by Brian Daley
The King’s skin was weathered and his eyes, slightly darker versions of his sister’s, crinkled at their corners. His gloves were of two types; the left a heavy cestus covering the hand from just behind the wrist to just beyond the middle knuckles, tough leather bound up tight and banded about with metal to form impact surfaces. The right glove was longer, laced almost to the elbow, and where his fingers ended within the fingertips of the glove, long claws glittered wickedly, artfully affixed artificial talons.
“Your Highness,” said Andre, “may I present His Highness, Prince Springbuck, lawful Pretender to the throne of the Ku-Mor-Mai?”
The Prince doffed his mask as the monarch turned to him, returning the scrutiny the son of Surehand had exercised on him moments before. Both inclined their heads slightly at the same time, satisfying protocol. Springbuck found the Lord of the Just and Sudden Reach’s presence not uncomfortable, though the small ruler spoke not at all.
Katya turned a haughty eye to the huntmaster, who was attempting to pull himself back together. “My brother will use your horse to return to the city. Fetch it; the King shouldn’t run beside mounted folk. Oh, and see to the kills and distribute their meat at the beggars’ plaza. Slain as they were, their meat will be bloody and unfit for daintier palates.”
Then other huntsmen came to the scene, drawn by barking dogs and the single shot. They were set to dressing the quarry after bringing up the huntmaster’s horse, while Van Duyn and Andre complimented Reacher on his success. He made no comment in return, but didn’t seem aloof or impolite; he merely listened and studied the newcomers silently.
Then they were all mounted and away, back to the city proper in the thinning light.
“I see all the land, nearly, put to use for cultivation and grazing, Your Radiance,” Van Duyn said to the Princess. “But I see no villas or manses in this pleasant place. Why so?”
“In case of siege,” she said. “Every inch of land on the plateau must work for us and our stock. If fat merchants or idle nobles want to build pleasure houses outside the city, they may do so, but only on the other side of the bridgeway. We don’t permit them to occupy an important defense asset with drafty dust traps and rambling, artsy sculpture gardens. And you would do me a favor in foregoing that Radiance nonsense among us, comrade.”
She then turned the talk to his rifle, intrigued with it in a good-naturedly bloodthirsty way. He was evasive, and glad when a troop of household cavalry, in tall plumes and armor of varnished cuir-bouilli shaped to their bodies, met them to escort them back to the palace.
They left their horses and entered the building via the broad front steps, though it was said that Reacher and his sister had other, less conspicuous ways of entering and leaving their home. Springbuck had noticed that Reacher seemed to miss little; on the ride back he’d been interested in the condition of the citizens they’d passed, had inconspicuously inspected the troops and been always attentive to the wind and the sounds and smells he read from it. Now, the Prince saw him notice each small detail of the palace’s maintenance. It also occurred to Springbuck that it had been coincidental that the King had made his kill in the precise place where the rest could see it, and he wondered if Reacher hadn’t arranged matters somehow, perhaps by driving the animals there, to display his competence.
The King and his sister conducted their guests to the first of their home’s unusual conveniences, an elevator which, Katya explained to Van Duyn, worked from the same source which impelled water throughout the building, the windmill he’d seen, regulated by an intricate system of weights and pulleys and capable of storing its energy against windless days by lifting great ballasts, to be gradually lowered later. The device seemed slow to Van Duyn, reminding him of those damnable machines he’d encountered in France.
The elevator, barely big enough for the six of them, ground to a halt. Its doors opened on a wide lawn, the blue sky serene around them and Freegate spread below. They were at the pinnacle of the palace, high above any other structure in the city. The roof was covered with turf and small trees, flowers and foliage. A multitude of birds of all sorts nested and perched at all parts of the garden, making full-throated song. At the center of it was a luxuriously appointed belvedere housing Reacher’s private chambers.
“And in case of siege, will this become a cabbage patch?” asked Van Duyn of the Snow Leopardess.
“That and carrots, I should think,” she replied.
