"I do not believe for a moment that your father sent one of his own men to kill or kidnap you on the road, and I am not alone. He loved you, Madia. No matter how badly you hurt him, he would never have hurt you."
"Yet he did!" Madia said, though she felt sure of nothing just now. She remembered Anna's last words to her outside the gate—remembered, too, her own words to Anna, and she wondered if anything had been the way it had seemed that day.
"You must know it's true," Hoke went on. "I'll wager your father intended to have you collected and returned after a time. More than likely, the foot soldier was someone sent to protect you, or simply to keep watch and send back word about you."
"Then he failed," Madia muttered.
"Apparently," Hoke granted her. "Poor bastard."
"Perhaps," Madia said, thinking of the soldier as protector for the first time, remembering his rush toward her—and her attackers.
"Truly, I find it at least as hard to believe that Lord Ivran would send Bouren soldiers into southern Ariman to kill Andarys' daughter," Hoke added. "Those two men have been allies for many years, and good friends."
"Someone did," Madia answered, still trying to cope with too much grim information. "They may have been renegades. Does Lencia often hire mercenaries?"
"Not many, if at all. They have never needed to."
"But it is a safe guess that if someone did have a hand in your father's death, they may also have tried to do away with you," Keara said. "To keep you from claiming any right to the throne."
"For the time being, it seems, Grand Chamberlain Ferris has taken control of the kingdom," Hoke explained.
"So I have heard," Madia said. "I was never fond of him, though he did not seem especially dangerous."
"Some obviously suspect him. Many at court have mistrusted him for a very long time. He speaks constantly of war and building Ariman's armies, and since the king's death he is going about it, calling for homage and raising taxes and tolls, in part to pay for his mercenaries. He insists there is a threat from the great northern fiefs, yet I see none.
"There is vague talk of unrest among the desert tribes far south of Neleva as well, but it is only talk, I think."
Hoke paused, eyeing Madia from a fresh angle. "Did you ever hear from Jaffic?" he asked.
"No," Madia answered. "Not in a year."
"Men have been sent to find him, then. They came through here a week past, men-at-arms, none I knew well. They were headed upland, but none would say for certain what they were about."
"They think he is dead," Madia said, finding the words difficult, her mouth growing stiff. "My father must have thought I was dead, too, didn't he?"
Hoke looked at her with eyes too dark to fathom. "Yes," he said. "He must have, as everyone does."
"He never knew," she said, feeling something intangible slip from under her, feeling her spirit slip with it. "He thought he sent me to my death. He would have blamed himself, I am sure of it. I never wanted to believe he would abandon me, not completely, not even after all that I did to him. But he died never knowing that, either."
"What you did," Hoke corrected her, his voice resolute, "was completely abandon him. You humiliated him. You cast doubt among his people over his ability to rule. It is hard to bear such an insult from one's own daughter. Both of you became a joke that was laughed at in every corner of Ariman."
"I know," Madia said, dropping all rhetoric, seeing no point. She had learned enough, talking to villagers and travelers, to make her believe that her father would have been justified if he truly had wanted her dead or taken away, simply to be rid of the stench of her. She simply hadn't bothered to realize what she had done!
"It's all right to cry," Keara said, and Madia realized her cheeks had grown wet.
"I—I did love him, you know, I just—"
"The young are prone to error," Keara said. "It is good you can see that you have made a few."
"A few?" Hoke said, and Madia felt renewed guilt welling up inside her. Hoke fixed her with a cold stare. "Kelren died never knowing you truly felt anything for him, and you allowed it. If you had been the daughter your father deserved you would have been there to help him in his time of need, instead of adding to his afflictions. He would not have died believing that you had betrayed him, or that he had betrayed you. And if there was a conspiracy, you might have been able to save him from it. Or perhaps he died of remorse!"
Madia dropped her head onto her forearms and began to weep out loud, the tears of many weeks, of many years, suddenly coming out all at once. She had no strength to stop it.
"Easy on the girl," Keara told Hoke. "She has suffered, or are you too blind to notice?"
"No, it is true," Madia sobbed, lifting her face. "I would have watched him, seen his illness progress. I might have suspected, if something were wrong. Everyone at court would have been suspect!"
"You cannot say what might have been," Keara told her. "She is right," Hoke said. "She might have saved him. But think of this, girl. If someone is indeed behind these things, and if you had stayed, they would have had you killed as well. You'd be no good to anyone! Perhaps it's someone plotting with one of Lord Ivran's disenchanted vassals, who in turn may have sent men to find you. There are many possibilities. The banishment might simply have provided them an unexpected opportunity, although—"
He paused for a moment, scratching his chin. "Although, they must already have been in Ariman. Bouren soldiers in Bouren could not have learned of your banishment and then made such a journey in so short a time." He paused again, still considering. "No, that doesn't quite fit. On the other hand, your father—"
"Hoke!" Madia shouted, feeling the grief welling up inside her—too much emotion crushing down on her all at once. "Don't you see? I might have saved us both. And even if someone had killed me, too, I would have been there for him—with him. We would have faced death together. If I had listened and never forced his hand, I would have been there. He would have known I cared. I would have known. My father would not have died blaming himself!"
