The View From Castle Always
Page 15
In between compliments, Tristram talked about Galendan, how he was the youngest of three brothers and had dreamed of coming to Castle Always his whole life. “In our country, the quest is a sacred rite for men in my position. Younger sons, I mean. Our families do not always have much to give us, so we come to the Castle seeking our fortune. When I return home, I expect to be greeted with much good cheer and acclaim. I will bring treasure and tales of adventure and be wooed by beautiful women—though in truth I think none will compare to you, my lady,” he said with a dazzling smile.
Ailanthe’s smile was not so dazzling. Being repeatedly reminded of her beauty was wearing on her, especially since she didn’t think she was as beautiful as Tristram said. But Coren thinks I’m beautiful.
“Couldn’t you make your fortune closer to home?” she asked.
“Where would be the adventure in that?” Tristram sounded surprised she would even suggest it. “Besides, the Castle knows better than we do where our destiny lies. It is far better to leave that choice to its wisdom.”
“You mean the wisdom that has me locked up here for no reason?”
They reached the top floor and Tristram released her arm to take her left hand with his right. “Perhaps the Castle has some reason behind its seeming madness,” he said. “Who can say but that your destiny lies here?”
“I don’t think anyone has the right to make that decision for me.”
“Is that not what you wanted, when you came here? To let the Castle decide?”
“Only because it was the only way to fix myself. Not because I wanted someone else to decide how my life was going to run.” She tried to pull her hand free, but Tristram had a firm grip on it.
“The Castle sees further than we do. Is it not better to be guided by another’s wisdom, if that wisdom is greater than our own?”
“I just want to go home. I’m not interested in philosophy.”
“You deserve to go home, my lady. I intend to make that door open for you and restore you to your home, however far a journey that is. I swear it on my life.” He raised her hand to his lips, which were warm but unpleasantly moist. His eyes remained fixed on hers.
She tried to pull away again, with no success. “I appreciate your offer, Tristram, but I wouldn’t want you to give up on your own quest for me. Please let me go.”
“You misunderstand, my lady. I am convinced that you are my quest. It is no coincidence that I should come to Castle Always when you are in such need of rescue.” He stepped closer. “I have always believed a lovely maiden such as yourself waited in my future. Now that you are here, I realize my imaginings fell far short of the truth.” He finally let go of her hand, only to put his arm around her neck and pull her close for a kiss.
Ailanthe was so shocked she couldn’t move. His kiss wasn’t unpleasant, but it was definitely unwelcome. She tried to back away, but he tightened his grip on her neck and kissed her again. “No—” she said, her words muffled, but he ignored her. She slapped him with her right hand and pain flashed through it. He didn’t seem even to notice. So she raised her foot and stomped hard on his with the heel of her shoe. He broke away, uncharacteristic anger on his face.
“I do not understand,” he said, “why you reject my embrace. We are clearly meant for one another.”
“I don’t think we are, Tristram,” Ailanthe said, her heart pounding. “I appreciate everything you’re doing for me, but I barely know you.” She was aware of how much taller and stronger he was than her, and was also aware they were alone because Coren was taking far too long about collecting dinner. So she quashed her first impulse, which was to scream Who the hell are you, kissing an unwilling woman and telling her she ought to want it? and push him down the stairs. “And I don’t enjoy kissing near-strangers.”
“I see how it is,” Tristram said, the anger dissipating. “You have a fondness for that oafish friend of yours. You are doomed to disappointment, my lady. He is one of those who prefers the company of men to women.”
Ailanthe flushed. “You’re wrong,” she said.
“Am I? Perhaps. But I think not. I am not unfamiliar with men of his stripe. Remember, my lady, that I will wait for your affections to change. And I am a very patient man.” He turned and walked ahead of her to the window room. Ailanthe didn’t follow. Not only didn’t she want to be alone with him, she didn’t know if she could face Coren either.
She went to her room and shut the door behind her. Was Tristram right? She’d been stupid not to at least consider the possibility that Coren wasn’t attracted to women. And it would account for how he could so casually call her beautiful without following that with a single admiring glance. But she hadn’t gotten that impression from him…Tristram had to be wrong, that’s all.
She sat down on her bed and looked at her right hand. The bruises had gone from purple-black to yellow-green, though hitting Tristram hadn’t done them any good. She rested it in her lap and stared at the door. She couldn’t exactly come out and ask Coren about his sexual preferences. She’d behave as she always had, pretending she thought of him only as a friend; nothing about her situation had changed, except that it might now be hopeless rather than improbable that he might eventually feel the same way about her.
A knock sounded at the door. “Ailanthe, I brought your smelly fish. Come on out and eat it before Miriethiel does.”
“Coming,” she said, but it took her another minute before she felt composed enough to leave her room.
Chapter Sixteen
Ailanthe slept restlessly, dreaming of long corridors down which shadows pursued her and high-ceilinged chambers where they peered down at her from the corners and leaped at her face. She woke in the darkness to find herself tangled in blankets that covered her face, slept again and dreamed of Coren kissing Tristram and woke in tears to remind herself Tristram was the last person Coren would be interested in. Then she remembered it was possible the last person was actually herself, and willed herself back into nightmares.
