“Even so, you did a kindness when you didn't know me.” Shaelen broke off a piece of bread and offered it to the girl. She took it hesitantly, and held it in her lap.
Brastigan looked between them for a moment, the witch with smoldering hair and sun-toned skin beside the girl as blonde and pale as the weathered stones above them.
“If she's your shadow,” he snapped, “why doesn't she look like you?”
“I don't know why Maess chose that form,” Shaelen answered frankly. “Perhaps to isolate her, so she wouldn't bond with those around her.”
Sardonically, Brastigan smiled. “It didn't work.”
Softly, Shaelen said, “But you must be a man of rare perception to see beyond her affliction. I think that's what angers Maess, you know. That you saw, when even she did not.”
“Don't give me too much credit,” he mumbled around a bite of dry bread. All he'd perceived was an opportunity to embarrass the haughty Yriatt. Only later had his purpose changed.
There was a flicker in Shaelen's dark eyes, as if she knew what he was thinking.
“I understand how you feel,” Shaelen said quietly.
“So you know all about me and how I feel?” Brastigan mocked her presumption. “Well, I'm glad someone does.”
“I didn't mean...” Shaelen began.
He cut in, “All I know is, your witch took my brother away. Now she's going to take my friend away.” He gestured to the girl. “What will I be left with?”
“You will not lose your brother,” Shaelen protested.
“Oh, no. Of course not,” Brastigan answered sarcastically. “I didn't lose him. He left. Turned and walked away—to her.”
He glared across the dark cavern, where Yriatt and Lottres were speaking with Pikarus and Javes. He would have liked to know what they spoke of, but his unwelcome companion persisted.
“Do not be afraid of your brother,” Shaelen said. “You must have been close friends for a long time. Now he is changing. Perhaps that is what frightens you. But his love for you will not change. Try to trust him as you once did.”
“Mind your own business,” Brastigan barked. She didn't know him at all, and yet she talked about his life.
Shaelen shrugged, and tore off a bite of jerky. Brastigan wished she would leave. He didn't want to like her. She tried again.
“Maess once told me,” Shaelen began, “that all who come to her are desperate. Were you desperate?”
“Nobody was desperate when we left Harburg,” he drawled scornfully. Although, that might not be true of Lottres. He'd used the same word himself, that his brother was desperate. He had to admit, “By the time we got to Hawkwing House, Crutham had been invaded. Maybe we were all desperate, then.”
Shaelen smiled at the wry jest, and added, “As she is, for her father.”
Brastigan was silent, rejecting any sympathy for the heartless witch. “Were you desperate?” he asked, goading Shaelen.
“Oh, yes.” She seemed to feel no shame in admitting it. As she chewed another bit of jerky, she went on. “I was hearing things no one else did, and I wanted it to stop. That's what I asked of her.”
Brastigan glowered, wondering why she was telling him this. He certainly wasn't interested in her reminiscences. Because she seemed to expect it, he asked, “Well, did she?”
Shaelen smiled faintly. “No.”
“Sounds like her.”
“She didn't do it for me,” Shaelen amended. “She taught me to do it myself. By then, I understood what I was hearing and chose to listen, instead.” Her dark eyes gleamed in the dusk of the cave. “Now, I want those voices back.”
There it was at last, in her eyes. The desperation she spoke of. A hunger for power, Brastigan called it. She was just trying to make friends so he would give her the girl without a fight.
“I knew it,” he growled. “You and that witch, you're just the same.”
Shaelen straightened slightly, anger narrowing her eyes. Her smile was forced, now. “I'll take that as a compliment.”
“Don't.”
Suddenly she leaned forward, took his hand. Her fingers were as hard and calloused as a man's. “Have you ever been injured, so you couldn't walk?” she asked urgently. “That is how I feel now. I bear you no ill will, but I must be whole again.”
“Don't touch me.” Brastigan twisted his hand out of Shaelen's grasp. He put his arm around the girl's shoulder, pulling her close to him. “She isn't property. You can't trade her around like a horse.”
Then, from behind him, came the voice he wished least of all to hear.
“Yet it is wrong to take for yourself what belongs to another,” Yriatt said coldly. “That would be theft. Don't you agree?”