They were ushered into the belvedere, which offered thick fur carpeting, silken drapings and furnishings of highly polished, fragrant wood and black-veined marble that were upholstered in velvet, silk and the hides of rare beasts. There were also sculptures, mosaics and paintings of the hunt, warfare and sybaritic subjects. Springbuck sensed that Reacher hadn’t done the decorating here and decided that it probably reflected his sister’s taste.
King and Princess disappeared for a few minutes, leaving the visitors to the ample hospitality of deferential servants. Soon they were all together again, four guests and two hosts, weapons and equipment put aside, sunken in comfortable furniture and eating and drinking from trays of refreshments. The servants were dismissed and the wayfarers fell to with gusto.
“There’ll be time later for display of paraments and formal speaking,” said the Snow Leopardess, “and I think perhaps that the easiest way to state our respective positions is for you to say on, and tell how you come to be here.”
“I will tell the tale then,” the Prince said, and Katya looked to her brother, who bobbed his head once.
“Agreed,” she said, and they all knew beyond a doubt then that, though he spoke seldom, Reacher had the final word on all matters within that realm.
Springbuck told the story completely, including some of Van Duyn’s history, with but the deletion of the matter of Gabrielle’s parentage. If she wished it known, he thought, she could bring it out herself.
The King and Princess listened to the unfolding account of the conspiracies of Yardiff Bey and his war-making plans for their nation. When Springbuck had finished, the room was hushed for a moment. Then the Snow Leopardess spoke.
“You had a difficult time of your escape, Highness— I’ll call you Springbuck, with your let—but you would have reached here with greater dispatch if you’d not made one fundamental mistake.”
So saying, she rose and strode to a curtained doorway, drawing aside the hangings.
The Prince’s astonishment knew no bounds as the Lady Duskwind stepped forth. Taken off balance, he could do no more than gape at her dumbly.
“The Lady Duskwind is our cousin,” Katya said. “She has been our agent in your father’s court for these past two years, and a capable operative even before she was sent there. She was about to spirit you away here, and had slain the traitor Faurbuhl to prevent him from raising the hue and cry, when you were returned to your room that last evening at Earthfast and misapprehended all. Before she could explain, it seems, you trussed her up like a naming-day gift.”
The Prince wasn’t shocked by the revelation that Freegate kept spies in the Court of the Ku-Mor-Mai; this was standard procedure and Coramonde had occasionally returned the courtesy. He experienced a stab of bitterness, though, that one of them should have been Duskwind; he’d been under the impression that she was from a place other than Freegate. But it was quickly replaced by a wave of relief that she hadn’t been harmed and gratitude that she’d been prepared to act in his interests at the risk of her life. The painful details of the incident, including Hightower’s death, threatened to intrude again, and so he turned his attention to the loveliness of Duskwind.
She was, as ever, marvelous to look upon. Her honey-streak hair was bound tightly at the nape of her neck in a simple twist, her demure gown covered neck and wrists; as always, her slender, elegant fingers blazed with rings, while anklets clinked and jingled softly at her barefoot steps. She smiled faintly at him. As she turned to seat herself in one of the plush chairs, he saw that, modest as her attire was in front, it
dipped shamelessly low in back.
Arousing as the sight of her was, however, he found his thoughts and gaze drifting back to Gabrielle. Travel-worn and weary though she was, the sorceress drove Duskwind from his mind. She met his eye now with an expression more eloquent than words, her languorous smile and the humor in a lifted eyebrow saying, “Content yourself with looking at this girl of your youth. I am Gabrielle deCourteney; you are with me now, and know it.” Some jolt or thrill ran through him then, but of ecstasy or of dread, he didn’t know.
“Needless to tell,” the Snow Leopardess was continuing, “she was hard put to escape and find Captain Brodur, whom she’d enlisted in her plans—you have a rude way with a girl, Springbuck! But my cousin is a resourceful female. She was successful at relaying news of your flight to those who remain loyal to you, and in persuading them to play a waiting game. She’s still possessed of enough blackmailing information to assure us a flow of news.”