She woke finally to see the faint rectangles of brightness behind her heavy curtains and stumbled, head aching, to the window room. Coren wasn’t there, though his sword lay across the seat, and there was no food, so he must be in the kitchen. She touched its hilt and wondered why he’d gone all the way down to the armory and back without stopping for food.
“My lady,” Tristram said. “I take it your…companion has gone to fetch our daily repast?”
“I was just going to help him carry it,” she improvised. She didn’t want to give Tristram another chance to assault her. Now she wished she’d told Coren, but it seemed like such a stupid thing to complain to him about, and she’d handled Tristram herself. Besides, there hadn’t been any time the night before for her to speak to him privately. But the truth was she now felt far more awkward around Coren now she knew he might be slant. If she weren’t so attracted to him, it wouldn’t be a problem, but if it were true, and he found out how she felt about him, how embarrassing it would be for both of them.
You don’t know that, she told herself, Tristram’s known him for only a couple of days and he could be mistaken. And he doesn’t care for you, so it would be embarrassing no matter which sex he’s attracted to. She wished she could go back to bed and start this day over.
“Then I shall join you,” Tristram said with a bow. He had that familiar twinkle in his eye, which probably meant she was safe; he’d looked so much more serious just before he kissed her.
Tristram talked constantly as they went downstairs, full of plans for exploring that day. “I think we would be better served for you to focus your energies on interpreting that book,” he said. “Your companion and I are well equipped to search independently.”
“He has a name,” Ailanthe said.
“Which I feel I may not make free of,” Tristram said. “I fear he has taken me in dislike, and in my country names make a sacred bond between two people. I do not use your name either, my lady, and will not until you give it me of your own choice.�
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“I…see,” Ailanthe said. She bent to pick up Miriethiel, who’d joined them on the fourth floor landing, and scratched behind his ears. “That’s a lovely custom.”
“Indeed,” Tristram said. He eyed Miriethiel with some distaste, and Ailanthe’s dislike of the man deepened. So rather than setting the cat down to follow her, she carried him down the rest of the stairs and into the kitchen, where she deposited him on the counter. She could hear something strange, a clattering noise that came from very far away. “Do you hear that?” she asked Tristram.
Tristram listened, and his face went grim. “That is the sound of battle,” he said, and rushed out of the kitchen without waiting for her. She dashed after him, but he was faster than she and soon outpaced her. She had to follow the sound, which as she drew nearer did sound like metal ringing on metal. Then she heard shouting, and her own name, and she ran faster.
She rounded a corner into the hall outside the armory and stopped, disbelieving. Coren had hold of a sword much smaller than his own and was fending off attacks from two swords and a long pole with a curved blade on one end that were being wielded by no one Ailanthe could see. Tristram was gripping another sword which bucked and twisted, trying to free itself.
“Do something!” Coren shouted, parrying another attack and ducking under the sweep of the pole.
“What?” Ailanthe shouted over the noise of the strange battle.
“Make them stop!”
“I don’t—”
Coren swung again and made the opposing sword fly backwards. “Ailanthe, I can’t hold them off much longer! There’s no time for you to dither about what you don’t know!”
Ailanthe hesitated for a moment longer, then darted past Tristram to grab the hilt of one of the swords attacking Coren. “Ailanthe!” he shouted, and nearly took her head off trying to block the weapon’s attack. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Probably!” she said, and put her whole weight on the hilt and thought You are mine now. The sword resisted her for a moment, then she had its full weight in her hands. It was so unexpectedly heavy she dropped it; it lay on the floor, unmoving. Without thinking she took hold of the pole and yanked on it, forcing Coren to leap backward or have his throat cut by the blade. This time, she didn’t have to think anything; the weapon sagged in her hand and the blade grounded itself in the carpet.
“Help!” Tristram shouted, and Ailanthe replied, “Let go of it!” Tristram dropped, rolled, and came up with the sword Ailanthe had neutralized. He began fighting the weapon he’d abandoned, and even though she disliked him, she had to admire his fighting skill, which to her untrained eye looked more elegant than Coren’s fierce slashing about.
A new sound rose above the fighting, a higher-pitched jingle accompanied by a thud that sounded like footsteps. Through the armory door came one of the suits of armor, riveted metal segmented to allow the arms and legs to move freely. It bore a sword larger even than Coren’s and there was empty space where its head should be.
“Coren, move!” she shouted, and Coren threw himself to one side, abandoning the sword he’d been wielding and ending up in a fighter’s crouch. He looked as though he intended to wrestle the thing, but he was still being menaced by the animate sword as well as by this new threat, and reflexively Ailanthe brought up the mental picture of Coren’s sword lying on the boxy chair and saw it land with a thump by his feet.
He snatched it up and brought it around in time to block the armor’s swing, but it was such a heavy blow he rocked back. “It’s too strong for me!” he shouted, blocking again and swinging his sword to clang against the armor’s metal side. It left a dent, but the armor kept moving.