He looked right up into her face. “We don't keep slaves in Crutham.”
Exasperated, Lottres knelt beside him. “Brastigan, be reasonable. We need Shaelen at her full power, so Maess can free Master Ymell. If we can't do that, Crutham is as good as gone, and then what have we come all this way for?”
Brastigan hesitated. Lottres was using the same word for Yriatt as Shaelen had. Was this some kind of secret language?
“Hear me out, prince of Crutham,” Yriatt said. “I cannot deny the shadow has its own life. If you cooperate, I will try to preserve it.” She spoke these words as if she were committing herself to a great indignity. Brastigan stared at her, unwilling to trust.
Lottres tried again. “You don't have to stay and watch.”
“Don't try to get rid of me!” Brastigan snarled.
“Your presence is not required,” said Yriatt.
“My shadow trusts him,” Shaelen put in. “I will trust him.”
Brastigan glared at her, wondering if she meant it.
“Very well,” Yriatt nodded.
DARK IN THE LIGHTNESS
Cliodora leaned over and whispered, “Can't we leave?”
“We have a right to be here,” Therula answered brusquely. The younger princess squirmed in her seat.
Therula understood why Cliodora felt uncomfortable. Emotions were running high. Not the least of them her own. It had been less than a day since the exhausted Duale arrived with his grim message. Voices echoed slightly in the grand hall, where a cadre of courtiers stood by, observing. Their constant whispers of speculation scratched at Therula's nerves.
Alustra continued her self-imposed isolation. She had been invited to this council, but declined. Oskar knew all she had to teach him by now, she said, or if he didn't, it was too late to learn. This left the duty to Therula, who was tired of being spoken to like a child whenever she asked a question.
True, this was a council of war. Without training in such matters, Therula couldn't understand some of what the men said. Even so, she refused to leave her position as an observer. Alustra had a favorite axiom, “If you want to know what is really happening, you must sit in council.” The truth of this had never been more evident.
Oskar sat his throne, above them all in more ways than one. There had been no official comment on his failure to recognize the Silletsian representative as a spy. However, Therula was aware of many whispers in private. The courtiers wondered why Oskar still wore the tall Silletsian hat, rather than returning to a traditional Cruthan style. In Therula's opinion, Oskar would see the change as an admission of error. This he would never tolerate.
Only three other of Unferth's sons were present: Habrok, Eskelon and Sebbelon. The rest of the princes and noblemen had left the capital mere days ago, after Oskar's coronation. Messengers were rushing to recall them, but even Calitar and Axenar wouldn't arrive from Begatt for a day or two more. The assembly seemed incomplete without them.
Not that their absence had stopped anything. Oskar had summoned all his commanders, including Captain Ingewald of the Harburg town guard and his most senior sea captain, Addonnas. The seaman wore leather armor and the guardsman wore steel, but their faces were much alike, seamed with years. Each line suggested an experience they had survived—a good recommendation,
as Therula believed. By contrast, Garican, the newly appointed captain of the castle guard, looked like a stripling. He appeared ill at ease among such company. Luckily, Oskar hadn't had time to replace Habrok as Champion of Crutham. Habrok's familiar, calm presence inspired confidence, at least.
A good part of the day had been spent in seemingly endless discussion of troop levies and how soon they might reach Harburg. Now they were debating where the Silletsians were likely to strike. Sebbelon and Eskelon, who had spent some of their youth in Verelay and knew the mountains well, suggested the invaders would make for Carthell first.
“Carthell is more powerful than either Verelay or Daraine,” Sebbelon reasoned. “It will have to be secured or the Silletsians could be caught in a pincer between Daraine, Harburg and Carthell.”
“Do you think so?” Oskar drawled. He smiled, but wasn't amused. “Johanz has not sworn fealty to me.”
“The duke may be restless,” Eskelon admitted, “but he won't love the conquerors. They are outsiders even more than we are.”
“If he were overwhelmed by invaders and we rode to his aid,” Oskar mused with some irony, “do you suppose it would help him resolve the question of his loyalties?”
