by Angus Wells
I realized that I still touched my sword’s hilt, afraid.
Shara saw my perturbation and smiled. “What you see are … memories. They last from an older time, when this place was built.”
“Ghosts!” Ellyn cried. “By all the gods, she delivers us to Vachyn ghosts!”
“Not Vachyn,” Shara said. “Nor ghosts as you understand them. They are not malign—they’d only tend this broch and keep it safe. So you can be safe here.”
Ellyn scowled, tugging on her reins as if she’d turn her horse and gallop away. I went to her and set a hand on her knee.
“Climb down, eh? Shara’s our friend. She’s proved that, no?” I clutched the chestnut’s reins. Ellyn loosed a foot from her stirrup and kicked me in the chest. I hung on as she made the horse buck, then got a hold on her belt and dragged her from the saddle.
She landed on her back with a great gasp of exhaled indignation and stared up at me as if I were some horrible, crawling thing she’d found unexpected in her bed.
“Do you see danger?” I asked. I pointed at the empty ramparts, the deserted bailey.
She glared at me and struggled to her feet. “I see a hold we cannot leave, save on her permission. I see ghosts, and …” She began to weep, and flung herself against me. “ … I’m afraid.”
“You’ve me,” I said, my arms around her, “and know that I’m pledged to defend you.”
“Against Vachyn magicks?”
“Even against those—to the ending of my life.”
“But,” she said, and halted as Shara came to us. We both turned to hear what she’d say.
Which was: “This broch is safe against attack, be it Eryk or Talan or Nestor. They’ll none of them find this place, and you shall be safe here. Now, shall we see our horses stabled and find something to eat?”
Ellyn wriggled from my protective embrace and looked into my eyes. “Do you truly trust her?”
I nodded.
“Then I suppose I must.”
Her tone suggested doubt, but I nodded again and followed Shara to the stables, where stalls were spread with clean straw and mangers filled with oats, buckets of water set ready. It was as if this were some great keep serviced by efficient, but invisible servants.
“I do not understand this,” I said.
And she smiled and answered me, “It’s magic, Gailard. Have you not learned to trust that yet?”
“Perhaps yours,” I answered.
“There’s more to come,” she said, and beckoned me away. Nor was she wrong.
She brought us to the great tower through halls and corridors that alternated strangely between the immaculate and the decrepit. Some were swept clean, and hung with magnificent tapestries that glowed in the light coming from the tall glassed windows, chairs and tables shining as if recently polished, vases of fresh flowers adding further brightness; others were dank and smelled of mold, weeds creeping from cracked stones, the windows smeared thickly with grime, spiderwebs filling the dusty corners, the angles of ancient, age-damaged furniture. It was as if we walked through a dream, and I felt uncomfortable. But the tower, for all I knew it belonged to an older time, might have been built yesterday. Its stones were pristine, its windows bright and clean, there was an odor of beeswax emanating from the woodwork. No keep could have been better kept, I thought—and as I did, sensed faint and distant laughter, appreciative, and looked about to catch brief glimpses of flickering shadows, as if we were escorted by half-seen servants too modest to reveal themselves. Beside me, Ellyn shivered, glancing nervously around.
“It’s like this,” Shara said. “They maintain some parts, but leave others as you’ve seen.”
I hiked my shoulders, feeling none too easy in the presence of these ghosts. I glanced at Ellyn, who glared about as if she trusted none of this and had sooner been gone, but when she caught my eye she gave me only a grim smile and followed Shara up a flight of winding stairs that delivered us to a circling corridor where our enigmatic hostess announced we would sleep.
My chamber was the finest I’d seen, surpassing even Chorym’s. Thick rugs covered the floor, their intricate weavings glowing in the sunlight that shafted from high windows that opened onto a balcony overlooking the farther part of the canyon. A vast bed laid with clean linen sat like some potentate’s catafalque at the center. There was an armoire of some dark and glossy wood, a table set with pitchers of water and wine and ale, a bowl of sweetmeats, three high-backed chairs around it. There was a couch scattered with plump cushions, even a footstool. Shara indicated a door that opened onto a bathing room where a great stone tub was set into the floor, and another that was a marbled and magnificent latrine. I gaped, and she laughed.
“Do you believe in magic, Gailard?”
“How can I not?” I returned. And she said, “I’ll show Ellyn to her quarters. Do you bathe, if you want and then we’ll eat and speak of the future.”
I nodded, dumbstruck by this opulence, and the door closed behind them. I stowed my gear in the armoire and tested the bed, which bounced most satisfyingly under my weight. I went out onto the balcony and inspected the courtyard below, the canyon beyond. When I returned I caught a musky scent in the air. I traced it to the bathing room and flung open the door. The tub steamed, filled with hot water.
I said, “Thank you,” to the empty air, and shed my clothes and sank into the tub.
When I was done and all the fatigue of our journey washed away, I dressed and poured a cup of ale. I wondered awhile if it was appropriate to wear my sword here—and decided that there was little point. Whom should I fight, ghosts? I settled at the table until there came a knocking on my door.
