The trellets, Bew and Spar, had turned up in River’s willow, and they chittered quietly as they watched the unfolding scene below.
Two other homeless lads ran in to hover around the table, looking in the baskets.
“They’re all the same. Chicken, hunk o’ bread, pie!” Trickit called out. He was as tricky as his name, and River stayed silent and unseen in her nest high in the old willow.
“Hey, lads! One basket each!” Chancellor Mako called through the gate. His tone was not unfriendly, but Trickit and his companion flinched. Each grabbed a basket and scampered away.
When they were out of sight, the rat-girl strolled in as if she were shopping at the market. But when the kitchen door creaked suddenly, her hand shot out. She hurried away, clutching the basket tightly. Her bare-tailed pets clung to her shoulders.
Another boy took his time in approaching the table. River knew he lived in a tumbledown house in the village, but he was as thin and ragged as any of the feral children. The basket he finally took might feed several others at home.
The other three baskets stayed on the table.
River’s stomach growled, but she had not yet stirred. Dusk was gathering.
The kitchen door was now—oddly—closed and blank, with the newly locked gate in place before it. River slithered down from her tree accompanied by bird-like shrieks of encouragement from the trellets. She zigzagged through the kitchen garden and flitted to the table to nab a dinner. Then she tore off along the castle wall, diving into one of her hiding places beneath a thicket. Panting, she inspected the basket eagerly.
Incredibly, a napkin inside held a roast chicken leg, a piece of bread and butter, and a small round cheese and apple pie. The smell was enticing, and the chicken and the pie were still warm. She gobbled up part of the chicken and half the pie before she could eat no more. The rest she stowed in the basket. When it was dark, she returned to the willow tree and climbed to her nest. She curled up, emitting a satisfied burp, even happier because there was enough left to feed her in the morning.
From the tree River gazed past the castle, over the village rooftops, and out across the delta to the silvery hint of sea in the far distance. The half moon had appeared in the western sky, glowing dimly as night fell.
Clamor from within the castle reached her ears… music, laughter, the clank of knives and dishes, voices raised in song. A dinner for the visitors from the strange boat, she surmised. King Tobin had hosted dinners in the Great Hall almost every night, even if there were few guests. Since Queen Scylla’s coronation, the Great Hall had been unusually quiet.
Out in the delta, River caught sight of a pinprick of light for a few seconds. It vanished, but a moment later she saw it again. Why was a light blinking out in the delta?
Although she stared for a few minutes longer, it did not reappear and she wondered if her sleepy eyes had fooled her. Long before another small light flared in the distance, she was asleep.
“Have you found the hidden passage?”
“Yes, Princess, a narrow, steep stair built into the wall, behind a wardrobe in the second bedchamber. Jay says it leads to a small locked door below. Likely into the king’s reception office—but this is not the best time to explore.”
“It is filthy with spider webs,” said Jay, shuddering. “It has been shut up for years.”
“My father showed it to me years ago, spider webs and all. I refused to enter it.” She hesitated, recalling her similar reaction when he had taken her to the cave in the hunting lodge’s cellar. “I suspect I was very disappointing to my father.”
“Perhaps, but his choice of Maris as his second queen was regrettable,” Minda replied firmly. “Meanwhile, your life has given you a strength and a versatility you may not have had otherwise. I am glad you remembered the secret stair. It may come in handy in future… hopefully we do not need it tonight!”
“I hope not! ... I am glad you will be with me, Sorrell.”
“I cannot say the same.” Sorrell sounded testy. The dogs, who had been dozing, jumped up and barked a warning. There was a commotion outside in the hall and a knock on the door, announcing Coltic.
“Princess… ladies,” he greeted them cheerfully, although strain showed on his face. “Be quiet, Sparky!”
“Give the dogs some of this chicken stew left over from noon.” Minda picked up a bowl. The smell of it distracted the dogs, and Jay lured them to the foyer near the door.
“I suppose we should not complain that the dogs are alert,” Scylla said. “What news before we go to dinner, Captain?”