There were chuckles through the Great Hall. Watching Oskar, Therula couldn't tell if he really intended to punish Carthell's tardiness by leaving the province undefended. But Addonnas and Ingewald had offered an alternative approach.
“By your leave, I have researched the previous invasions,” Ingewald said. “In the past, Sillets has passed over the mountains to Rowbeck, and thence down the valley of the River Ogillant. It is the most direct approach to Harburg.”
“Yet they have always been defeated in Daraine,” Habrok rumbled. He gave Sebbelon a little smile. “In a pincer between Carthell and Harburg.”
“Indeed, your highness,” Ingewald agreed. “Yet I fear there is more. Captain Addonnas?”
The ship's captain bowed low. “Your majesty, in the days since your coronation I have received multiple reports of strange vessels in the northwest. As you know, Sillets controls Urland, where there is a plentiful supply of timber. I fear what we have seen are Silletsian warships, most likely slave galleys.”
“Have you confirmed this?” Oskar interrupted, frowning.
“I have assigned scouts to investigate, your majesty,” Addonnas replied, “but you must realize a sea invasion could be upon us even before they return. If my suspicions are correct, Sillets will come through Rowbeck and attempt to catch us in a pincer between its land and sea forces.” There were fresh whispers among the court. “They also may bring troops ashore somewhere along the coast. For example, you have already sent for soldiers from Begatt. If they stage a landing there, Duke Culbart would be hard pressed.”
“You don't know they have any such plans,” Eskelon protested. “Carthell...”
“We must consider every possibility,” Habrok countered.
“We have only so many soldiers,” Sebbelon said. “You were just telling us it will take weeks to raise our forces. Crutham can't be everywhere.”
“Alas, that is true, your highness,” Ingewald said. The old warrior's face was grave and sad. Listening to him, Therula felt cold with panic. Beside her, Cliodora was trembling. “Yet Addonnas is my friend. I give his opinion great weight.”
“Since the Silletsians's previous strategy has failed so often, we must expect they will try something else.” Habrok addressed Oskar formally, making no claim on their relationship. “A sea assault is one likely alternative. If it is your majesty's command, I will ride out to meet the Silletsians at Rowbeck, or perhaps at Caulteit, leaving Captains Ingewald and Garican to defend Harburg. I can also order Firice to move toward Carthell. This would allow us to respond quickly to Carthell, if need be. Or, we can await the return of Addonnas's scouts, and move based upon that information. Your majesty, it is your decision.”
Therula and everyone else in the Great Hall gazed at Oskar, looking to their king for courage and hope. He sat silent a long while, under his tall hat. The very style was a mockery to all of them.
“Waiting is difficult for all of us,” Oskar finally said, “yet that is what we must do. We must wait for what Addonnas's scouts can tell us. We must wait for our armies to gather. Most of all, we must wait for our brothers.” Therula leaned forward, watching intently. Was this a long awaited acknowledgment of their extended family? Oskar concluded, “For today, we will do nothing else.”
A profound silence fell over the hall. All around her, Therula saw the shocked expressions of the assembled noblemen.
Carefully, quietly, Habrok asked, “Is that your majesty's intention? That we do nothing?”
“What about Verelay and Daraine? Do we leave them to the wolves?” Sebbelon demanded.
“If Captain Addonnas is correct, we will need every man here.” Oskar spoke with exaggerated courtesy, as if Sebbelon had committed a terrible faux pas. Therula could see both Eskelon and Sebbelon clenching their fists in rage at his tone. “I will send no soldiers until I know where the enemy is. Therefore, Habrok, you will gather our armies here, in Harburg. Do nothing more for now.”
“Yes, your majesty.” Habrok bowed low, perhaps concealing his own feelings.
Therula sat stunned by the import of Oskar's decision. Do nothing more? He couldn't mean that. Unlike Carthell, Daraine and Verelay were old and trusted allies. They had been among the first to pledge their loyalty to Oskar as Crutham's new king. How could he turn his back on them?
Even so, Therula's duty was clear. It fell to her to speak for those who would otherwise be forgotten in the emergency. Therula tried to produce a steady, calm voice as she called out, “Brother, may I speak?”
“Of course, dear sister,” Oskar murmured. His slight smile reminded her of her regrettable pledge.
