by Andre Norton
Harous had to concede that much, at least for the moment. Any revenge he might take against Marcala would have to wait. Still, he strove for some semblance of a victory in this battle between them. "When the war is over, I will divorce you."
"And marry Ashen, as you always schemed, or so you think." Marcala's laughter turned to an open sneer. "She was never yours, not for a moment, even when she married the Sea-Rover Obern. There was I, close to hand, willingly your leman and only later—" She stopped abruptly.
"Only later, when Ysa worked a love spell, did I ask you to become my wife, is that it?" Harous supplied for her.
She shrugged. "I know of no spell. Royance was the one who gave you the push you needed to make you do the sensible thing."
"I am going off to battle, and in battle men die. But whichever side triumphs, I promise you that I will do what I must to survive. I will divorce you for your treason."
"You might live through the war," she said, her eyes glittering, "but after you come home?"
Every nerve in Harous's body tingled. He knew that what had begun as a quarrel had suddenly become a threat to his own life. He would have to be careful indeed, in the hours he had left before he departed from Cragden Keep and this very dangerous countess of his.
"Let us leave it at that," he said carefully. "I spoke in haste and anger. We both did. When the war is finished, then perhaps we will all be sufficiently changed that we can put this unfortunate episode behind us, and perhaps make a fresh beginning. After all, we have discovered, at the very least, that we are equally matched. What say you, lady?"
She seemed mollified by his words. "Let us consider that when the war is over.
After you fulfill your promise and return to me."
Not even if they had made up their quarrel completely would Harous have shared a bed with his wife. Claiming that his duties as marshal dictated that he should be with the soldiers, he stayed in the barracks with those of his men who ranked highly enough to be given quarters inside the keep. The foot-soldiers, comprising the largest number of the men, camped outside.
At dawn, while he was conferring with his officers and sergeants about the best marching order, Marcala appeared from the doorway behind him, bearing a tray on which two goblets of warmed wine steamed. Behind her came servants also bearing trays and others bringing a cask on rollers. The tap was already driven in, ready to decant the contents.
She picked up one of the goblets. "A stirrup-cup, husband," she said clearly, her voice carrying to the assembled soldiers. "To wish you luck on your way. And also for your brave warriors. It is meet for the Countess of Cragden to give you this farewell."
From behind him, Harous could hear the approving murmur of his officers. She made, indeed, a brilliant spot of color with her deep rose velvet dress embroidered with pink vaux lilies. "Thank you, wife," he said with a certain irony. "I can always trust you to do the appropriate thing."
She smiled for the benefit of the waiting men and offered him the tray. They were standing at the top of a short flight of stairs leading to the ward where they were assembled. Outside, on the plain where the rest of the army waited the order to march, nobody had brought wine, heated or otherwise. "Let all here be served, the lucky ones with your own hand," he said, "and then we will drink a toast together."
She raised an eyebrow, but moved to comply. Carefully, he marked which goblet she had offered him. Then, as he set the tray aside, he turned it so that the positions of the goblets were reversed, making sure that Marcala did not see him do it. There was nothing amiss in Marcala's gesture; it was, in fact, both expected and the proper thing to do. Nevertheless, there was no sense in taking chances and Harous had always been a prudent man.
When all in the waiting company had been served, the Marshal did not touch the tray, allowing Marcala to pick it up. He took the nearest goblet, not the vessel she had intended for him to drink from.
"Let us link arms, to symbolize our resolve," he said. "And our lasting union."
This time her smile, for him alone, was one that he recognized as false. She twined her arm with his, so that their faces were so close their eyelashes almost brushed and they warmed each other's cheeks with their breath. "To victory/' she said. "You must drink it all."
Harous drained the goblet, as did she, and he wiped his lips with the back of his hand. In the ward, everyone followed suit.
Then he took his place as leader, giving the signal to begin that action which would take the assembled to the camp of the Four Armies. There, very soon, they would face the perils from the Country of Ever Snow that lay beyond even the
NordornLand.
Because the Nordors had preceded them, the Army of Ren-del was not the first of the four to arrive at the rendezvous point, but it was not the last. That dubious honor went to Rohan. The winds were against the Sea-Rovers, seas running high. Nevertheless, two days late and a few sails tattered, the little fleet pulled into the indifferent harbor serving the stronghold of Bilth and the marines disembarked.
Rohan entered the gate in the stockade wall that earlier arrivals had erected and was escorted immediately to the tent erected for the use of the generals of the Four Armies and their staffs. A russet flag, bearing the device of a tower, floated above it, indicating that this was the headquarters of the Lord High
Marshal of Rendel. Snow was piled high on all sides, leaving only a narrow path to the entrance guarded by two Rendelian soldiers. "My apologies," he said as he went inside. Once in, he realized there was another room behind this one, set aside for Harous's living quarters. A burning brazier made the conference space cozy. The remnants of a meal lay on a tray on a small table, waiting to be removed. Chairs were set here and there, and between two of them, a game board.
