Lysandra bowed her head in defeat.
Then, with a sigh, she turned away from this place that had healed her heart and given her a life once again and began her journey into the unknown—heading north to Ballinrigh.
Studying Giraldus’s maps and marking out their journey had not proved as easy as Aurya anticipated, even with Tambryn’s scroll in hand. Aurya thought she had understood the many veiled phrases and metaphors, so that his directions would be easy to place on a map. But it took her two full days to accomplish what she thought would take only a couple of hours.
While Aurya was busy with the maps, Giraldus worked on arranging the business of the province to his satisfaction. After taking care of the needed correspondence, rendering judgment on some of the court cases and appeals awaiting his word, Giraldus summoned his council. Together they examined some of the province’s pending trade agreements to be certain that his absence of a few weeks would not jeopardize the welfare of his people. Finally, Giraldus ordered Maelik, his Master Sergeant-at-Arms, to keep the army drilled and at battle readiness.
Then, nine days after Elon had put the Thirteenth Scroll of Tambryn into her hands, Aurya and Giraldus were finally under way.
The route they were to follow was convoluted, and the reason for its many detours was unclear to Giraldus. But Aurya insisted they stick to the course, no matter how puzzling the guidance seemed, certain that a mystic of Tambryn’s great power had a reason for every twist and turn within his words.
She and Giraldus traveled alone and without pomp or insignia. This was a point of contention between them, for even when traveling with his army Giraldus was used to a degree of comfort and the deference due his rank. But Aurya did not want them recognized. It was important, she told him time and again, that they draw no attention to themselves; Giraldus was not the only Baron with an eye to the throne, and spies could be anyone, anywhere. Her reasons made sense to Giraldus, and so he accepted the small unadorned tent and lack of embellishments, finding his comfort at night in the warm closeness of their bodies while they slept.
Each night when they made camp, Aurya would again pull out Tambryn’s scroll and study. By the third night, Giraldus was becoming bored with her lack of conversation. She was always something of a mystery to him, and never one to easily share her thoughts and feelings. But now her complete absorption in the scroll made Giraldus feel superfluous, even more cut off from her than ever before.
Although he had never shown much interest in her mystical studies or working of magic—except in its outcome—Giraldus decided to start discussing the scroll with her. Perhaps, he thought, if she reads me more of it, we can use this time traveling to better our union. Maybe if I take more than a passing interest now, she’ll soften to the idea of marriage.
He had been delighted when Elon told Aurya what he had been hesitating to say. He knew how she felt about marriage, and he accepted some of the reasons, even if he did not agree with them. Her illegitimate birth and unhappy childhood with a mother too crushed by her own guilt to care for her child, the life of her old teacher and what widowhood would have meant for her if she had stayed within society—Giraldus knew all these things.
In their early years together, he had tried to convince Aurya that their marriage would have been different, that she need not fear the loss of her self, her independence. But to receive the Sacrament of Holy Matrimony, she would have to come into the Church—and to do that, she would have to deny the part of herself she held most dear. Accepting that, Giraldus had ceased mentioning marriage.
But now, with the throne as the prize, the subject had gained a new and vital importance not even she could deny. It was for this, more than the belief in any mystical revelation, that he had agreed to this journey. By the time they returned to Adaraith, with or without this child she and Elon thought so important, Giraldus hoped to have found a way to convince Aurya to marry him.
And to give him an heir. Giraldus had often thought that having a child, being able to give it the love she had been denied, would soften the hard shell of protection Aurya wore around her heart.
With that thought in mind, he sat down near her, in the warmth and light of the small fire over which they had cooked their meal, and asked her to tell him more about what she was reading. He did not miss her look of surprise, and he smiled; surprising Aurya was not easily accomplished. Still smiling, he brought the skin of wine from among their provisions, poured, and handed a goblet to her.
“The time of the House of Baoghil is over,” she said, accepting it and still looking a little bemused. “That much is quite clear. Anri was the last King of that line. But the future… there are several references here that could be interpreted any number of ways.”
“What references?” he asked, trying to sound enthusiastic.
“Well, here,” Aurya said, unrolling the scroll to the section she wanted, “Tambryn writes of the rise of the Third House. That, of course, is Kilgarriff—unless the Houses were numbered differently six hundred years ago.”
“They were not,” Giraldus replied. “Kilgarriff has always been the Third House, the House descended from Lihadanes, the third son of Liam Roetah the Builder, first High King of Aghamore. All of the Houses are numbered in the birth order of the sons of Liam. That doesn’t change no matter how many years go by.”
Aurya nodded. “Well, Tambryn views the rise of the Third House with alarm and warns that it must be guarded against,” she continued. “He says that unless the Third House is stopped, it is from Kilgarriff that the next High King will arise… and that’s you.”
“And what is supposed to stop us—the child of whom you and Elon spoke? I hardly think that I need fear a child, no matter what anyone’s prophecies say.”
“But the child will not be acting alone, if I read this correctly. There are also several references to the Fifth House, and to the Ninth—Camlough and Rathreagh. The scroll says help must arise from the Fifth House… and that the Ninth House holds both threat and salvation.”
