by Keyes, Greg
He was in a small cavern or room, roughly furnished. By witchlight he made out Winna’s face, lovely and young. Facing her was the most ancient Sefry Aspar had ever seen. She made Mother Cilth seem a child.
“Sefry can’t talk straight, Winna,” Aspar grunted. “Even when they want to. They lie so much and so often, it just isn’t possible for them.”
“You find the strength to insult me,” the old woman said. Her silvery-blue gaze fastened on him, and he felt a vague shock at the contact. Her face was beyond reading; it looked as if it had been flayed, cured, and placed back on her skull. A mask. “That’s good.”
“Where are we?”
“In the ancient Hisli shrine. The outcasts will not find us here, at least not for a while.”
“How confident you make me feel,” Aspar said.
“She saved our lives, Aspar,” Winna reminded him.
“That remains to be seen,” Aspar grunted. “How bad’m I hurt?”
“The chest wound is not deep,” Gastya replied. “But it was poisoned with the smell of the sedhmhari.”
“Then I shall die.”
“No. Not today. The poison has been drawn out. You will live, and your hatred with you.” She cocked her head. “Your hatred. Such a waste. Jesperedh did her best.”
“How do you … Have we met?”
“I was born here in Rewn Aluth. I’ve never left it.”
“And I’ve never been here before. So how did you know?”
“I know Jesperedh. Jesperedh knows you.”
“Jesp is dead.”
The ancient woman blinked and smiled, then lifted her shoulders in a polite shrug. “As you wish. But as for your hatred— caring for humans is no easy task, you know. In most clans it is forbidden. Jesperedh might have left you to die.”
“She might have,” Aspar said. “I’m grateful to her. Just not to the rest of you.”
“Fair enough,” Gastya allowed.
“Why did the other Sefry leave Rewn Aluth?”
Mother Gastya clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “You know,” she said. “The Briar King awakes, and the sedhmhar roams. Our ancient places are no longer safe. We knew they would not be, when the time came. We made our plans. All of the great rewns of the forest stand empty, now.”
“But why? Surely all of you together could defeat the greffyn.”
“Hmm? Perhaps. But the greffyn is only a harbinger. Sword and spear and shinecraft will never defeat what follows. When the water rises, we do not wait for the flood, we Sefry. Our boats have long been built.”
“But the greffyn can be killed,” Aspar persisted.
“Possibly. What of it?”
“Give me a straight answer, damn you. Mother Cilth wanted me to do something. What is it?”
“I …” She paused. “I’m remembering, yes. She wanted you to find me. To find me, and the Briar King. Beyond that, I do not know.”
“And the greffyn will lead me to the Briar King?”
“It would be better if you reached him before the greffyn does,” Mother Gastya murmured.
“Why? And how will I do that?”
“As to the first, it’s just a tingle in my mind. As to the second—follow the Slaghish into the Mountains of the Hare, always taking the southern and westernmost forks. Between that headwater and the Cockspurs is a high valley.”
“No, there isn’t,” Aspar said. “I’ve been there.”
“There is.”
“Sceat.”
The crone shook her head. “There always has been, but behind a wall, of sorts. A breach has formed in it. Follow the valley down, through the thorn hollows. You’ll find him there.”
“There is no such valley,” Aspar said stubbornly. “You can’t hide such a thing. But suppose there was. Suppose pigs are rutting geese, and everything you say is true. Supposing all of that—why should I do what Mother Cilth wants me to accomplish? What good will it do?”
Mother Gastya’s eyes seemed to shiver like distant lightning. “Because then you will believe, Aspar White. Only seeing him will do that. And to do what you must, you must first believe, in the deepest cistern of your blood.”
Aspar rubbed his forehead with his hand. “I hate Sefry,” he murmured. “I hate you all. Why me? Why do I have to do this?”
She shrugged. “You see with eyes both Sefry and Human.”
“Why should that make a difference?”