Gaurin glanced up from the map he had been studying. The medallion proclaiming him General of the Army of the Nordors swung from a chain around his neck. "No need," he said. "You are not very late. We are currently working out strategy, and trying to decide from which direction these in- vaders will come." He made room for Rohan at the table. "There are two possible routes—this one to the west between the upthrust of mountains and the sea, and the other in a narrow gap between these same mountains and another range of them, stretching to the east." He pointed to map lines.
Rohan pulled off his mittens, massaging his cold fingers, as he peered at the map. "Either way has its advantages. And its disadvantages."
"That's the conclusion we have reached," Harous said.
In a far corner of the tent, Tusser looked up. He had been sitting on a blanket, hunched over, his head propped on his arms that were wrapped around his knees.
Over his customary garments of lupperskin, he wore a knee-length tunic of heavy wool, and his feet were wrapped in dirty cloth. "Maps silly," he said. "We go fight."
"Greetings, Tusser," Rohan said. "I didn't see you there."
"He arrived an hour or so before you did," Harous said. "We've been having difficulty making him understand that we can't just go out all at once, without plans or direction, and no amount of shouting gets through to him." Harous made a dismissive gesture toward the General of the Army of the Bog and turned away.
"Ah," Rohan said. "I believe that I recognize the problem." He recognized also that Tusser's sitting apart from the generals of the Army of Rendel and the Army of the Nordors was not entirely accidental. There must still be a great deal of distrust, particularly between Rendel and the Bog. Gaurin could be counted on to be much more tolerant and accepting, but he was not the High Marshal, who outranked even the generals, as Harous's badge of office, surmounted by a coronet, proclaimed. Rohan wondered where Tusser's badge was. Or, for that matter, if he had been given one.
Rohan went over and squatted down beside Tusser. "Yes, we will go and fight, this I promise," he said. "Tusser is my friend. Do you remember our pact?"
"Tusser remember."
"Then Tusser knows that I tell the truth. Come with me, and I will explain the map."
/> "Not hurt ears?"
"No, I won't shout at you. I promise."
Tusser got to his feet and followed Rohan to the table. There, on top of the map spread out on its surface, he set a piece from the game board atop the symbol for the nearby keep.
"This stands for Castle Bilth. You passed by it on your way to the camp."
Tusser nodded, interested. "Big stone place."
"Yes. The big stone place will be our fallback point if it should come to that.
Here are mountains—" He tore up some scraps of bread from the discards on the tray, piled them in the appropriate place, and scraped the opening to the east that Gaurin had noted. "—and here is the second way they can come at us. Out here is the water, where I will be most of the time."
A dull light began to dawn in Tusser's eyes and he nodded again. "Tusser see.
Map is flat pictures of country, you show me which is mountains, which is big stone place. Can't make map wet for show water. Spoil pretty drawing."
"Yes. That's it. We will fight, but we do need to go to the right place to do it. If we don't, then the enemy will slip past us and the war will be lost before it starts."
"Now Tusser understand," he said. "Land between mountains like two rivers in
Bog. Why we not put armies both places?"
"There aren't enough of us for that," said Hynnel, who had moved to watch
Rohan's efforts in making the Bog-man comprehend what they were about. Hynnel's badge indicated that, king in exile or not, he was Gaurin's second in command.
"Huh," Tusser said. "Then do like Bog-men do. Put men to watch both places of land river. Then all go where enemy goes."
"Post scouts, to avoid ambush. That is a very good plan," Gaurin said seriously.
"And we will take your advice. Thank you. The snow is deep, though, and our armies cannot move fast enough from one—er, river, to the other. So I would rather put most of our troops in place beforehand."
Tusser nodded. "Yes," he said. "All have good plans."
Satisfied, he went back to his corner and Harous stared at him, a sour expression on his face. "That," he said, turning to Rohan, "is the first time since he arrived that anybody has been able to get through to him."
"All it takes is—" Rohan bit back the words he was going to say, that all it took was explaining and showing rather than shouting, and substituted
"—patience."
"Well, you obviously have more of it than I do. So I'll turn General Tusser over to you in future when it comes to discussions of strategy."
"Tusser glad," the Bog-leader said from his corner. But he picked up a medallion on a chain from nearby from where he had been sitting, and slipped it over his head. Rohan rec- ognized it as identical to the one Gaurin wore, symbolic of his rank, except that the emblem it bore was of a Bog lupper.
"Where can my men set up their tents?" Rohan said hastily. "We'll be spending much of our time at sea, of course, but being marines, we'll have our land duties as well. Most of my fellows have already awarded themselves a place in the front lines, when the fighting comes."
