The Drinnglennin Chronicles Omnibus

by K. C. Julius

  Maura was hesitant to speak of Ilyria, but Leif had no such qualms. “I’m bound to Rhiandra, sire, a bluewing, and still young by the reckoning of dragons. She is beautiful beyond imagining, and so wise!”

  The king leaned back, his eyes bright. “I once saw a redwing when I was a lad. I was so impressed by the creature, I considered changing my heraldic charge from an alphyn to a scarlet dragon.”

  “Like Aed!” Too late, Leif saw the warning in Maura’s eyes.

  “Aed?” repeated the king. “Is this the name of your dragon, niece?”

  Maura felt a flutter of panic. The existence of the unbound dragons of Belestar was still protected, even from Urlion. “My dragon is called Ilyria, Your Majesty. I’d have liked to have seen an alphyn,” she said brightly, hoping to turn the subject away from Aed.

  “This is the closest I’ve come myself,” said the High King. He pulled a silver chain from beneath his robes. A pendant dangled from it, fashioned in the shape of the torso of a wolf-like creature—the same one that was on the red flags mounted on Drinnkastel’s ramparts. “Only a Konigur can wear this charge,” said Urlion. “If you like, I can have one made for… for the…” A shadow darkened the king’s face as he gazed down at the pendant, lost in private thought.

  Maura exchanged a look with Leif, who looked as surprised as she felt.

  “I’ll have one fashioned for…” Again Urlion’s voice trailed off uncertainly. He let the pendant fall back under his robes. Then his frown faded as though nothing untoward had passed.

  “You are too kind, Your Majesty,” Maura murmured, “but I’m not truly a Konigur.”

  “You must call me uncle, child. You’re all I have left of my dear brother Storn—indeed, of my line. I’ve not set eyes on Princess Asmara for many years, not since she defied me and dedicated herself to the Elementa. You shall be recognized as my niece and accorded all the honor you are due.”

  “Uncle, you do me honor beyond measure. But you are aware my mother and father never wed.”

  “I am. But I am the High King and may grant position and favor as I see fit. The little history Morgan has invented for you will have my affirmation. It will be known that you have been in Gral, where you were raised in seclusion and orphaned shortly after Storn was killed in the Long War. There’s no one at court in a position to dispute this.” He slapped his hands on his thighs, as if the matter was settled. “Now, you must tell me about your true mother. She’s from Branley Tor, is she not? Is she of the house of Windend?”

  Maura felt her face flush. “My mother’s people come from Tyrrencaster, my lord. My fath—the man my mother married is a merchant farmer in Branley Tor.” She felt her heart breaking all over again, having to deny her papa. “Cormac Trok and my mother are known to Lord Heptorious of Windend, but we are not related to the earl. I left the village where I grew up before last wintertide, and I will… I am not expected to return.”

  “So then—there is no one to give you away!” the king declared. He sat back with a satisfied smile. “Do you know, my dear, your company has given me the first appetite I’ve had in weeks.” He lifted a small bell from the side table and rang it. A manservant answered it so quickly that Maura suspected he’d been eavesdropping outside the door. The thought filled her with dread.

  “How may I be of service, Majesty?”

  “Bring us victuals, Dinton, and none of that tasteless fare I’ve been served of late. My guests shall have a feast fit for… for a king!” His hearty laugh turned into a harsh fit of coughing.

  Maura rose at once and took his arm. “Come away from the fire, Your Majesty. The smoke can’t be good for you.” She turned to Dinton, whose narrow face was expressionless. “Perhaps you would be so good as to open a window. These chambers need a good airing.”

  The manservant bridled. “I’m under strict instructions to keep the shutters closed! If the king should catch cold from a draught…”

  But Leif had already leapt up to unbolt the shutters. He threw them open, and warm, golden light streamed in.

  “You mustn’t!” sputtered Dinton. “It’s forbidden—” Abruptly, he spun on his heel and hurried from the room.

  The king had gotten his coughing under control, but his eyes were damp and reddened. “The wretch has gone for Tergin, no doubt,” he grumbled, “who’ll come and scold me as if I were still a nursling in clouts!”