“It will make a difference. Human breath he shall draw, and Human soul charge him; but his gaze shall have Sefry quick and see the colors of night. So the prophecy goes.”
“Prophecy? Grim damn you, I—” He stopped short at the echo of a voice. “What’s that?”
“The outcasts. They’re coming for you.”
“I thought you said they couldn’t find us.”
“No. I said they would, at the proper time. That time is near. But they will not find you. Only me. Take my boat, and let the current carry you downstream. In time, you will see light, and steer toward it.”
“Why can’t you go?”
“The light will end me, and there are things I must do first.”
“Fend will kill you.”
Gastya croaked softly at that and placed her hand briefly on Aspar’s. With a terrible chill, he neither saw nor felt flesh on her fingers, only cold, gray bone. “Go on,” Mother Gastya said. “But take this.” The bones of her hand opened and dropped a small, waxy sphere into his palm. “This draws the poison out. You may not be well yet. If you sicken again, clutch it to the wound.”
Aspar took the sphere, staring at the hand. “Come on, Winna,” he murmured.
“Y-yes.”
“The boat is there,” Gastya said, lifting her chin to point. “Do not dally. Find him.”
Aspar didn’t answer. A shiver kept scurrying up and down his back like a mouse in a pipe. He was afraid his voice would quiver if he spoke. He took Winna’s hand, and they went to find the boat.
But once the water had taken the gondola past the carved stone posts that marked the Hisli shrine, and into a low-roofed tunnel, away from Mother Gastya and her hollow, pitted voice, Winna squeezed his fingers.
“Was she, Aspar? Was she dead?”
“I don’t know,” he murmured. “The Sefry claim—they say their shinecrafting can do such things. I’ve never believed it. Never.”
“But you do now.”
“It could have been a glamour. Probably it was a glamour.”
A long time later, it seemed, strange sounds came down the tunnel. It might have been screams, but whose Aspar could not say.
CHAPTER SEVEN
PLANS FOR AN OUTING
“MAJESTY!” THE GUARD PROTESTED. “You cannot— I mean, it’s—”
Muriele glared up at the tall, weak-chinned fellow. He had a carefully trimmed mustache and was immaculate in the pale-and-blue livery of the house Gramme. Muriele couldn’t remember his name, nor did she really try.
“Cannot what?” she snapped. “Am I your queen or not?”
The man flinched, bowed, and bowed again, as he had been doing from their first encounter. “Yes, Majesty, of course, but—”
“And is not the lady Gramme my subject, and a guest in my husband’s house?”
“Yes, Majesty, quite, but—”
“But what? These are my rooms, sir, despite that your mistress lives in them. Out of my way, that I may enter. Unless you know some reason I should not.”
“Please, Majesty. The widow Gramme is … entertaining.”
“Entertaining? Surely she would have to be entertaining the king himself, if you are to put aside my wishes. Are you, sir, prepared to tell me that the lady Gramme is entertaining my husband?”
For a long moment, the young knight stood there, trying out various movements of his lips but never quite making a sound. He looked from Muriele, to Erren, to the young knight Neil MeqVren, who stood with hand on the hilt of his weapon. Then he sighed. “No, Majesty. I am not prepared to tell you that.”
“Very well, th
en. Open that door.”
A moment later she was striding into the suite. Adlainn Selgrene—Gramme’s lady-in-waiting—dropped her needlework and gave a little shriek as Muriele marched toward the bedchamber, but at a hard glance from Erren, the small blonde fell quite silent.
Muriele paused at the double doors and spoke to Neil and Erren without looking at them.
“Stay outside for a moment,” she said. “Give them time to get proper.” Then she took the handle and shoved the doors open.
The lady Gramme and William II were a pink tangle of limbs on her enormous bed. People look rather stupid in the act of sex, Muriele thought, oddly detached. Helpless and stupid, like babies without the charm.
“By the saints!” Muriele said, deadpan. “Whatever are you doing with my husband, Lady Gramme?”
Gramme shrieked in an outrage altogether free of fear, and the king gave a kind of bullish bellow, but they both scrambled under cover in short order.