I opened it to find Ellyn standing there. She, too, was freshly bathed, and dressed in a long gown of some pale blue material that flattered her figure and complexion. She plucked at it, frowning.
“I understand none of this, nor like it much.” Uninvited, she pushed past me into the room and filled a glass with wine. “Are we truly safe here?”
I shrugged. “I’ve told you—I trust Shara.”
Ellyn sipped her wind and grunted at the same time. “But you’re besotted.”
“Am I?”
She shrugged and rose, restless, crossing to the opened windows, going out onto the balcony. I topped my cup and followed her.
“We’re trapped here,” she said.
“Or safe,” I answered.
“That hurt, you know.” She turned to face me. “When you dragged me from my horse.”
“You panicked.” I gestured an apology. “Not too much, I hope.”
“No.” She shook her head and assumed a mournful expression. “But it was undignified.”
Almost, I laughed.
“You consider me a child.” She smoothed her dress. “But I’m not.”
“You’re Chaldor’s heir. And with Shara’s help, you’ll be Chaldor’s queen.”
“And you my general,” she said. “Is the Vachyn’s purpose true.”
“I believe it is.”
Ellyn pursed her lips. “Perhaps; but she’s still a Vachyn.” She set her glass down on the balcony’s rail and stepped a pace toward me. “I shall be full-grown soon, Gailard. Do you find me …”
I was grateful for the knocking. I turned away, crossing to the door. Shara stood there, dressed in a gown of pale green that was somehow both demure and enticing. She smiled and asked, “Shall we eat?”
I nodded enthusiastically and called that Ellyn join us—which she did with poorly concealed irritation.
We followed Shara back down the winding stairway to a door that swung unbidden open on a hall set with a sumptuous table. The smells prompted my mouth to water and my belly to rumble, which prompted a disapproving look from Ellyn, who accompanied us with a haughty dignity that was somewhat undone by her sullen expression. Shara bade us sit and we took our indicated places as she served us. I accepted a silver platter laid thick with roast beef, vegetables, and a rich brown gravy, and could barely wait as Ellyn wa
s served and Shara took her share. The food was excellent—fine as the wine that accompanied it, served from decanters of glittering crystal in goblets that were some intricate combination of glass and silver such as I’d never seen.
“Now,” Shara said after a while of silent eating, “shall we speak of the future?” She turned to Ellyn. “You’ve much to learn.”
Ellyn stared at her, dabbed her mouth with a linen napkin, and said, “And you’ll teach me?”
“To use your magic, yes.” Shara nodded, and looked to me. “And Gailard shall teach you to fight, no?”
“I shall,” I promised.
Ellyn stared a long time at Shara. Then: “And shall you swear fealty to me, as Chaldor’s heir?”
“I swear,” Shara said, “that I shall teach you to use your talent. I swear that I shall fight with you, to drive Talan and Nestor from Chaldor. I swear that I shall do all I can to give you your rightful throne.”
I said, as Ellyn continued to stare at Shara, “What more could you ask?”
“Much,” she said. “Such as you offer me.” She turned again to Shara. “Shall you offer me the same?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Ellyn was startled by Shara’s refusal. She had thought to entrap the woman, to force her into swearing an oath of fealty that would grant Ellyn undisputed dominance, effectively render Shara her vassal. Then she might, once she’d learned to use her talent, order Shara to some distant part of Chaldor whilst she kept Gailard with her. She had seen how startled he was when she appeared at his door in her gown, and was confident that he found her attractive. Her hair was growing out from its unflattering, boyish cut, and even was she not yet a fully fleshed woman, still her body filled. Soon she would be a woman, and she was surprised by her own feelings—she thought that Shara’s presence had likely stimulated her to recognize what she felt for Gailard and had long denied. But he, bound by his oath, must stay with her as she grew, and she believed she could make him love her—so long as Shara was not present to distract him.
But Shara only shook her head and said, gently, “I took oaths as a Vachyn that I’ve reneged. I made myself a promise then—that I’d never again swear fealty to anyone, but make my own choices whom I’d support, and that whosoever that might be must prove himself or herself worthy.”
“And have I not?” Ellyn asked sensing that her trap sprang open, perhaps to snap back on her.
“No.” Shara shook her head again. “You have proven yourself brave. But otherwise …” She shrugged eloquently.
“What?” Ellyn demanded, trying hard not to scowl and losing the struggle.
“You’ve proven yourself willful,” Shara said. “And often selfish. Certainly stubborn …”
Ellyn set down her glass for fear she’d fling the contents into Shara’s face and thoroughly disgrace herself as the catalogue of faults went on.
“But even so,” Shara concluded. “what I have promised, I shall do. Are you willing, I shall teach you to use your talent; and I shall support you in your war against Talan. I shall use all my powers to defeat Nestor. But to swear an oath of fealty to you? No, that I cannot do.”
Against her will, Ellyn felt her lips purse and her eyes narrow. She clenched her fists and allowed her gaze to wander in Gailard’s direction. She could not help herself.