Coltic lowered his voice. “Our spy in the cubbyhole reports hearing nothing of interest. Mako has given orders to the soldiers to be calm but on guard. They outnumber Woliff and his men here by more than double. We also have Lord Winterbyne and Lord DeCarrow and their retinues attending the feast, including armed guards. They are here to honor our visitors but fully informed.”
“I am relieved.”
“I warn you both—and even Minda here in the chambers—to keep your minds guarded and quiet. Woliff’s secretary may have some powers… and Woliff too. Remember, however, their stated mission is a proposal of marriage from their king.”
“Ah, yes. As Mako suggested, I shall play the role of the insignificant opponent! I am almost looking forward to dinner!”
“I’m glad you are,” Sorrell muttered as she gingerly stood up, favoring her broken ribs and settling her bandaged arm in a sling. “Why ever did I come to this castle?”
The half moon hung low near the western horizon like a dollop of cream. The only sound was the gentle lap of the water as the river flowed to the delta. At the village docks, all was dark. Among the houses, only a few flickers of candlelight showed from curtained windows.
In the castle courtyard, torches flared and sizzled, spilling light within and outside the chained gates. From the great hall, muffled sounds of entertainment, voices, and laughter carried out into the night air. Several soldiers stood on guard… waiting in silence, their eyes alert despite the fatigue on their faces. It was more than an hour since darkness had fallen, and the feast was in full swing.
There was a pinprick of light out on the delta. It flashed… flashed again and again—five times in total.
On the boat tied to the dock, a sailor’s silhouette appeared. He left the cabin silently and crouched down on deck. If he signaled in response, it was invisible from the village side.
The half moon threw a little light, just enough to distinguish two shadowy forms as they descended quietly from the boat to the dock some minutes later.
They moved silently across the dock and cobblestones toward the village where nothing stirred but an owl. Woo-hoo… came the plaintive cry from a rooftop, and then two more. Woo-hoo… woo-hoo…
When they neared the buildings, the two shadows separated. Then there were two flares of light—one to the left, one to the right.
There was an almost invisible eruption from the surrounding darkness. The defenders overran both sailors in silence. A few grunts, choked-off cries and the thud of weapons against flesh were audible only in the immediate area. Dark figures stamped out the growing flames. Then the villagers dragged the now immobile bodies into deeper darkness behind the buildings.
Almost simultaneously, new flames erupted as boys and women lit multiple torches on poles. Light wavered through the area, exposing four more dark shapes in a huddle near the boat. Five bowmen shot arrows toward the suddenly illuminated figures—now seen to be men with weapons, dark clothing and charcoaled faces. Two fell immediately and one staggered back a few feet before a second arrow caught him through the throat—the fourth one grunted but fled toward darkness at the end of the dock. He could not escape. A pack of hunters ran him down and sent his spirit to the afterlife with spears and clubs.
“What happened? What were they doing?” Urgent whispers spread throughout the village.
“Fire!” was the hissed response. “The Gryor swine… torching the village!”
“Mak
e sure the fires are out! Douse the torches! No more light!” The flames snuffed out, and the smoke drifted throughout the village and dispersed. The dock and streets were again dark and quiet, with dark forms of the villagers moving quickly across the cobblestones.
“Take these six dead rats far out in the westernmost delta—no one will find them among the reeds,” Sergeant Brit ordered in a low growl. “Drag them to that rowboat. You others, scuff up the bloodstains and throw water on them. Leave no sign!”
Out on the delta, meanwhile, another light had flashed. This time the pinprick of light grew larger and stronger, and a plume of smoke billowed. From the village, many eyes watched as the glow intensified.
“What’s going on out there?”
“Our boatmen were to set fire to the reeds near the hidden boat… if they saw movement there!”
The sudden sound of agitated voices travelled faintly across the water. The flames increased, but from shore it was not possible to discern what was happening.
“I hope the marsh fire does not catch our men unawares,” Sergeant Brit said tensely, peering toward the distant glow. “They were to start it downwind, but wind does not always follow a steady path… Is the boat itself on fire?”