Giraldus’s well-intentioned patience shattered. He stood and threw down his cup. The wine still within it went flying, splattering into the fire with a hissing sound.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” he demanded. “We’re off chasing down some child, while the very scroll you and Elon say we must follow warns us of enemies. Oran of Camlough is no fool to be dismissed, Aurya, and neither is Hueil of Rathreagh. They are both warriors with well-trained, formidable armies. If they’re on the rise, then I still say we’d be better off heading for Ballinrigh with our army at our backs. The throne is in Ballinrigh. While we’re off trying to find this child, what do you think the others will be doing? Just waiting around peacefully until we return? No—they’ll be getting ready to march. We should be doing the same.”
“If you believe that, why did you agree to this journey?” Aurya asked quietly, very quietly.
Giraldus was not fooled. He had learned, long ago and the hard way, that a soft tone often masked Aurya’s most extreme anger. But this time he did not care.
“I accepted Elon’s help, and paid him well for it, so he’d win the bishops to our cause. That’s what will gain us the throne, not this business with ancient scrolls and heretical prophets. But I thought you’d told me everything and that this child was our only real threat. That’s why I’m on this accursed journey, that and…”
Giraldus glared at her across the fire for a moment, then turned and stalked off.
It’s for you, he had not said, but he had meant. His anger was because he knew that she knew it, too.
Heaven blast her, he thought as he stormed away, breathing hard with his fury. Why can’t she do anything like a normal woman?
He walked until the darkness hid him and the light of the campfire was barely a glow behind him. He needed some time alone. Being with Aurya always befuddled his thoughts. Her nearness, even after these nine years together, was like a sweet wine, too easily consumed in excess, robbing him of both strength
and reason.
He found a log and sat alone in the dark, where he could think clearly. He felt his anger begin to dissipate, but he did not want to let it go. He reminded himself that Aurya owed him for the life of comfort and privilege she enjoyed. She should be subservient, grateful, and gentle. Even though she was not legally his wife, she lived as such, and as such she should honor him. Furthermore, he was a skilled warrior; she should trust him to provide for her, not the other way around.
Yet, even as he thought these things, he knew he loved Aurya’s fire and her intelligence. He just wished that sometimes she would… Oh, hell and damnation, he thought with a sigh, as he started back to the camp. He would go apologize for this fit of temper and, now that the subject had been opened, he would make certain that there were no other surprises left unsaid.
Then Giraldus smiled, for tonight beneath their bedroll they would make up their differences—and at that part of a woman’s nature, Aurya excelled.
He stepped back into the circle of firelight, expecting to see her still studying her scroll. But Aurya was nowhere in sight. Her bedroll was gone, one of the bags of provisions, her horse…
“Blast her stubborn, heartless—“ Giraldus cursed as he gathered up their remaining travel-fare to follow her. But which direction? She had the map; she was the one with the hopefully discerned knowledge of their destination.
Continuing to curse under his breath, Giraldus saddled and loaded his horse as quickly as he could. He spared a brief thought to wish it were daylight so that Aurya’s trail might be more easily seen, but even in the darkness he was certain his tracking skills would find her.
Once the saddlebags were packed, Giraldus took one of the burning branches from the fire and, using it as a torch, began to search for signs of Aurya’s departure. Finally, he found what he was looking for: a hoofprint on the ground and some bent and broken branches where horse and rider had pushed through.
Giraldus hastened back to what had been their camp. He quickly kicked dirt upon the remains of the fire, then threw himself onto his horse and sped off in pursuit of the woman who angered and frustrated him, who often confused him—but whom he truly loved.
Aurya had not ridden slowly, as if hoping he would catch up. She was moving as quickly as the darkness would allow. It took Giraldus nearly an hour to find her. Grabbing her reins to pull her horse to a stop, he was not certain whether he wanted to pull her into an embrace, glad of her safety and their reunion, or pull her across his knee and spank her like a worrisome child who had run away.
He did neither. He sat glaring at her over the heads of their animals, panting with the effort to not scream at her for her idiocy. And he waited. This time she must make the first move toward reconciliation or, by heaven, he would leave her now and not look back….
“You want to take your army and storm the capital,” she said at last, her tone cool and uncontrite, “then go. I’ll find the child myself. If after so many years you have such little confidence in me or in what I tell you we need to do, then—“
“Ever since Elon put that cursed scroll in your hand, you’ve cut yourself off from me. How can I have confidence, as you call it, if you won’t tell me everything? You give me information by little spoonfuls, like I’m some child or idiot who can only take so much. Well, I’m sick of it, Aurya.”
His outrage seemed to take Aurya by surprise. She recognized, finally, that this was more than a tantrum or a bout of the impatience she was always rebuking him over, impatience that was an offshoot of their contrasting approaches to life.
“Well, what am I supposed to do—you’ve never shown the slightest interest in my studies before. But, you’re… right,” she added slowly, “and I’m sorry, Giraldus. I shouldn’t exclude you when you are interested.”
This rare apology from her melted the last of his anger. He dropped the reins of her horse and moved his in closer, so that he could take her hand.