  As if on cue, a man in dark robes wearing a physiker’s chain swept into the king’s chambers. After a bow to his sovereign, he scrutinized Leif and Maura with a cold haughtiness. “Your Majesty, Dinton informed me you have guests. I fear this is unwise, considering your condition. Had the Tribus foreknowledge of this visit?”

  “Need I remind you who is lord here, Tergin?” growled the king. “My guests require no approval save from me. This is my niece, Maura Konigur, daughter of my late brother, Prince Storn.”

  The master’s jaw dropped, most unattractively, and Leif started to chuckle—until he caught Maura’s censorious look.

  Belatedly, Master Tergin bowed to Maura. After that, his eyes never left her, even as he addressed his king. “A most fortuitous meeting, Majesty. I was not aware you had a niece.”

  “Nor was I, Tergin! Her mother was a Gralian princess, who died giving her life. My niece was raised abroad.”

  Maura’s heart sank. A Gralian princess? That hadn’t been part of the history Master Morgan had spun for her.

  “Prede liu maninge,” said Master Tergin.

  “Don’t bother speaking that abominable tongue,” the king snapped. “My niece was attended by Drinnglennian nurses and tutors.”

  Maura clasped her hands inside her velvet sleeves and sent a silent prayer of thanks to the gods that Master Tergin had used a Gralian phrase she recalled from her studies. “I’m pleased to meet you as well,” she replied, somewhat untruthfully.

  Master Tergin’s brow smoothed. “So you do understand some of your mother’s tongue, Princess Maura?”

  “My niece shall be addressed as ‘my lady,’” said Urlion, saving Maura the embarrassment of having to state what the man might have already surmised—that she was Prince Storn’s bastard. “In any case, refrain from using that damnable language in our presence.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty.” Tergin’s stern gaze traveled to the open shutters. “It is my duty to remind you that a chill is likely to exacerbate your cough. It could even bring on consumption.”

  “With all respect, Master Tergin,” said Maura, surprised by her own boldness, “this mild spring air can only do the king good.”

  The master’s smile remained fixed, but there was no warmth in his beady eyes. “My lady, while I’m sure your education abroad was enlightening, I am a trained physiker.” He turned his gaze to the king. “And I have my orders, Your Majesty.”

  Maura felt a sudden surge of irritation. She had received formal training as a healer. “Surely your orders can come from no higher source than King Urlion?”

  “Ha! She has you there, Tergin!” Urlion cried triumphantly. “You have spirit to match your beauty, niece—you are a true Konigur. We shall have the shutters open.”

  “As you wish, Your Majesty,” the master said, though he made no attempt to hide his disapproval. He then cast a pointed look at Leif.

  Maura spoke quickly, hoping to forestall her uncle from coming up with another elaborate tale of foreign birth. “This is my cousin Leif, from my mother’s side. He grew up in the Valeland. We’ve… we’ve only recently met.” Her story sounded lame, even to her ears.

  “How very interesting.” Tergin made a show of looking puzzled. “Your Gralian mother has relations in Valeland?”

  “Y-yes,” replied Maura, belatedly realizing her mistake.

  She was saved from further questions when the door swung wide and Dinton paraded in, followed by a train of servants bearing meat, cheeses, and fruit. Mast
er Tergin eyed the food with consternation, but Urlion dismissed his physiker with a wave of his hand.

  After the door closed behind the master, the king declared, “I quite enjoyed seeing you put Tergin in his place. He can be a right tyrant.”

  The encounter had been far from pleasurable for Maura, and she had the feeling she’d just made her first enemy at court.

  After a meal that only Leif ate with gusto, the king gave a weary sigh. “I will rest now, child. But first, would you pour me another goblet of that fine wine?”

  Leif leapt to the task while Maura helped her uncle to his bed. Although he towered over her, his hand felt frail in hers. He sank down heavily on the mattress, then lifted Maura’s fingers to his dry lips. “I feel certain you were sent by the gods to ease my last days.”