A lad had climbed to the roof of a fisherman’s shack. “The boat is surrounded by fire,” his excited voice floated back. “It’s behind that small island… if they jump in the water they may make it to the island or—wait… is that a rowboat?”
“Snakes,” piped up another, craning his neck eagerly. “Even if they make it to the island, it’s crawling with snakes… the poor bastards.”
“Poor bastards, my eye! Their comrades were torching the village! See how yon lurkers like the flames scorching up their own backs… Can you tell what’s happening?”
“The marsh fire is spreading. The island has caught fire… yes!… the boat is burning too.”
“The Goddess has been with us so far. I hope our men are not caught unawares,” Brit said again, tensely. “I hope it burns itself out and does not spread much further. When our men paddle in, report immediately!”
In the Great Hall, dinner was underway. The clatter of dishes and the babble of voices filled the hall.
Scylla and Sorrell sat at the same small round table they had used when King Tobin insisted on their attendance at dinners. On those occasions, King Tobin and his cronies, along with Queen Maris and her ladies-in-waiting, had occupied the head table as always—with the unpredictable Princess Scylla and her handmaid sitting separately at their own table. The system had been satisfactory to everyone.
Tonight, with Gryor’s High Priest Woliff visiting, Queen Scylla knew she should have presided over the head table.
But when she had arrived in the Great Hall and descended the few wide steps from the archway, she took one horrified look at the setup. The throne chair awaited her at the head table… with Woliff and his secretary Mangus at her right and Chancellor Mako and the castle steward on her left.
Impossible! she thought. I cannot sit next to that man!
She stopped in mid-hobble, one hand on Captain Coltic’s arm, the other on the hilt of her sword stick cane. Mako’s wary eyes turned to her, along with all the others not already staring at her. She saw Woliff and his secretary, with their four men standing a pace or two behind them… her soldiers who were already there and the others escorting her… and the thirty or forty other guests at the long tables on the hall floor. The two lords, DeCarrow and Winterbyne, looked as apprehensive as the chancellor. Coltic, she was relieved to see, waited calmly for her to speak.
“My regrets to our guests!” Scylla exclaimed as voices trailed off in mid-sentence. “I am far too exhausted to be good company! May I leave you gentlemen to entertain each other… and allow me my privacy!” She gave an imperious wave of her sword stick.
“Certainly, Queen Scylla!” Mako responded instantly to her demand. Two soldiers pulled the round side table out from the wall and two others hauled the heavy throne chair over to it, along with the padded footstool and another chair for Sorrell.
“Thank you, gentlemen!” Scylla said as she settled into the grand throne chair, which was large and uncomfortable. “Please enjoy the evening, as I predict our kitchen has produced another superb feast for all!” She raised her hand in a wave, receiving a chorus of cheers and applause in return.
Mako and Woliff had both made speeches, which Scylla did her best to ignore, and there had been greetings and compliments exchanged and toasts proposed while the kitchen servers carried in the feast. An abundance of food was plunked down on every table. The cook and his staff had outdone themselves once again.
Scylla eyed the overflowing trays of meats, sweets, vegetables, breads, and pies placed reverently before her and Sorrell. Three bottles of the king’s best wine stood next to the fragrant food, untouched.
“Disgusting!” she sighed. “There are only two of us, Sorrell, and we are not hogs.”
Sorrell’s lovely face was as blank as stone. Either she was disguising pain from her broken ribs and arm—or from the hip ailment she had suffered since childhood—or she was simply regretting she had agreed to attend the dinner.
She gave a shrug and winced. “Sample a few bites, Princess, and send the rest away.” She turned to look at Coltic with eyebrows raised. “Captain?”
“Lady Sorrell?… Thank you, but I and my men have already eaten and will stay alert,” he said quietly between them. He withdrew, but each time Scylla looked for him, he wasn’t far away. His strained face showed signs of fatigue, even more than Mako.
Scylla sighed. She had raised her feet to the padded stool, making it difficult for her to maintain a queen-like posture. She shifted uncomfortably for about the hundredth time.