“Aurya,” he said softly, “come, let’s make camp again. I do trust you, and I know we share the same vision of the future. All I ask is that you trust me the same way.”
Giraldus was delighted that Aurya not only let him take her hand, but then squeezed his in return. She leaned toward him, turning her face up for his kiss with a demureness that made him realize he could never have left her. He would go anywhere with her, follow whatever plan she devised—if only she would act like this more often.
“After we have made camp,” Aurya said once the kiss had ended, “I’ll tell you everything you want to know of Tambryn’s words. Then you will see why it is the child that is important to us.”
“Yes,” Giraldus replied, “I want to hear it all—and let this be the last time there are secrets between us.”
Later that night, as they lay entwined in each other’s arms, Aurya smiled into the darkness. She was pleased with herself; she knew she had played Giraldus in just the right way. Her timing had been perfect.
She had known that, at sometime during their journey, his years as a warrior, his habit of leadership and custom of receiving obedience, would cause him to balk. She had not expected it quite so soon or over a matter that she considered trivial. But since it had come, at least she had the intelligence to make use of it. And now, more than ever, he was hers—heart and body, mind and will.
It had cost her so little; she almost laughed aloud. She would tell him all he wanted to know—she would even read the entire scroll to him, though she knew that he would soon lose interest. Eventually, when it was her magic rather than her intelligence that was needed, she would make him part of that, too.
Oh yes, she had a special part for Giraldus to play when magic became necessary, as she knew it would. Magic could be difficult, draining, even dangerous to the wielder. But with Giraldus nearby to act as a reserve of energy, usable at her request, she knew there was little she could not do.
It was all coming together just as she had planned, despite what the bishop had said about her needing to become more… acceptable… in order to be Queen. That was what Giraldus wanted, she knew. He had said little about it since Elon had raised the subject, but Aurya knew Giraldus well enough to be certain it was never far from his thoughts. He was but biding his time.
And so was she. After they had found and destroyed the child would be time enough to decide the question of marriage. As she had tonight, she would know how and when to act; she would make certain then, as she had now, that everything worked the way she wanted.
Regardless of what Elon, or the Church, or anyone said, Giraldus was hers. So was the crown. So was Aghamore.
Smiling still, Aurya closed her eyes and welcomed sleep. She wanted to dream of the future.
Chapter Six
With Cloud-Dancer by her side, Lysandra traveled through the Great Forest. Despite the many superstitions about the place, all the stories she had heard as a child, Lysandra knew no fear. For almost ten years she had lived deep in the heart of this forest and had found nothing but beauty and safety.
The inner Sight that had first come to her among these trees stayed with her now. It was as if the forest itself held the magic of this Gift. Whether that was true or not, Lysandra did not know; she accepted it with gratitude, for it made the journey easier.
She gathered the food to sustain her as she traveled. It was plentiful this time of year, as the warming of the air and the soil triggered the growth of tender shoots and succulent mushrooms, and new growth showed her where edible roots lay buried. Each day she gathered a little more than she needed to add to her bag of provisions, knowing that these extra portions might save her from starvation somewhere on the long, unknown journey ahead.
She also added to her supply of medicines, especially when she chanced upon a stand of white willows. Their bark, brewed in a tea, reduced both pain and fever better than any of the herbs she grew.
By day the wolf left her side only to hunt. At dusk, Lysandra carefully made a fire, for the nights were still chill, then laid their bed on piles
of fir needles and bracken to insulate them from the damp of the ground.
The trek through the forest took nearly four days, then another to walk around Crooked Lake, from which the province took its name. On the other side, they crossed into the central province of Urlar. Here, where the ground leveled out, towns sprinkled all the roads to Ballinrigh. To get to the kingdom’s capital, Lysandra had no choice but to follow the roads, but she did her best to avoid the towns and human contact for as long as possible.
She planned, however, to stop in Granshae—the third biggest city in the province, and only twenty miles from Ballinrigh. It would have taken Lysandra and Cloud-Dancer too long to circumvent it—and she needed to find a shop that would buy her mother’s jewelry.
Still, Lysandra dreaded it, and she stood for several minutes outside Granshae’s walls. Even out here the presence of so many people pounded at her in a cacophony of minds and emotions she had not endured since running from her home village a decade before.
She did not like it; she did not want it; she could not avoid it.
Steeling her mind as best she could, she laid her fingers on Cloud-Dancer’s head, running her fingers deeply into his fur for a stronger contact. Then, using his vision for guidance and his presence to give her strength, Lysandra headed for the city gate.
Walking into the town of Granshae was like walking into a wall of both internal and external noise. More than ever, she relied on Cloud-Dancer’s instincts to guide them through the moving maze of people. Even with his vision to orient her, Lysandra found the onslaught of human presence overwhelming. All the people’s voices, their loud, quick actions and even quicker thoughts that darted and flashed both around and through her, made Lysandra feel dazed. She held on to Cloud-Dancer ever more tightly. People passing them began to take notice that it was no ordinary dog by her side and to give Lysandra a wide berth, but she could still sense the startled thoughts and whispers that swept through the crowd.
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