"And so they shall have it, if circumstances allow," Gaurin said. "Come and see the area set aside for the Sea-Rovers. It grows late and I want to stretch my legs anyway."
He exchanged glances with Hynnel, and Rohan noted that Hynnel nodded slightly.
Gaurin, Rohan realized, was making sure that Tusser would be treated with respect in his absence.
They ducked through the tent flap and began making their way through the lanes cut into the snow in what Rohan recognized as a kind of city-camp. Row upon row of tents lined each lane, all with their sides covered with loose snow to insulate the inhabitants from the northern winds.
"We live in luxury now," Gaurin said, "in good shelter and with hot meals at least once a day."
"Harous seems stretched a little thin," Rohan said. "Or is that just my imagination?"
"No, it is my observation as well, young Rohan. I do not know what is eating at him, but something obviously is. Perhaps he is just on edge, waiting for the fighting to begin."
"Perhaps," Rohan agreed. "We all are." But privately he thought it was more than that. Furthermore, he thought that Gaurin shared that opinion but didn't care to discuss it for he changed the subject.
"How was Ashen when you left, and your lady wife?"
"Both well, and both missing us. But brave, as we might hope for them to be.
Before I left, Ashen moved Anamara into her quarters, for company. Anamara has begun calling her 'Madame Mother.' "
"That is charming. Let us hope our absence is brief. It already seems like years, though it has been only a few days." They came to a cross-lane in the camp. "Just one moment," Gaurin said. "I want to see how Rajesh and Finola are faring. Also, I have been keeping Keltin and Bitta for you."
"Who?"
"Your war-kats, of course," Gaurin said with a smile. "You have the ones that would have gone to Harous. Also, you need to pick up your badge of office." He tapped the medallion he wore. It bore his personal badge, the image of a snowcat with a silver collar around its neck. "Yours is of second rank, like Hynnel's. I had the symbol on that amulet put on it—the one with the crashing waves.
Snolli's has a ship under full sail. We awarded your grandfather the title of
Admiral-General. We thought he'd like that, and I knew you wouldn't mind."
"Of course I don't mind. Snolli will love it. Shall I take it to him?"
"No need. I sent an envoy the moment I heard the ships had arrived."
"Thank you. Gaurin, I'm not sure I can get used to the notion of being responsible for a pair of war-kats."
Gaurin's smile widened. "They are quite agreeable company," he said. "Once you get used to them, that is. And they to you."
"I'll do my best," Rohan said dubiously.
Rohan picked out Gaurin's headquarters by the spring green flag, with his emblem of a silver-collared snowcat. The war-kats, very different animals, lounged inside. To his amazement, Gaurin introduced the creatures as seriously as if they had been courtiers newly arrived from another land. "Keltin, Bitta," he said, "this is Rohan. He will be your new friend. You are to look after him when he is on land. When he is away, you will stay with me or with Hynnel or
Cebas-tian."
They stared at him out of eyes bright with intelligence, and swallowed, licking their lips. Cautiously, Rohan, under Gaurin's supervision, tickled them under their chins. They accepted this familiarity and, listening to their rumbling purr, he began to see that it would, indeed, be pleasant to have their company so far away from home. They weren't Ana-mara, of course, or even Weyse. But neither his wife nor the strange little creature from the Bog were nearby, and he would not have them here on this exposed plain beyond Bilth keep.
"Are they really such fierce beasts?" he said, as Bitta rubbed against him and then gave him a head-butt, almost knocking him over with the force of the affectionate gesture.
"When they are in combat, yes. They seem to enjoy it."
"It is hard to imagine."
"They eat food we give them, though they can catch their own. I'll give you a stiff-bristled brush to groom them with. They like that, too. These are young, as you are. Well, come along. You still have to set up your portion of the camp."
The two war-kats followed the men as they made their way to the spot that had been set aside for the Sea-Rovers.
They did not tamely trail at their heels, however, being given to dashing to one side or another or chasing each other and plowing into a pile of snow apparently for the sheer, kittenish joy of scattering it high into the air. Once Keltin caught a rodent hiding under one of these snow piles and gulped it down before
Bitta could rob him of his prize. Rohan began to understand that these independent creatures considered themselves the equals of the men who supposedly looked after them. That they would condescend to fight by the side of these men was, he decided, almost unbelievable.
"What
's to keep the other side from having war-kats?" he asked Gaurin. "Don't the invaders come from where it used to be war-kat range?"
"The war-kats always choose with whom they will ally," Gaurin replied. "Though they are very efficient predators, they are not aggressors, nor do they appear to approve of man's aggression against his fellow man. Or, in the case of many of the invaders from the north, demi-man. The bulk of the enemy foot soldiers are Frydians, nomads who have always lived in the most appalling conditions for they will not trust anyone they deem better than themselves. Until now, that is.
They follow the Dragon-riders without question."
"Perhaps these Frydians think they will be rewarded."
