Knight Or Knave

by Andre Norton

  "I might wonder how Zazar knew there was something I wanted to show you," Ashen said once they were out of earshot, "but I gave up questioning how she knows what she does a long time ago."

  "For myself, I never have questioned Madame Zazar and her wisdom," Gaurin said.

  "Lead on, my dear."

  Just as Ashen remembered, the steps, so even and straight at the top of the pit, soon turned crooked and narrow. When the light-rods failed, Gaurin took the lantern, struck steel to flint, and lighted it. They reached solid flooring and paused to study the small stonework room in which they found themselves.

  "There," Ashen said, pointing. "That is the doorway. It seems even smaller now than it did before."

  They both had to crouch to enter.

  With the lantern to help them, they hurried quickly through the dank passageway that had taken all of Ashen's resolve to travel those years before, turned left, and discovered the gleam of light she remembered from her earlier journey.

  Gaurin extinguished the lantern, conserving the oil, as they entered the large chamber at the end of the tunnel.

  A few more of the light-rods were dark, but there was still illumination by which they could see.

  "It is just as I remember," Ashen said. "The light-rods set at the ends of these stone cases. I remember thinking how the smallest one of them looked longer than

  I am tall."

  Gaurin gazed on the two rows of cases with an aisle between them. He examined the ornamentation on the cases; the sides and lids of each were decorated with a multitude of symbols.

  "I never knew what this place was," Ashen said, "but I suspected that I had come upon a place of the resting dead."

  "You were correct, my dear," Gaurin said. "This is what is called a catacomb, and these cases are sarcophagi. Tombs. It is plainly a place of honor, such as the common folk do not use."

  Ashen touched her wrist and twisted the armband, carved of a single piece of milky, translucent crystal shot through with subtle rainbow hues. "Let me show you where I found this," she said.

  She expected to discover nothing left but a pile of dust, but fragments of some of the bones could still be seen, at least pieces of them. To her relief, the man's broken leg, something that must have happened before his death, was hard to distinguish though she could still see the shattered bones in her mind's eye.

  She would not have liked Gaurin to have seen that. There were but a few shreds of cloth left, and the red color had faded. The air of sadness that had hung over this poor man when first she had stumbled upon him seemed, if anything, intensified with the continuing crumbling of his remains.

  Gaurin held out his hand. "Give me the bracelet, please."

  She took it off and gave it to him. He placed it on his own wrist, and murmured a few words. Nothing happened for a moment, but then the rainbow colors in the stone intensified and swirled until the glow was almost blinding. It lit up the entire area around them.

  To Ashen's amazement, a haze began to form over the sad little heap of dust and bones. An image formed, though it was thin and translucent and the stones on which the remains lay clearly could be seen through it. Nevertheless, with the pricking sensation Ashen had known before when she was in the presence of Power, she realized that this image was that of the dead man as he had once been. Now he wore garments of a deep, rich red, in an outmoded style, but clearly those of a man of consequence. His hair was the color of honey and his features were very like Gaurin's, so much so that they could have been brothers. His eyes were closed, and an expression of deep sorrow lined his face.

  Ashen moved closer to her husband and he put his arm around her.

  "Yes," Gaurin said, his voice steady, "this was my father. Look upon Count

  Bjauden of the Nordors."

  The man's image did not stir nor did his lips move, and yet a hollow whisper filled the air. "Aye, my son. Count Bjauden was I, who was most foully murdered by an agent of the Prince of Rendel. I must be avenged."

  Ashen did some rapid calculations in her head, and realized that in referring to the Prince the spirit was speaking of Florian, before he became King. Gaurin glanced at her, and she knew he had come to the same understanding.

  "Time has stood still for him," he whispered to her.

  "And yet he recognizes you."

  "It is a mystery."

  "Speak to him, Gaurin. Ease his soul."

  Gaurin thought a moment. "Indeed, murder most foul," he told the pale image.

  "But well avenged by this lady's husband, who killed the—the Prince in fair duel, but died for his efforts. You have not known, for there was none to tell you. You might have much to say to this man and he to you, on the other side.

  His name is Obem."

  "Obem. He accomplished my vengeance? I will remember."

  "Even so. Dear spirit of my father, what else may I do? Shall you be buried in more state than you have now?"

  "No. Let me be. 1 lie with, but not of, the great ones of a bygone land and have waited long for a message such as yours so that I might depart this realm entirely."

  "It is thanks to Obern that you may now go in peace, and in honor. When you see him, tell him that his lady is well, for I have her in my care. Assure him that nothing will happen to her while I live."

  The whisper was growing more faint. "I will remember."