“Muriele, what in the name of the saints—” William shouted, his face ruddy.
“How dare you break into my rooms—” Gramme howled, pushing at her tangled ash-blonde curls with one hand and drawing the coverlet up with the other.
“Shut up, the both of you,” Muriele shouted. “You especially, Lady Gramme. That everyone knows about … this … does not make it legal to the church. My husband may be above holy sanction, but I assure you, you are not, nor will he—in these times—stand in my way if I wish to press for it.”
“Muriele—”
“No, hush, William. War is afoot, yes? With whose family would you rather risk a rift? Mine, with its matchless fleet and its legions of knights? Or this whore’s, whose father commands forty skinny nags mounted by oafs wearing pots for helms?”
Gramme understood the threat more quickly than William.
Her mouth clamped shut very quickly indeed, though she was near tears with anger.
William, biting his lip, also relented. “What do you want, Muriele?” he asked tiredly.
“Your attention, husband. I’m told I’m to be escorted by barge to Cal Azroth. I don’t remember deciding that I wanted to go there. And I don’t remember being asked.”
“I am still your husband. I am still king. Need I ask permission to make my wife safe? You were nearly killed!”
“Your concern is noted. Is that what you came to Lady Gramme to discuss? Your deep worry and concern for my welfare?”
William ignored the dig. “It’s not safe for you in Eslen, Muriele. That much is plain. It will be much easier to guard you at Cal Azroth. It’s what the place was built for.”
“Move the whole court, there, then, not just me.”
“Impractical. I must be here, near the fleet. But Fastia, Anne, Elseny, and Charles will accompany you. I will not risk my children, either, with assassins abroad.”
“I refuse this protection. Send the children if you will.”
William’s face tightened. “Erren, speak to your mistress.”
From the corner of her eye Muriele noticed that Erren and Sir Neil had taken the moment she asked of them and finally entered the chamber.
“She already knows my mind, Majesty,” Erren replied.
“Lady Erren, you, at least, must have the sense to know this is for the best.”
Erren bowed politely. “Yes, Majesty. If you say so, Majesty.”
“Well, I do say so!” William suddenly leapt out of the bed and dragged a robe up from the floor. He threw it over his shoulders.
“Muriele,” he grated, “join me in Lady Gramme’s sunroom. Immediately. The rest of you remain here. I am your king, damn you all, and never forget it!”
William leaned on the casement of the window and regarded the sunset. He did not look at Muriele when he spoke.
“That was childish, Muriele, childish and destructive. What sort of word might spread in the court now? Did you really want Lady Gramme to think I tell you nothing? Do you want her to spread that around?”
Muriele choked back tears. “You do tell me nothing, damn you. If I don’t have your ear, why should anyone think I do? I’d rather be thought of as spurned than stupid, husband.”
William turned a shockingly weary gaze on her. “This is not the usual course of our lives,” he protested. “When all is normal, I do confide in you and seek your opinion. I kept this quiet because I knew you would not want to go, and I need you to go. You are correct, war looms everywhere, and they have already tried to kill you once. I don’t even know how they did it. I’ll wager hard that your deadly old Erren doesn’t know, either.”
“Then what makes you think Cal Azroth will be safer for me?”
“Because of all our manses, it is best built for defending against assassins, against craft and art and the winged, evil dead or whatever else might come along. It has a full garrison, so even if they send an army after you, you may be safe. You know the place, Muriele. Won’t you see reason?”
“It’s easier to see something in the plain light, than when it creeps behind you in the dark. I don’t like hearing my fate through rumor. Even four years ago, you would not have treated me so. Now it is commonplace. Are Gramme’s whispers growing strong in your skull? Do you really conceive of replacing me as queen?”
Something came over William’s face, then, something she had not seen for some time. He turned away again, unable to meet her gaze.
“All kings have mistresses, Muriele. Your own father did.”
“That never answers my question.”
