it is past time for him to regularize the relationship he and the Lady

  Marcala have had. The question is, will he be willing to do so?"

  "He would be, with you to prompt him," Ysa said.

  "And the lady? How say you, Marcala?"

  "I have wanted Harous as my husband for a long time. But it was not seemly for me to broach the subject." Marcala's cheeks reddened. To Ysa's astonishment, her