  Then Gaurin knelt and kissed the ghostly forehead of the dead man. The image faded and, as Ashen watched, the few fragments of bone remaining crumbled into dust. Gaurin reached out and for a moment Ashen feared he was trying to bring his father back. But he only picked up an ornate belt buckle that she had not noticed before. It had probably been hidden under the shreds of his clothing, now also vanished entirely, and she had not seen it when first she had come through this passageway. Gaurin got to his feet and gave her back the armband, which had resumed its normal coloration.

  "Now we both have a talisman of my House," he said. "I swear that I will never wear another buckle but this." He removed his belt and affixed the heirloom, which was wrought as the image of a snowcat wearing a silver collar.

  "Oh, Gaurin." Ashen put her arms around him and leaned her head against him.

  They stood so, in the warmth of a close embrace, for a long time. When he finally released her, she could sense that the sadness she had felt in the very air of this spot when first she had come upon the remains had, somehow, dissipated. Gaurin's father was resting peacefully at last.

  They did not return the route they had come. Ashen took them the long way through the city, as she recalled it, thinking that the open air would help

  Gaurin, in case he was still troubled by the manner of his father's passing. The daylight had failed by the time they reached the courtyard and the curtained doorway. They did not meet Rohan on the way; rather, they discovered him inside with Weyse settled in his arms.

  "And did you learn what you wanted to know?" Zazar said. She tended a pot of stew bubbling over the fire. Ashen realized she had forgotten to eat anything since that early bowl of noodles.

  "I learned the answer to a mystery that has troubled me and my kindred for many years, Madame Zazar," Gaurin said. "And, though it was a sad answer, I must thank you for your help."

  "Spoken well," Zazar said. "Now come and eat, and I'll tell you what Weyse and I have been up to."

  Seventeen

  There was, Zazar related, more to the matter than even she had suspected.

  The Dowager had indeed engaged the Sorceress—sometime Magician—Flavielle, hoping to obtain another servant of Power, another set of eyes and ears to bring her information. However, Flavielle had plans that Ysa knew nothing of.

  Where the Dowager had worked hard and steadily to avoid any sort of conflict among her restive nobles, that very result was Fla-vielle's purpose. To that end, the Sorceress was the one who had suggested the ill-considered tourney to

  Ysa, and Ysa, unsuspecting, had acquiesced.

  "After all, it would be an occasion for m
uch merriment and much attention lavished on the Dowager, the presenter of the amusement," Zazar commented. "She does love attention."

  At the same time, undercurrents of unrest roiled, threatening to break old alliances and forge new ones. This faction was now poised on the brink of war with that one, while others waited to see which might emerge the stronger, before taking sides.

  "Civil war brews," Zazar said ominously. "Then, while the Ren-delian nobility is busy destroying itself, the Great Menace from the

  North will take that moment to attack. Rendel will be doomed."

  "Not if I have anything to say about it, if this be the case," Rohan declared with some vehemence. He stroked Weyse, who seemed to have accepted him completely. The little creature purred softly, snuggling more comfortably into his lap as he fed her another tidbit from the leftovers of their dinner. "The question is, how best to go about foiling Flavielle's plans? I can see some danger here. It was only through Grandam Zaz's intervention that I escaped being killed and having my fate settled as just another victim of the Bog."

  "Go softly, but boldly," Gaurin advised. "Pick your moment and then reveal all, in as public a manner as possible."

  "Listen. Gaurin is right," Zazar said. "However, I'll add this. You can trust what I have told you. I learned the truth through—Well, never mind how I did it.

  Let us just say that Flavielle fell into a restless sleep."

  The Wysen-wyf shuddered slightly, and Rohan imagined her wandering through the shadows of Flavielle's mind, learning what the Sorceress knew. He would not have wanted to have undertaken such a journey and, indeed, knew himself to be incapable of such a feat. He now suspected that Flavielle had connections to the enemy in the North, though Grandam Zaz had not mentioned it. Therefore, he would bide his time and not say anything until he was more certain than now. He did not dare question her, not after she had declared that he could trust what she told him.

  "Then I'll put a confident face on it," he said. "But I'd feel better prepared if you, or Ashen, or Gaurin, or even Weyse were with me."

  "Ashen and Gaurin will be in Rendelsham for the tourney. Know that Weyse and I will be, also, if only in spirit."

  "That's all well and good," Rohan said glumly, "but scant comfort if my words aren't believed."

  "Here," Zazar said. She handed him an amulet on a silk cord. "This is a little something I brought back from a source of Power. Display it at the proper time, and I promise that anybody who doesn't believe, will change his mind."

  "What is the proper time?"

  "You'll know. Or if you don't, then there's no hope for you, or for the world as we know it either."

  To Rohan's surprise, Ashen chuckled. "Trust Zazar," she said. "She has told me much the same thing on occasion, and it always worked out though I had no idea how it was going to."

  "Very well, then, I will," Rohan said.

