by Greg Keyes
“Anne won’t misuse it.”
“She does so already. She drains the life from our warriors. She boils them in their skins. Soon she will do far worse. And of the three who seek the sedos throne, she is favored to win. And so my people fight and die, and I use my visions as best I can to help them. But I am too far away now, and she has become too strong. To be of any use I need to leave here, but that isn’t allowed. It’s never been allowed, and after my earlier escape, my father is doubly committed to the ancient way. He doesn’t really understand what’s going on. He twists what I tell him and tells his men that Anne is evil, that our war is just and holy.”
“Isn’t that what you just told me?”
“No. I chose to take the fight to Anne because I know where she is. The others I cannot find. But they must seek her out, too, and they will, because they cannot see each other. Anne is queen of Crotheny—she is in Crotheny. Prescience can’t find her, but spies can. She’s visible every day.”
“But if Anne knew,” Neil said. “If she knew, she would not do—not seize this throne you speak of.”
“She won’t have a choice when the time comes. She will have to take the power or die. I do not think she will choose to die. Nonetheless, I have tried to contact her. I’ve sent coven-trained, first to tell her these things, later to assassinate her. None ever made it near her. She has a great many protectors who have no wish to see her refuse this power.”
“The Sefry.”
“Them, yes. But there are others, with different goals.”
“But you must have sent your brother to Saint Cer. He and his men tried to murder Anne then.”
She shook her head. “I had nothing to do with that. The Dunmrogh boy betrayed her there to your uncle, who was in fact working with my father.”
“Is Robert here?”
“Yes.”
He digested that for a moment. “Is my queen safe?”
“You mean Muriele now. Yes and no. Safe for the moment. But safe here, in Hansa? Not remotely.”
She held Neil’s gaze so long that his scalp began to prickle, but she finally looked away again.
“We’ve spoken enough for now,” she said. “A longer talk will raise suspicions, and to be frank, I haven’t decided what to do with you.” She picked up her mask. “I’m sorry I can’t offer you better accommodations, but that, too, would attract attention.”
“I have to try to help my queen,” he said. “You know that.”
“I do,” she said softly. “I’ll do what I can to help Muriele.”
“And Anne?”
But Brinna didn’t reply. She just replaced the mask on her face.
“Why do you wear that?” he asked.
“I spoke of a higher calling,” she murmured. “Perhaps I will tell you about that one day.”
She turned and left through the same concealed panel, and a few moments later guards appeared and returned him to his cell.
Muriele sipped wine and leaned on the timeworn balustrade of a stone balcony. Below her, a stream coursed noisily through a narrow white-walled gorge very pleasantly grown in hemlock, spruce, and everic. The balcony supporting her was carved from the living rock of the ravine.
“Who made this place?” she asked Berimund as he joined her.
“I don’t know,” he replied. “I’m told that the style of the carving resembles that of the Unselthiuzangardis, the, ah, ‘Wicked Kingdoms.’”
“That was during what we called the Warlock Wars.”
“That’s right,” he said. “Anyway, I believe it was probably the refuge of a sorcerer or perhaps the secret dwelling of his mistress. My wulfbrothars and I found it when we were in farunya.”
“Farunya? That’s this province?”
He looked at her blankly a minute, then laughed. “No,” he said. “Farunya—that’s when boys who are almost old enough to be men band together and wander, hunt outlaws, pick fights with hill tribes. My wulfbrothars and I went out for years, went all the way into Zhuzhturi. When we returned—those of us who returned—we were made men and warriors. Any boy who hopes to fight in a hansa must go in farunya first.”
“You lost friends?”
“There were forty of us to start with. Thirty-two came back. Not bad considering some of the fights we got into.” He grinned. “Those were good times. And that’s how I know my brothers won’t betray me. We were forged into men together. It’s a strong bond.”
The thing about betrayal, Muriele thought, is that only someone you trust can really betray you.
She didn’t say it, though. If Berimund was wrong, he was wrong. Her saying something wouldn’t serve any purpose.
“So, this place,” the prince went on. “We spotted it from down there. Took us five days to find the entrance above. We came back later and furnished it. We swore to keep its location secret.”
“That’s why you blindfolded me.”
“Jah. Even then, I had to put it to a vote with my men.”
“I’m flattered they allowed it.” She let her gaze drift back down to the river. “So what now?”
“We wait for my father to calm down,” he said.
“And if he doesn’t?”
“In that case, we’ll have to wait until he dies, I think.”
“Well,” Muriele said, “at least there’s wine.”
Neil lay in the dark, wondering if he was going mad, wondering how long he had been there. He thought he probably slept a lot, but the distinction between sleep and waking was starting to blur. His only indication of the time was when they brought his food, but he was always a little hungry, so he wasn’t sure if he was being fed twice a day, once a day, or once every two days.
He tried to think about mountain pasture and wide blue sky, but instead his mind kept replaying just a few things.