Van Duyn was fascinated by all this. Duskwind couldn’t be more than a ripe eighteen, yet for two years she’d been calmly, patiently spying and contriving, concealing her actions in her role as courtier and later as consort to the Prince. When the crisis had come, she’d kept her head and done what she had to, accomplishing what she could before fleeing for her life. His admiration was very, very high.
The scholar glanced around the room, deciding that the three women there were the most striking collection of femininity he’d ever seen in one place. The Junoesque, pallid Snow Leopardess, the fiery Gabrielle deCourteney and now the doe-eyed Duskwind vied for attention to the delightful point that he no longer knew where to look next. His spirits were on the decided upswing. During the trip from Erub he’d tried to eradicate all feelings for the enchantress from his heart, aided by her obvious affection for Springbuck.
After hearing from Andre of her ill-fated love and marriage, he’d identified the nature of her hurt and its effect on her behavior and had resisted the impulse to become deeply involved, recognizing that eventually she’d leave him. But at his age, an affair with such an extraordinary woman had led him to give more of himself than he’d intended. Objectively, he had to admit that Gabrielle held her own against the other two women. His musing turned to Katya; he began to consider ways in which he might become more intimate with her. Contrary to his usual habits he drifted into a daydream. He was healing.
“His interests are not limited to war against Freegate,” Springbuck was saying. “Bey intends to use Strongblade to dominate the High Ranges. Then his reach will turn westward until his fist encloses all of the Crescent Lands.”
Katya asked, “With what plan do you come to us, outlaws? The strength of Freegate cannot go forth against the numberless armies of Coramonde. Even now Legion-Marshal Novanwyn is assembling the forces of the southwest. Evidently the murder of Hightower has evoked much unrest in his family and friends. Bey is taking no chance on using eastern troops, whose loyalty is in doubt. So you see, there is little refuge for you here; we will shortly look to the safety of our own halls. What do you offer us?”
Before Andre or Van Duyn could muster an answer, Springbuck seized the initiative. “We come with the same idea which must have been in your mind when you tasked Duskwind to aid in my escape. You cannot win in unqualified warfare, but you might be able to delay the reach of my enemies, distract them sufficiently for me to fan popular support in Coramonde and launch a revolution to take back the throne at Earthfast. We will work on these two fronts and woo the help of Glyffa and other western states that we may topple Bey’s puppets. The question which occurs to me first is whether Freegate can hold her own for the requisite time.”
The Snow Leopardess leaned forward. “We do not plan to stand alone. We shall enlist the aid of our allies, the steppes dwellers. And the question which occurs to me, my young cock-a-hoop, is whether you have any hope of swaying the support of the substates of Coramonde.”
The Prince’s head was erect, his posture rigid with pride and his face was fell to see. “They will rally to me. I am their Protector Suzerain.” And those in the room were aware of a new imperiousness, a fixed and firm confidence, and there was approval now in the expression of Gabrielle.
“On the way to Freegate we formulated plans for the implementation of an underground movement,” he continued, “and it is even now being germinated by a kernel group we left behind in Coramonde.” He went into the details of the guerrilla campaign as outlined by Gil MacDonald, its directions, tactics, organization and priorities. He considered mentioning Van Duyn’s intention of changing Coramonde’s government, but rejected the idea; these royal siblings might see it as a threat to their own monarchy.
“This MacDonald sounds as if he knows his business,” murmured Katya. “You say you expect him to return from wherever it is that he went?”
“Just so. We agreed on a time and place for his reappearance. His help may be critical in this campaign.”
The consultations continued, and soon all were contributing suggestions and criticisms to the materializing plans; even the unspoken hostility between Gabrielle and the Snow Leopardess was eased. All spoke, that is, save Reacher. The King sat his chair, smallest member of the group, as if he were enthroned—not with pomp and posturing, but wearing an invisible mantle of authority. If it had not been for his hunting call in the glade earlier, the Prince would have thought him mute. Somehow, without offending them, he managed to make all those around him feel like subordinates. Springbuck studied and learned.