He turned back to her. “You are my queen, my wife, and I think my friend.”
“We once were friends,” she said, more softly, a little confused.
“I can’t let you be killed. It’s as simple as that. I can live without Ambria, or Alis, or any of those others. Without you …” His hands dropped helplessly at his sides. “Being king is hard enough, without you asking me to be better as a man. You’ve never asked that of me. You’ve never even mentioned my mistresses. Why now, of all times, when things are worst and weakest, do you choose to … to … erupt in this manner?”
She lifted her chin defiantly. “I don’t know. I suppose because this is the first time I’ve felt truly unwanted. After I was nearly murdered, you came to me. You were tender, as you were of old. And then, poof ! Nothing. As if in that one night you could take my terror away. And now to send me off, like a child, without even talking to me? Intolerable.”
He cast his head down. “Tonight. Can’t we talk tonight, when we have cooled a bit?”
“You want me to come to our bed when you still have her stink on you? When I know for certain? What do you think of me? That I have no pride at all? I’m a de Liery, damn you, Wilm!”
She knew she was going to cry, then, if she didn’t leave quickly. “I’ll go. Not for myself, but if my children will be safer at Cal Azroth, I’ll take them there. Never mind your ridic—” She couldn’t finish. She turned and walked swiftly down the stairs, through the bedchamber.
“Erren. Sir Neil. To me, now.”
Her shoulders were shaking by the time she reached the hall. By the time they came to the Depren Stairs, the tears had started.
Neil paced slowly in the anteroom, wondering what he ought to do. Only a few hours ago, he had begun his service as the sole member of the Lier Guard. The queen had hardly said two words to him, and before he knew it he was off to confront his sovereign lord—the same king who had just given him the rose!—in a state of undress with his mistress.
Now the queen had shut herself in her bedroom, and the lady Erren with her.
The other knights assigned to the queen were confined to the halls. Only Neil was allowed in the apartment. He supposed he might stick his head out and ask them what he ought to do, but Vargus wasn’t there, or even Sir James, and he did not know the rest.
A door creaked, and he turned, hand on the pommel of Crow.
It was the lady Erren.
“Take ease, young chever,” she said, in Lierish. “The queen
sends her apologies. She’s been—as you’ve seen, I think—too distracted to properly welcome you to her staff.”
“That’s no matter,” Neil replied. “This is so great an honor for me, I cannot even begin to say. But …”
“But you have questions, yes? Ask them of me.”
“Thank you, Lady. Mostly, it’s this—what exactly are my duties?”
Erren smiled sternly. “That’s simple enough. You protect the queen. Not me, not her daughters, not her husband, not the crown prince—but the queen. Always and only, your eye is to her safety. If you can save the king’s life by allowing the queen to be stung by a bee, you are to let the king perish. Is that simple enough?”
“It is. Quite simple.”
“You have command of yourself, in that case. No order will you be given, no task or errand can keep you from her side. It matters not who gives it. Act always as you think best.”
“And the other knights? The Craftsmen?”
“They are not under your command, if that is what you mean. Nor are you under theirs. The queen commands this household, and I am the chief of her staff. You obey the queen’s command, then mine, then the king’s, in that order. If at any time you feel any command jeopardizes the queen, you shall ignore it.” She paused. “But be certain. I’ll have no cocksure young man second-guessing every order I give. You are not the strategist, here. You are the watchdog. You are the sword. Do you understand the difference?”
“I do, Lady.”
“Very well, then. In time, we will assemble a real Lier Guard, and you will be its captain. Until then, things stand as I’ve put them before you. Do you have other questions? About what just happened, for instance?”
“No question that is meet, I think.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it is a question I would put to the king, if it were not impertinent,” Neil said softly.
A mixed look of alarm and approval flashed across the lady Erren’s face. She placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Love her,” she said, “but do not fall in love with her. She counts on you for her life, and I would not want you to be dispassionate about that. But fall in love with her, and she is as good as dead. You might as well thrust the knife in yourself. You understand?”