Had the entire embassy really been a sham, a disguise for assassination? Would Anne really have ordered that? Would Muriele have been part of it?
Maybe, maybe. Queens were forced to do that sometimes, weren’t they? It was childish to think otherwise.
But Anne had insisted he go along. Did she know? Know that he knew Brinna? Did she think that he would kill her if Alis failed?
Should he, if he got the chance? Could he, if it was his queen’s wish? After all, it was his fault that Hansa even had a Hellrune.
And the thing that kept burning up through everything else was the memory of his kiss with her out in the marshes around Paldh, the touch of her lips and the sweet gift of her against him.
Someone was humming a weird little song. Fingers traced along Neil’s bare spine, up to his shoulder, along his ruined sword arm, back up around the edge of his ear. He smiled and rolled that way.
Hazel eyes gazed down from a delicate face framed in dark tresses. She had a sad little smile on her lips.
“Fastia,” he gasped, his heart thundering.
“I know you,” the ghost sighed. “I remember you.”
Neil tried to sit up but found that he couldn’t. His body seemed impossibly tired and heavy.
“I kissed you once, too.”
“I’m sorry, Fastia,” he whispered.
“Why? For kissing?”
“No.”
“I’m almost gone,” she said. “The river is taking me. Whoever you are, I’ve almost forgotten you. If you ever wronged me, it’s in the water now.”
“I love you.”
“You love her.”
“Yes,” he said, miserably.
She stroked his cheek. “No need for that,” she said.
“Did she bring you here?” he asked.
“No. She’s like a doorway, and through her I saw you. You drew me here.”
“I do love you.”
“I’m glad I was loved,” she said. She closed her eyes. “Something is coming,” she said. “You need to go back. I wanted to tell you that.”
She bent and brought her lips to his, and he felt a tickle. Then she began singing in a language he didn’t know. He found hi
mself wanting to sing it as well, to leave his flesh and join Fastia. But the song faded, and her with it, until she was gone.
He started and was awake.
Footsteps. Someone was coming. It didn’t sound like the jailer.
It wasn’t; it was four guards. They didn’t say anything, and he didn’t ask them anything; he just let them lead him out of the hole and back up into the halls. They took him back to the chamber where he’d seen Brinna and left him there alone.
He was wondering what to do, when the small door opened and the girl came in with a pitcher and filled an alabaster washbasin.
“My lady asks that you bathe yourself,” she said in Hanzish. Her eyes were darting, fearful, not like the last time.
“I’m to leave you alone while you do so. Fresh clothes are there.” She pointed to some garments folded on the chair he’d sat in before, then exited the way she had come.
He stripped off his filthy weeds and scrubbed himself from head to toe. A bath would have been better, but when he was done, he felt so much more human that it was shocking. When he was dry, he slipped on the hose, breeches, and shirt that had been provided and stood waiting, enjoying the ability to straighten his limbs, back, and neck all at the same time.
The girl stuck her head in a bit later, and a few moments after that Brinna entered, wearing the same, or an identical, black gown. She did not, however, have the mask with her.
Her expression didn’t tell him much, and for a little while that was all he got. Then she walked over and took her place in her armchair.
“Please sit,” she said.
He complied.
“Things are complicated,” she said. “I wouldn’t have had you stay in that place if they weren’t.”
“I appreciate the sentiment,” he muttered.
“I doubt that, but that’s not this discussion.”
She looked down and cleared her throat softly.
“There are three reasons you’re here and not dead or still imprisoned,” she said. “The first is that I believe you are not an assassin. The second is that I think we can help each other without you breaching your real duty.”
She paused and settled her shoulders. “The third isn’t important right now.”
“I’m glad you don’t believe I’m an assassin,” he said.
She nodded and placed her hands on her knees. “I want you to help me escape again.”
“What?”
“Anne has destroyed a third of our army,” she said.
“This is war,” he said gently.
“You needn’t condescend to me, sir,” she said. “I know what war is.”
“Sorry.”
“Understand, it was not the army of Crotheny that killed our men. It was Anne herself.”
“Oh,” he said, frowning, trying to understand. He’d been with Anne a few times when she had used her gifts. But even on the march to Eslen, she had never been able to affect more than a dozen or so people and never actually had killed more than one or two. Even so, it had made him a little sick.
“How many?” he asked.
“Forty-eight thousand.”
“Forty…” It didn’t make any sense.
“It has begun, Sir Neil. She is coming into her strength. My father will keep sending his men against her, and they will continue to die.”
“What do you intend to do?” he asked.
“Anne is beyond me. There is nothing I can do directly. But I think I might undo the damage I myself did. I might help mend the law of death, and if that is done, everything changes. All visions of the future, all prophecy becomes moot. On that, if nothing else, I ask you to trust me.”
“But why must I help you escape?”
“I have to reach Newland,” she said. “That’s where I must be, and in a short time.”
“It’s impossible for me to promise that,” Neil said.