  However, despite the Wysen-wyf's certainty, Rohan could not dispel his basic doubts as he slipped the cord over his neck, tucking the trinket into his shirt for safekeeping and also to hide it from prying—and perhaps unfriendly—eyes. It all seemed much too strange to him. Privately, he thought Zazar must have erred somewhere, that she must have made a mistake, misread what she had discovered while examining the Sorceress's mind in the deepness of an enchanted slumber.

  Surely nobody would be so wicked as to try to create conflict among the nobles of Rendel, not when there was still the danger threatening from the northern lands! He simply could not believe it.

  "Now, everyone sleep," Zazar ordered. "In the morning, I will guide Rohan to the spot where one of the men from the Oakenkeep awaits with his horse and his gear.

  Ashen, you and Gaurin stay here. Then, when I return, we will go back through the Bog, and you will go to your home."

  "How will we know if Rohan is successful?" Ashen said.

  The Wysen-wyf exhaled sharply through her nose. "I suppose it is too much to ask you to believe it will be," she said. "You won't have to be told, though. Didn't you hear me say that you'll be making the journey to Rendelsham and witnessing the results for yourself? You'll be expected there, with the rest of Rendel nobility, to attend the tourney."

  "I was thinking of other things," Ashen said in protest. She glanced at Gaurin, who smiled at her.

  "Heed the words of the Wysen-wyf of the Bog, my dear," he said. "Of course we are bidden to attend, and I will do my best to calm the tempers of those who will listen to me. This is a grave situation, and we all have our parts to play, even you."

  "I?" Ashen said.

  "Indeed. You can renew your friendship with the Young Dowager Rannore. Her words, though little heeded of late, can still have an effect, particularly if she can make the youthful King aware of what is happening in his country. And it is still his country, however much Ysa flaunts her power."

  "I see. Yes, we will all do what we can. And I am grateful that Zazar has the ability to do what she does, and the wisdom to set us all on this needed pathway."

  "If I had wine, I'd offer a toast," Rohan said. "But all I have is this."

  Comically, he held Weyse up, tossed her in the air, and caught her. The little creature, startled, grabbed his hands as if clinging for her life. Gaurin and

  Ashen erupted in merriment, and even Zazar uttered a snort that could have been mistaken for laughter.

  "Cuddle up and sleep with me, Weyse," Rohan coaxed, "and I promise no more toasts for you. Agreed?"

  Apparently she did. However, sometime during the night, Rohan roused and discovered her gone, only to find her curled up with Ashen. In the morning, he awoke to see her busy under Zazar's feet as she prepared a quick breakfast before the two of them left on the short journey to the northern edges of the

  Bog.

  "I will say good-bye only for a little while." Ashen's manner was cheerful, but

  Rohan thought he could detect a measure of anxiety underneath.

  "Goodspeed to you, and we will see you in a few weeks, in Rendelsham," Gaurin told him.

  The two men clasped hands, and Ashen kissed Rohan. Then he and Zazar left.

  When Rohan entered the city again, he discovered to his relief that his absence had not been noted. Indeed, he found himself almost immediately immersed in the preparations for the Grand Tourney, as it was already beginning to be called.

  Training, under instructors hired by Count Harous, was stepped up so much that not only Rohan but also all of the other young nobles who had been moved to

  Rendelsham Castle regretted the distance between there and Cragden Keep. Before dawn, they were forced to march rather than ride, and this effort was quickly increased to making them jog rather than walk. This was, Harous told them, to help toughen them up. Rohan massaged his aching muscles at the end of each day, as did the others, and hoped this toughening would be accomplished soon, preferably before it killed them all.

  In addition to this part of their training, they put in longer hours at weapons practice and at learning to ride and fight at the same time. Red was not a war-horse, but those young men who lacked their own, as he did, were supplied from Count Harous's stables. The mount assigned to Rohan was a spirited, willful beast, but, his instructors assured him, this was all to the good, as a well-trained war-horse fought as ably as its master. Its name was Ironfoot.

  Like all Sea-Rovers, Rohan never developed a real liking for combat from horseback, though he made himself become competent at it because he knew he had to be. Likewise, his axework improved, though he still could not be said to be an expert with the weapon. He was only passable with the lance, though better than some of his peers. However, his sword skills advanced until he occasionally even earned an approving word from Count Harous himself.

  "I'm almost too tired to eat," he told Cebastian one evening when they had dragged themselves back to Rendelsham well after dark. "And my backside is full of blisters where it isn't callused. If it weren't for the possibility of catching a glimpse of Anamara, I would forgo dinner entirely." T
hat, he added silently to himself, and the fact that the only way I can determine what

  Flavielle is up to, is to be in her presence as much as possible.

  "The lovely Anamara seems to be avoiding you these days," Cebastian commented.

  "Mostly what I see is her back as she is leaving the Hall."