  “Please, Uncle, let us have no talk of last days. I fear our visit has tired you though, and tomorrow’s tournament will be demanding.”

  Urlion lay back on his pillow. “I had forgotten how good it is to have family near. It’s been years since Storn made the Leap, and after Asmara took her vow, it was as if she too had passed from my life. I’m so very glad, my dear, that you are here. You shall sit in the royal box tomorrow, and your young friend too.”

  Maura felt a wave of pity for this man she had only just met. He was the High King of Drinnglennin, yet he seemed a lonely soul.

  “We would be honored to accompany you, Uncle.”

  The king’s eyes drifted closed. “Kiss my brow, niece,” he murmured, “and send me sweet dreams.”

  * * *

  “Well, that went well,” declared Leif when they’d exited the king’s chambers. “I’d say it’s likely you’re next in line for the Einhorn Throne!”

  “Leif! Please keep your voice down,” Maura said, keeping her own voice low as she hurried him past the guards’ curious stares. They passed through several halls before she realized she had no idea where they were.

  “We should have asked for an escort back,” she said.

  “What? And miss the opportunity to explore the castle?” Leif opened a door to his left and peeked inside. “Blearc’s bones! Maura, have a look at this!”

  Maura peered in at a jumble of treasures: vases, statuary, and all manner of enameled chests and sealed boxes. “It looks like a storeroom. Leif, we shouldn’t be here!”

  “Surely it won’t hurt to have a look.” He started forward, but Maura caught his arm.

  “We mustn’t, Leif. What if someone finds us nosing around in here? It wouldn’t do for us to misstep so soon after our arrival.” She drew him back and pulled the door firmly closed. “You would think it would be locked.”

  “I guess your uncle’s so rich, he doesn’t need to secure his valuables.” Leif shifted his attention to the corridor walls. “Do you suppose there are secret panels behind those tapestries?”

  “I highly doubt it.” Maura took firm hold of his arm before he could test his theory. “We’ll have to retrace our steps and find someone to give us directions to the west wing.”

  Leif cocked his head at her. “Is this Maura of the dragonfast, addressing Leif of the same?” He clucked his tongue. “Where is your brave heart, my friend?”

  Maura shushed him and looked over her shoulder. “Be wary of your words, Leif. You know the old saying: ‘No whisper escapes the ears of Drinnkastel.’”

  But Leif’s challenge had succeeded in dispelling some of her trepidation, and when he inclined his head toward a set of stairs she’d failed to notice, she said, “Oh, very well, but just to see where they lead.”

  They led to a garden where gentlefolk were wandering beneath the leafy bowers and conversing on stone benches banked by beds of flowers. A few of them cast curious glances toward Leif and Maura, but no one questioned their right to be there. They followed the manicured path out to another courtyard, beyond which they could hear the sounds of men-at-arms sparring.

  “We should go back,” said Maura.

  “The Twyrn begins tomorrow,” Leif said. “Let’s go watch the training.”

  “We can’t. Heulwin told me the tilting grounds are outside the castle walls. I don’t think we should go beyond them.”

  “We may not need to.”

  Leif started across the courtyard and drew her along with him. They climbed another set of steps to an allure, from which they could see not only the men training in the yard below, but the berfrois beyond them, from which they would watch the events tomorrow with the High King. Beyond the stalls stood the pavilions for the competing knights—bright, circular tents bearing the various standards of the realms. Leif gave a cheer and pointed out the trefoils and eagles of Valeland’s green banner.

  Maura searched the Branley Tor pavilion for Borne, but all the men gathered there wore helmets, making it impossible to distinguish any among them. She watched as two competitors, their mounts draped in the red and gold caparisons of her homeland, squared off in the lists. As they spurred their horses forward and came to the pass, the taller of them skillfully lowered his lance. With a sharp crack, the smaller rider slid sideways in his saddle, nearly losing his seat.

  “Ho, ho!” cried Leif. “A neat strike! Come, Maura, let’s go down closer! No one actually told us we couldn’t leave the castle walls.”