“I realize that,” she replied. “I just wanted you to know what I’m about. I need to talk to Queen Muriele, clearly. Only she can make the decision to take me to Newland. I just want your permission first, since she is in your charge.”
“That means having her brought up here?”
“If I could do that, I would have already done so,” she replied.
“What do you mean?”
“She went hunting with Berimund, yes?”
“Yes, the day after we arrived. Just before I was seized.”
“My father isn’t a stable man. He condemned your lady to death and ordered my brother to carry out that charge.”
Neil stood so violently that the chair went clattering to the floor. “You saw this?”
She sucked in a breath and flinched back.
“Did you?” he asked more softly.
“No. I have spies, as well. But I have seen where my brother took her.”
“To murder her, you mean?”
Her eyes focused outward and seemed to glaze. “Berimund won’t do that,” she said, her voice a bit singsong. “He’s taken her someplace to hide. He doesn’t know he’s been followed.”
“Followed? By your father?”
She shook her head. “No. Robert Dare.”
Without thinking, Neil put his hand up to his head, where the usurper had struck him with a bottle.
“I have to get to her,” he said. “Can you help me do that?”
“I need her, too, and I need her alive,” Brinna said. “Alis has agreed to aid me, but I need you, too.”
He took a deep breath. “I’ll help you escape,” he said. “But after we find the queen, I must obey her orders.”
“Even if they are to slay me?”
“Any order but that,” he said.
Something bright flitted behind her face but quickly vanished.
“Well,” Brinna said. “Are we agreed?”
“Yes.”
“That’s good,” she said. “Because we’ve already begun, I’m afraid. The interrogator insisted on being with me in this interview, and she got my father to put it in writing that she would be.”
“Where is she, then?”
“In the next room, dead. I poisoned her. The men who brought you have also been dealt with. Or at least I hope so.”
“They’ve been dealt with,” a quiet voice said.
Neil started and found Alis standing behind him, clad in a dark blue gown. She held something bundled in a cloak.
“I think this hauberk will fit you, Sir Neil,” she said. “And you’ve your pick of these swords.”
“I’m sure you would prefer your own,” Brinna said. “But those are beyond my reach. I hope one of these is suitable. You’re going to need it very soon.”
CHAPTER TEN
AN OLD FRIEND
ASPAR HAD begun to draw the knife before he realized he was losing his mind, that the geos had taken his sense without him even knowing it.
Leshya saw his expression and raised her eyebrows.
Fighting down the paranoia, Aspar pushed the eldritch blade back in, unhooked the scabbard, and held it out toward her.
“This is yours,” he said. “I should have given it back to you days ago.”
“You make better use of it than I would,” she said.
“I don’t like it,” he said.
“Neither do I,” the Sefry replied. “It’s a sedos thing.”
Aspar proffered it for another few breaths, but she didn’t reach for it, so he hooked the sheath back on his belt.
“Let’s keep Fend’s offer to help us quiet for now,” Aspar said. “Until we cann what he’s up to.”
“It could confuse things more than they already are,” she said.
He couldn’t tell if it was a question. “Yah.”
They found Emfrith’s bunch setting up camp in a field not too far from the road. Winna came running up as they passed the watchmen. She was flushed, and though she seemed excited, it was hard to tell if it was from a good or a bad cause.
“He found us,” she said. That sounded happy.
&nbs
p; “Stephen?”
Her expression fell, and then she shook her head.
“Ehawk.”
Aspar felt a slight lift of his shoulders. “Really? Where is he?”
“Sleeping. He was nearly falling out of his saddle. I don’t think he’s rested in days.”
“Well, I reckon I’ll talk to him later, then.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
“I’m glad the lad’s alive,” he said. “But I reckoned wherever he was, he was all right. Ehawk can take care of himself. Not like—” He stopped.
“Not like Stephen,” she said softly.
“Stephen’s fine, too,” he said gruffly. “Probably holed up in a scriftorium someplace.”
“Right,” Winna agreed. “Probably.”
Early the next morning, Aspar found Ehawk crouched around the coals of the fire. The young Watau grinned when he saw Aspar.
“You were hard to find,” he said. “Like tracking a ghost. Lost you before the cold river up there.”
“The Welph.”
“I don’t like those trees. It’s like always being at the snow line in the mountains.”
“Yah,” Aspar said. “Different. Anyway, you should have just waited like Winna. I would have just come to you.”
“I couldn’t do that,” the Watau boy replied. “Winna didn’t wait, either. She made Emfrith look for you, but once her belly started swelling, he wouldn’t go far.” He stirred the embers with a stick. “He didn’t want to find you, anyway.”
“Yah, I conth that,” he said.
Ehawk nodded and pushed back his pitch-dark hair. His face looked leaner, older. His body was catching up with the man inside.
“So where are we going?” he asked.
“Mountains of the Hare. The western ranges, near Sa Ceth ag Sa’Nem.”
“Ah.” The boy shook his head. “You’re seeking the Segachau, then.”
“What?”