Ailanthe ducked in and took control of the loose sword, then backed away hurriedly and did the same for the weapon Tristram was fighting. He immediately moved to the side of the armor opposite Coren, drawing an attack.
The thing seemed unable to decide which of its targets to strike at, aiming a blow at Tristram’s head and then twisting around to block Coren’s attack. It could swivel at the waist in a complete circle without moving its feet, which seemed rooted to the ground for all Coren and Tristram could knock it down. “My lady, if you can do aught, do it now!” Tristram called out.
She couldn’t get in close enough to touch it without being struck by one of the three swords. She would have to take a different approach.
She focused on the elbow joint of the thing’s sword arm, on the segments of armor that slid past each other as it brought the sword down at Tristram’s head, and pictured them locking as the elbow reached its full extension. The armor swung again and was blocked by Coren’s sword, but when it brought its arm back for another swing, it remained straight-armed and Coren ducked it easily. Now the shoulder, she thought, and the armor jerked, trying to bring its arm up for another blow, but unable to move.
“Both together!” Tristram called out, and Coren moved next to him. As its torso swiveled around to face them, they struck together at its waist and broke the thing neatly in half. The lower half remained upright; the torso fell to the floor, its one moving arm flailing about.
“Stop,” Ailanthe said, and it fell still and the legs buckled and collapsed.
Coren, breathing heavily, said, “Thank God you came downstairs when you did. I wasn’t sure I could run backwards up all those stairs.”
“You have a great deal more faith in my abilities than I do,” Ailanthe said, panting a little herself.
Tristram wasn’t out of breath at all. “I am astonished, my lady. Clearly your powers are greater than I imagined.”
“They’re greater than I imagined, too,” she said, and went into the armory. “I think we need to establish,” she said to the walls, “that you are mine,” and turned in a slow circle, fixing every weapon with her eye.
Coren, standing just inside the door, said, “Ailanthe—”
“You gave me the idea,” she said, and an iron mace studded with spikes flew off the wall, causing Coren to leap forward, sword raised. But Ailanthe held out her hand and the weapon’s handle smacked into her palm. It was heavy, but she kept hold of it. “I should have realized when I saw your sword upstairs. When I summon things, I take control of them from the Castle. It couldn’t retrieve your sword last night because it was mine. I hope I just did the same to all of these. That was unnerving.”
“That is an understatement,” Coren said. He raised his sword and turned it to see it from all angles. “I should have realized it too.”
“I do not understand,” Tristram said. “Is the Castle so powerful, then, that it can bend things to its will?”
“The Castle is more powerful than any of us can imagine,” Ailanthe said, “but it seems I can use some of its power against it.” Tristram was looking a little blurry this morning, she thought, and then she was sitting on the ground and Coren had his arm around her shoulders. “I’m just hungry,” she said, hoping it was true.
“It looks like you might have limits to what you can safely do,” Coren said, helping her to her feet. “Tristram, bring food, and I’ll help her upstairs.”
Tristram’s eyes gleamed, and he smiled an appreciative smile at having his ploy turned against him. “Even so, good sir,” he said, and bowed.
Ailanthe felt recovered enough by the fifth landing to walk unsupported, but Coren insisted on her keeping hold of his arm, and she felt a little ashamed of herself for not protesting more. He saw her settled on a chair next to the desert window, then went to the painting and the stand in the middle of the floor and moved it aside.
“What’s the painting of?” she said. She’d always wondered, but since he set it facing the wall every morning she felt awkward making a point of looking at it.
He laughed. “Take a look,” he said, turning it around, and Ailanthe blushed to see the half-completed portrait of a very naked woman in a very compromising position. He set it against the wall and said, “It was a little off-putting, seeing her staring at me over breakfast.”
“I appreciate it, but it’s not important enough for you to risk hurting yourself,” Coren said. “I would say I can’t believe you walked into the middle of that battle, but it’s exactly the sort of thing I’d believe of you. I nearly took your head off.”
“I trusted you to hit the right target,” Ailanthe said lightly, seating herself again. “And now I know how to do it without touching things, so I won’t wade into any more fights.”
“If you’re right, there won’t be any more fights,” Coren said. He stood beside her and looked out at the desert. It was going to be another scorching hot day. “What is it you do, exactly?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “It feels like breaking one connection to make another, but I don’t feel connected to any of these things I’ve…summoned, or whatever it is I do.”
“Now you just need to figure out how to summon food from the kitchen stores, so we don’t have to walk up and down the stairs so often.”
“Or send Tristram to do it.”
“I don’t mind that.” He looked down at her, his eyes serious. “Ailanthe—” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder.
“Fresh bread and strawberry jam, just the thing to begin a day of exploration,” Tristram said. “And I have brought oranges for my lady, as I observed you are fond of them.”
“Thanks, Tristram,” Ailanthe said, accepting the fruit from him. Coren caught the one Tristram threw at his head and grinned savagely at the man. Ailanthe concealed a sigh. How long could Coren and Tristram coexist without coming to blows? They needed to find an exit, soon.