  “Master Morgan said we were to be as unobtrusive as possible. What if someone was to recognize one of us?”

  But Leif was already tripping down the stairway, leaving her little choice but to hurry after him.

  Down on the grounds, she was relieved to see that he at least had the sense to steer clear of the Valeland pavilion. They found a place against the outer wall from which they could see the training, and amid the shouts and laughter, Maura felt some of the apprehension she’d been experiencing since leaving Mithralyn melt away.

  She leaned back against the sun-warmed stone and reflected on her first meeting with the High King. It seemed she’d passed the first hurdle—he appeared to like her and had confirmed his acceptance of her as his brother’s child. And she liked him too. She would never again feel a part of a family—that possibility had been destroyed by her mother’s deceit. Her only true bond was with Ilyria now. But it was good to know that she had a place, besides the elven kingdom, where she could feel welcome.

  A familiar laugh brought her suddenly to rigid attention. The two knights they’d seen jousting were now heading in her direction, and when one of them—tall and broad-shouldered—removed his helmet, Maura’s heartbeat quickened.

  “We have to go, Leif,” she breathed. But Leif was no longer beside her.

  Borne’s voice carried over to her as he addressed his companion, whom Maura also recognized. Cole, the son of Lord Heptorious of Windend.

  “Be wary of Quinner, should you draw him,” Borne said. “He has a tendency to bring his lance down too soon and sweep with it—it’s a dangerous fault. He’ll miss your breastplate, but he might strike your horse.”

  “I’ve yet to even break my lance in training these past weeks, let alone unseat an opponent,” Cole replied glumly. “With my luck, I’ll draw you. You never miss!”

  Borne clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ve just got a longer reach. You’ve improved immensely in the time we’ve been training here. Give yourself time to grow a bit more before you start finding fault with your technique.”

  At that moment, he looked up—directly at Maura.

  She’d forgotten the brilliance of his cornflower-blue eyes, but not the dimples denting his cheeks. He held her gaze just long enough for her to register his surprise before he passed without acknowledging her.

  Despite the fact that this was what Master Morgan had promised Borne would do, Maura felt a pang of disappointment as she watched him go. She told herself she was just homesick for a familiar face in this sea of strangers.

  And then Cole stopped in his tracks and pivoted to look back
at her. The recognition lighting his face was replaced by a grimace as Borne wrenched his arm and spun him around, his lips close to the young lordling’s ear.

  “What the devil do you mean?” Cole demanded, his voice carrying across the grounds as he tried unsuccessfully to shake free of Borne’s grasp. “It’s that girl from Dorf, Mau—Ow!”

  He surrendered to Borne’s determined grip, but the damage was done. More than a few heads had turned toward them.

  Maura was alarmed to see that Borne had altered his course and was now heading back toward her, still firmly holding his friend’s elbow. He pulled a small packet from inside his tunic and thrust it into Cole’s hands, then propelled him toward Maura.

  The young lord came to a halt before her and bowed stiffly, his face flushed. “Lord Cole of Windend, my lady. I’m afraid I mistook you for someone else. I apologize for approaching you without a formal introduction, but I believe you dropped this.” He held out the creased packet and bowed again.

  The onlookers, satisfied that no protocol had been breached, moved on.

  Numbly, Maura shook her head. “You are mistaken twice then, sir,” she demurred.

  Before she could think of what to say next, Leif appeared at her side. “Hullo!” he said with a grin. His smile faded as he recognized the escutcheon on Maura’s companions’ armor.

  “It’s all right,” said Borne, keeping his voice low. “We won’t give her away. Will we, Cole?”

  “I am the soul of discretion,” said Cole, rubbing his elbow, “although I would dearly love to know why—” He broke off as he caught Borne’s expression. “Oh, very well!”

  “May I ask what you’re doing here in Drinnkastel, my lady?” Borne’s eyes held polite interest, but there was a hint of censure in his tone.

  “I’m here by invitation of the High King.” Maura was uncomfortably aware of how stiff her own voice sounded.

  “As are we all. I meant, does your family know where you are? And… about your brother?”