She realized she was shaking again, the way she had been yesterday outside in the cold and drizzle. She saw her father more clearly now than she ever had, and for the first time in many years she missed him—terribly. She felt she had finally found something of him, of herself, and then lost it again all in the space of minutes. Or a lifetime.
It felt awful, like nothing she could ever recall. She needed to do something soon, because she couldn't bear to just sit there. Wiping her face on her sleeve, taking a breath, Madia tried to compose herself. She could do nothing about the past, but the future was a different matter.
"I have to find out," she said. "I still want to know who tried to kill me and why. And I need to know more of my father's death. I must have justice, Hoke; what else is left to me? I must return," she finished, "to Kamrit, to my home."
"You'll go nowhere till spring," Keara corrected. "You must know that."
"She is right," Hoke said. "I'll just have to keep you here, let you help out a little around the place, maybe even teach you a little more humility, if I can."
"I am learning," Madia grumbled, making a face, though fatigue was entering her voice, the heat of the past few minutes cooling quickly now.
"Then you'd best give consent to the idea," Keara remarked. "And you may take time to consider your plans. Don't forget you are an heir to your father's throne, even if you are a ghost. Kelren's murderers will yet become yours, and they will doubtless try to do more permanent work next time."
"Whatever your plans, you'll need to know much more than you do now," Hoke added. "And you will need friends, my friends, to help if you are going to do any good. Only a miracle of the Greater Gods could get you anywhere near the throne again, I think, and I doubt even miracles could keep you there. I know you want revenge, Madia, but it may not be possible. And I fear you could never be queen, even if you desire it. Your name does not inspire loyalty."
Madia stared at him, unable to re
spond. She had never wanted to be queen, and she had not realized that this was what her own words had just implied, not until Hoke put it that way. You could have been queen, she thought. Jaffic had never been her father's first choice; he was just the only choice they could both agree on. But like her father's love, she had thrown her inheritance away as well.
She felt her muscles grow hard. She made a fist on the table, a vague attempt to redirect the tension and the anger building within her. She did not want to believe it was all so hopeless. She could not. And yet. . . .
"I don't know what I can do, but I will try," she said." I can think for myself, and I can fight."
"Not from what I have seen," Hoke declared, sitting back in his chair. Madia found him grinning.
"I was rather tired when I arrived here," she said evenly.
"As you wish," Hoke said.
Madia nearly spit. "I have taken lessons from some of the best swordsman in all Ariman. I have learned—"
"Very little, I would say." Hoke chuckled.
"Perhaps she has not had the right teacher," Keara said, looking at Hoke with big round eyes. His grin began to fade.
Madia eyed them both. "The finest my father could find," she said.
"Some are finer than others," Keara replied.
"Then," Madia said, growing somewhat annoyed, "perhaps you might know of someone . . . qualified?"
Keara stared at Hoke. "I don't do that anymore," Hoke said, beginning to fidget in his seat.
"For her, you will," Keara told him. "You know it."
"I don't need him," said Madia. "I truly can fight."
"Not as he can teach you, girl."
Keara held Madia with her gaze; this was something she knew, Madia saw, the way the peasants in the villages knew when to plant their gardens, or when a new calf was due—something to be believed.
"Perhaps—I need you to make me even better," Madia told Hoke.
"If anyone can," Keara said, "he can."
Hoke scowled deeply at them both. "She'll still only get herself killed. You're not the leader your father or his father was. You will need to gather both the truth and the men to listen to you tell it, men who will get behind you, and neither will come easily. Not by a long way! It takes more than a little of the king's blood and some battle skills to lead an army, to lead Ariman, dear princess." Hoke shook his head. "Much more."
"The whole kingdom cannot be against me," Madia said. "There must be a way to reach them—your friends and others like them."
"First, there must be something to convince them with."
"I will find it."
"And some means to make them accept you."
"I will find that, too."
"Forgive me if I harbor a bit of doubt."
"Well, then, I must begin with you, Hoke. You said I was not the same girl you remembered," Madia offered. "Truly, I am not."
"We have until spring," Keara said then, shrugging her shoulders. "To learn of warriors, of leaders, and much more."
Hoke drummed his fingers, scowled.
"Please," Madia said, adding a faint sniffle as she did. "Help me."
Hoke made a groaning sound somewhere deep in his throat.
Keara turned to Madia and smiled, just barely, and Madia knew that it would be so.
Chapter IX
Warm sun shone on the muddy seas that were Urid's pastures. Ripe buds hung fat and heavy on the tips of tree limbs and shrubbery. The road was already drying up. In another week, maybe two, the land would be ready, and Urid would begin to clear and plow and sow. All very hard work, Frost rather imagined. It was time to go.
The little manor house had been a fine enough home, and Urid and his children had served as good hosts, but they were people of minimal inspiration and endeavor, and their best efforts to entertain Frost and his Subartans had only bridged a small part of the long winter's seasonal gap. Frost had largely resisted the urge to toy with these folk, though there had been a slip or two.