“Good Goddess,” she said under her breath to Sorrell. “I still cannot believe Mako expected me to sit next to that man!”
“I dislike the way the high priest and his men look at me… and you, Princess.”
“In what way?”
“Like they own us, Princess,” Sorrell said through unmoving lips. Scylla nodded.
“Well, they… do… not.” Scylla turned her head and raised her chin. Then she gave a slight smile. “However, for tonight, I shall appear to be an insignificant opponent… perhaps not an opponent at all.”
She relaxed into the chair, abandoning her attempt at a royal posture. She cast an idle glance around the Great Hall, which was not really that large. The floor was of smooth stone, dug out and paved several feet below ground level. Tall narrow windows admitted light during the day, but as it was night now, they showed only glittering darkness. The walls were hung with large candelabra, and hundreds of small flickering flames illuminated the interior. At the far end, a huge fireplace roared, offsetting the dampness inherent in the stone. Some of the castle staff slept in the hall at night. It would be warmer than usual tonight.
“A toast!” Chancellor Mako raised his voice again, along with a glass of wine. “Our late king filled his cellars with excellent wine, so let us all drink to our guests, the High Priest Woliff of Gryor and his fine company of men!”
“Hear, hear!” The response was rousing.
“Thank you! Excellent wine!” nodded Woliff, rising to his feet for a moment to accept the honor.
“Let us enjoy it while it is here,” said Mako. “We plan to sell the bulk of it soon. Offers will be considered later!” He laughed, as they all did. The servants offered wine to Woliff’s men, who stood behind him. Two accepted, while the other two waved them off curtly.
Coltic also waved off the offer of wine. He stood behind Scylla’s table along with members of the Queen’s Guard. Others lined the steps further back, outnumbering Woliff and his men by more than double.
The musicians broke into song—a ballad of the kings of Rellant. It was long and loud, but uninteresting. Scylla’s attention wandered. Her eyes went to the arches of stone crossing above the hall. The castle’s guest chambers and some other rooms, including
Scylla’s former chambers, lay above on the second floor. Recalling suddenly that Queen Maris had imported the decorative fabric hangings that lined the walls of the Great Hall, Scylla decided she would have them removed as soon as possible.
The music ended, and the musicians conversed for a moment before their next number.
“Does Queen Scylla not eat tonight?” came a voice from the head table during the break: Woliff, turning to look at Scylla and Sorrell.
“She doesn’t eat much… due to her vow of temperance,” Scylla heard Mako explain.
“Temperance or starvation?” asked Woliff, with one of his wolfish smiles.
“I have little interest in food,” Scylla said, raising her voice to reach him. “Our kitchen does not find its new queen rewarding!”
“All of Rellant finds its new queen rewarding, I am sure! Also, the lady with you is lovely in her youthful beauty,” Woliff complimented Sorrell, who ignored him as if he had not spoken. “A suitor for her will not be hard to find!”
“That is true… however, she has a suitor already,” Mako answered.
“Oh?” Woliff’s brows rose in question. Oh? thought Scylla, wondering if Mako had just made that up or if it was true.
Mako did not answer. Meanwhile, the musicians struck up again, this time with a lively country dance.
When it ended, Woliff had another question, his voice carrying to Scylla’s ears as he turned toward Mako.
“Is there a sorcerer about the castle?” he asked. “Excellent wine, by the way! I may be interested in purchasing a few crates to take back with me.”
“Excellent…” said Mako. “Remind me tomorrow and I will give you a tour of the cellars… A sorcerer, High Priest? Why do you ask?”
“My secretary and I both feel there is a sorcerer present. Forgive me for asking. We are both mages.”
“Mages?”
“We study magic… with unremarkable results, I may add. Unfortunately, we are not sorcerers with inborn talent!” He laughed heartily. Beside him, Mangus smirked. The castle steward, Herron, shot them a frigid glance. He, like Sorrell, appeared to endure, not enjoy the festivities.
The Queen and the Mage Page 8