“If it pleases your majesty,” Therula began, “I would ask a favor of Captain Addonnas. A number of our younger siblings are here in Harburg.” Therula let her hand rest on Cliodora's shoulder, and felt her little sister cringe from the eyes upon her. “Many are still children. I would ask for a ship to take them to safety while we still have time.”
“What, leaving?” Oskar smiled again, openly baiting her.
“Not I, your majesty,” Therula answered. “I would suggest that our mother accompany the children. She...”
A muffled snicker interrupted her. Therula frowned as Eskelon asked mockingly, “Send the queen with children who aren't her own?”
“Mother is accustomed to that,” Therula answered coolly. “As it is her own brother, Telamar of Tanix, who is most likely to grant our kindred shelter, it is logical for her to lead. In addition,” Therula turned back to Oskar, “Mother has served the public all her life. Now her hands are idle, her life empty. It would do her good to have a task, even one such as this.”
Oskar regarded Therula with a familiar, calculating expression. “Your kindness does you credit, dear sister. Yet I love each of our little sisters and brothers dearly. I wish to care for them myself. I could never exile them to live among strangers.”
Therula willed herself to sit calmly and not respond to the open falsehood. Care for them? Oskar didn't care a wit for his half-siblings.
“These children may be our future,” Therula said in a quiet, strained tone. “If we wait too long, it will be too late to save them.”
“Trust me,” Oskar answered negligently. “We will speak of this again, if we must.”
“Very well, your majesty,” Therula said with reproachful formality. “I thank you for listening to my request.”
“You may always speak your mind to me, dear sister,” Oskar assured her. “However, I see it is now dark outside. I will release all of you to prepare for supper.”
With so little ceremony, Oskar stood up and the conference was over. The soldiers hurried off. The courtiers broke into whispering clusters. Therula led Cliodora from the great hall, hardly seeing which way she went.
She shouldn't have been
surprised that Oskar paid her no attention. He never listened to anyone, these days. Even with her limited experience of war, Therula felt that his plans were madness. It was bad enough to be contending separately with Carthell and Sillets, but to abandon his own provinces? The dukes wouldn't forget this breach of their trust. There would be a price to pay when the fighting was over—a high price. Surely Oskar knew that.
And yet he pursued his bold folly. Therula honestly felt that she didn't know her brother any more. After all, he was her mother's son. She couldn't believe he would give up even an inch of what belonged to him.
“Big sister?” Cliodora asked timidly. “What should I tell my mother?”
Therula somehow found herself at the door to her own chambers. She didn't remember walking there. Cliodora gazed up at her anxiously. Therula squeezed her little sister's hands.
“Tell Casiana I tried,” Therula said softly. “I will keep trying. I promise.”
Cliodora nodded and bolted down the corridor toward her mother's apartments. Therula entered her own chambers. She suddenly felt very tired, and she had little appetite for supper. No one was watching, so she slumped on the settee and let her head hang over her knees.
How could Oskar have changed so much? That was what she couldn't understand. It was as if he had turned into a completely different person since his coronation.
That thought wouldn't leave Therula's mind. It ached like a rotten tooth. All her vague doubts and fears came into clear focus. It was, indeed, as if Oskar had turned into someone else. He looked like Oskar, sounded like Oskar, but he didn't act like Oskar. Not to someone who knew the king well.
It seemed absurd, impossible. A fireside story, not something that could truly happen. Yet Sillets was a land of black magic. And Oskar had been so hospitable to the Silletsian representative. Could the man have bewitched him? Were they controlling Oskar somehow?
Therula's heart beat faster and yet her fingers felt cold as she twisted them in her lap. So little was known about Silletsian magic. Eben might have had information, but he was gone. Yet if Sillets was involved, that might explain Unferth's sudden death. Removing a strong leader could have been the first step in their scheme. It could also explain why Oskar still wore the tall hat. And his refusal to aid Verelay, Daraine or Carthell—a decision that could tear Crutham apart. But that wouldn't be a problem for Sillets. It might be exactly what they wanted. A fragmented Crutham would be easier to subdue.
Too Many Princes Page 24