But it was Reacher who brought the conference to an end when, late that evening, he interrupted his sister in midsentence by rising to his feet. She faced him at once, speech forgotten, attention exclusively for her brother.
“I must confess that I shall need time to let my slow wits absorb all these things,” he said, though Springbuck knew that this wasn’t true; the King had made his analysis and conclusions already. “Tomorrow I will leave for the High Ranges to confirm the aid of our allies the Horseblooded. Prince Springbuck, if he feels sufficiently rested, is invited to accompany me, as befits a cobelligerent. I thank you all most sincerely for your excogitations, welcome you as comrades-in-arms and bid you make yourselves comfortable in this place. It is as much yours as mine now.”
And this was proof positive to the son of Surehand that the King of Freegate lacked nothing in the way of diplomatic graces, however much he pretended otherwise.
Chapter Sixteen
By a knight of ghosts and shadows,
I summoned am to tourney,
Ten leagues beyond the wide world’s end
Methinks it is no journey!
—Tom O’bedlam’s Song
Each of the four was shown to a comfortable suite of rooms not far below the belvedere. The Prince would have liked to return to Gabrielle’s rooms to tarry, but as leader he felt compelled to find, with the help of a household portglave, the quarters of the Erubites and inquire after their well-being. Satisfied that they were provided for and well situated, he returned to his own rooms.
He permitted the domestics, two women, to bathe and groom him and to take away his weapons and attire for servicing. He thanked them sleepily as they led him to his bed; as they tiptoed out, he settled himself snugly in puffy pillows and heavy covers, dropping into the deepest sleep he’d enjoyed since leaving Earthfast.
When he arose late the next morning, he performed his ablutions without aid. When the servitors entered, he requested that they have a selection of clothing and armor brought. He’d broken his fast and was evaluating various suits of mail, mesh and plate when Reacher knocked and entered.
“We may yet make much distance today,” said the King, who was dressed as for the hunt, cestus and clawed glove on his hands. “I don’t suggest you wear armor. Steppes people are not unlike your Alebowrenians and consider such things effete. Your traveling outfit, the bravo’s gear, is more fitting, but I warn you not to wear spurs. The Wild Riders don’t use them. I go appareled as you see me, and will await yo
u in the courtyard and see to our mounts.”
Springbuck, uncertain up to this point that he even wanted to accompany the King on this mission, had little option.
The servants hadn’t needed to see to Bar’s perpetually keen brightness, but they’d scoured all blemishes from his main-gauche, honed it, put all tarnish from the metal parts of his trappings and cleaned his leathers, coating them with a light dubbing of oil and drying them. As in Earthfast, he judged that he didn’t want to be burdened with armor.
Booted, armed and bearing his war mask in the crook of his left arm, the Prince was guided to the courtyard. Fireheel had been well cared for and was standing ready, provisions strapped to the reconnaissance saddle with his cloak. Reacher was astride a small bay.
The Coramondian Pretender heard a piercing whistle and looked upward for its author. Leaning out over a balcony was Gabrielle, wrapped in a fur robe. She laughed and waved, showing much white skin, but the Prince, about serious business, was unwilling to do more than incline his head perfunctorily.
“I see no mounted men,” he said to the King. “Are we to be slowed by footmen?”
The majordomo at his liege’s side answered for him, “Your Grace, your faring will be slowed by no one. His Majesty prefers no retinue, since your trip is one of urgency, and feels no need of armed companions. Who could hope to prevail against the King and Ku-Mor-Mai, all in their strength?”
The Prince made no response to this shrewd question, but mounted Fireheel. Donning war mask, he was away at the King’s side, wondering how many more times he’d sleep huddled in his cloak before he encountered a bed as soft as the one he’d vacated. It wasn’t long before he began wishing that the trip had been delayed, or at the very least that he’d fought off his fatigue the preceding night and visited Gabrielle.