Nothing serious, no more than a bit of mayhem with items set down here, only to turn up there, or a dab of illusion, allowing Urid to get up one morning and find wolves asleep in his children's beds—but if he stayed much longer, temptation might finally overcome him. And he liked these people too much for that. Urid, for all his limitations, was a man quick to humor and slow to judgment, as were his children; traits Frost could not discount.
Frost waited as his three Subartans came out of the house and joined him, standing just behind him, basking in the bright sun and sniffing at the sweet spring air. Then Rosivok leaned to Frost's ear. "This day?" he asked.
"Yes," Frost told him. "A clear sky, a clear road, a clear mind! And I have checked what must be a mulberry tree, there, across the road, and there are plenty of small sprigs on its branches—a sign that another freeze will not come. I think . . . Go, and gather what we will need." He reached inside the heavy, full tunic he wore, fishing about, then pulled out his hand and gave Rosivok a few gold coins. "And give these to Urid. His long hospitality is payment enough for my services."
Rosivok nodded, then turned to Jaffic and Sharryl, and the three of them headed toward the storage sheds at the back of the house. Urid came out next, just as Frost was heading back inside. He watched the Subartans disappear around the corner, then he looked at Frost; a question was in his eyes.
"Yes," Frost said. "We are leaving."
"Be careful on your way, then," Urid said. "Watch for signs of changes. It has been a long winter."
"The omens appear favorable," so far as I can tell, Frost thought.
"There is already a bad omen," Urid said.
"You mean King Andarys' death," Frost replied.
"No, another."
"Very well," Frost said grimly, "though it does not seem fitting that any small darkness should tarnish such a bright day." He hated to ask: "What omen, my friend?"
"I burned the bay leaves this morning," Urid explained, referring to the bay branch he had cut and placed over the hearth in the fall, to ward off disease.
"And the leaves crackle?" Frost asked; this was an ancient practice he knew.
"Yes, loudly," Urid said. "A very bad omen, indeed!"
"I thought that no crackle was bad, and crackling was good." He thought he knew the practice.
"I do not think so," Urid replied, though he seemed to quickly lose himself in careful reflection of this. Then he looked up, and shrugged. "My wife knew such things," he said, "but alas, she is gone."
"A pity," Frost replied, shrugging in kind. There were more rumors, of course, from Urid's neighbors and a traveler that had stopped in need of shelter for a night. All spoke of the changes already occurring everywhere in Ariman, especially since the rumors of Kelren Andarys' passing: new laws and tariffs, new taxes, new tolls, and soldiers, a growing number of them showing up almost everywhere, and people growing uneasy.
Nearly cause for worry, whatever the leaves might mean. . . . Still, he had no more patience for this place, and since the news about Andarys, Jaffic had begun asking after their departure nearly every day. He seemed different, moody, in his way, and quite preoccupied. Unfortunate qualities for a Subartan in Frost's service, whatever the cause.
"I must go," Frost said. "The trip to Neleva should prove extremely profitable, and the only way I know to get there is through Ariman. And while I knew his father, I didn't know this Andarys very well, so I will personally miss him very little. Ariman, I trust, will suffer more. I have an interest in the well being and prosperity of the realm, of course. Perhaps I will pay a call to this Ferris fellow just to introduce myself. So rich a sovereign should be aware of services I might be persuaded to render."
Urid smiled, used to this by now. Frost smiled back.
"Come in when you are done," Urid said, "and we will have a good breakfast to start you on your way."
Frost paused and glanced downward, assessing his considerable girth. He had kept to his exercises, lifting every available object he could find in Urid's hou
se, and walking in the nearby hills whenever weather allowed. He had retained the power and endurance such a big frame demanded. But he'd eaten well enough through the winter months, very well, he thought, patting his belly with one wide-spread hand.
No matter, he thought—it is bad luck to take up a long journey on an empty stomach—or it should be. He grinned and nodded to his host.
"I'll have Aul go tell the others," Urid said, and started back inside. Frost lingered, thinking of the opportunities that awaited him in the lands to the south, of how lackadaisical he and his Subartans had become, staying in this place these past many months. The idea felt complete in his mind. He was eager for the road.
* * *
After two days travel, following the twists and turns of the upper Saris River, they reached the edge of the Ikaydin Plateau. Below, at the bottom of a tumbled-down wall of earth and rock that rose more than four thousand feet and stretched to both horizons, lay Bouren. Here the Saris cut a deep gash in the escarpment and broke into great waterfalls, then dark pools. Frost stood looking out into the distance, and saw the first green traces of spring spreading across the rich forests and pastures that ran to meet the horizon. This sight had not changed over the years; he did not expect it ever would.
The weather was holding warm, even during a light rain the day before. A good omen, Frost thought, ascribing that much less to chance. He followed the worn, easy trails that wandered down along with the river and joined the main trade road, then took the road for another day, until finally they arrived in Lencia.
He had not seen the city in more than a decade, but it too had not changed notably. A fine city, in fact, large enough to accommodate most of the major trade and merchant guilds and a healthy central marketplace, even a winery, though imported goods were often few and dear.
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