“And then?” she asked. “Shall you take Nestor’s place? Shall you be the Vachyns’ ambassador to Chaldor?”
“Ellyn!” That was Gailard; she ignored him.
“No, I shall not,” Shara replied. “I’ve no stomach for those games, and once you’re enthroned I shall return here. I’ve no desire to be elsewhere, nor to manipulate monarchs or control countries.” She gestured at the hall. “I want no greater kingdom than this, and to be left alone.”
Ellyn forced a smile and, carefully, raised her goblet. “So you ally with my cause.”
“I’ve told you that,” Shara said.
“But only for your own reasons.” Ellyn drank, congratulating herself on a small victory.
“Mine and yours coincide, no?” Shara asked. “Is that not enough?”
“I suppose it must be,” Ellyn said. “But how can I trust you, save you swear fealty?”
“As I must trust you,” Shara gave back. “Do I teach you to use your talent, am I creating a monster—another Nestor?”
Ellyn choked on her wine, feeling her cheeks redden as she spluttered crimson droplets across the table. “You compare me with Nestor? The god-cursed Vachyn who helped Talan slay my father and mother?”
“You compare me with him,” Shara answered.
“With reason!” Ellyn could not help squealing.
“He was a pleasant child,” Shara said. “Kindly, even; but when he gained his power … he changed. Power corrupts.”
“It did not corrupt my father! And my mother had talent and was not corrupt.”
“No.” Shara agreed. “But what has power done to Nestor? To Talan? To Eryk? Perhaps you’re like them.”
“I’m not!” Ellyn wiped her wine-stained mouth. “The gods know, I’m not.”
“The gods hide their purposes from us,” Shara said, “and until you prove yourself worthy, I’ll not swear fealty.”
“And do I prove myself worthy?”
“Then I’ll give you my oath.”
Ellyn swallowed. She had thought herself cunning and found her ploy turned around. She felt a terrible embarrassment. How must this look to Gailard? As if she were a willful child, arguing with someone wittier and more sophisticated? She felt her cheeks grow warm, and wished she’d never begun this conversation. With all the dignity she could muster, she set down her napkin and pushed back her chair.
“I am tired. I’ll find my bed, do you agree.”
Shara nodded, her face calm. “Follow the lit corridors. Or shall I escort you?”
“No! I can find my own way.” Ellyn shook her head. Then, an afterthought, small retrieval of lost dignity: “Thank you.”
Shara said, “We’ll begin your teaching in the morning,” but Ellyn did not hear her, for she was making her way from the hall, fighting against the desire to cry.
She found the door—which opened before her seemingly of its own accord—and followed the corridor to the stairs, on to the passageway that led to her chamber. All were lit, as Shara had promised, and it seemed that shadows danced around her, beckoning her onward. Almost, she could discern them, like figures half-seen in a dream. They did not frighten her, but she wondered what they’d do if she sought to leave. The thought crossed her mind: take off this gown that had not impressed Gailard so much as she’d hoped and put on her traveling gear, find her horse, and ride away. Then she thought, to where? Back down that precipitous trail that had frightened her more than she was prepared to admit? Back to the Barrens? She knew she could not cross that wasteland alone, and even did she survive, what then? She had no idea where the Dur had gone, and they were her only other allies. No: she was caught here.
She found her chamber and flung herself on the great bed, letting the tears come now, pounding fists against the pillow, knowing herself caught, unable to leave this strange hold save Gailard came with her. And knowing he would not lest Shara agreed.
It was not fair, she thought. It was not fair at all.
“Willful?” Gailard smiled ruefully. “I’d put it stronger than that.”
Shara smiled back, and shrugged. “She’s a frightened child on the edge of womanhood. She’s lost her parents, and all the comforts of Chorym. She’s lost in a land she cannot understand with only you and me to ward her—how else should she feel?”
“Thankful?” he asked. “Grateful that you risk your life to aid her?”
It was a question put so simply, so absent of guile, that Shara could not help laughing—which set Gailard to frowning.
“Have you not done that daily?”
Now he shrugged. “I accepted Andur’s geas; made Ryadne a promise. What else could I do other than my duty?”
She studied him, thinking that such honesty—such innocence—was rare. “You might have taken her back to Chorym,” she said, testing. “Or left her with Eryk and Rytha. Talan would pay you well for her.” She saw his face darken, and she knew that she had offended his sense of honor. “Another man might have done that.”
“I am myself.”
He scowled as he drained his glass, and Shara watched the candles’ light plane his face in patterns of light and shadow. He was a handsome man, and undoubtedly brave. But best of all, he was honorable: whatever guile existed in him was employed in military strategies, the tactics of battle. Face-to-face, he was likely the most honest man she’d known. She felt emotions stir, such as she’d not experienced in more years than she cared to recall. She wondered if those, as much the aetheric plea she’d heard from Ellyn, had brought her to the rescue. She had chosen to live alone, and now she was once more involved in the affairs of men. Another promise reneged? Had, somehow, Gailard’s soul called out to her as much as Ellyn’s innate talent?
“Forgive me.” She lowered her head in apology. “I intended no insult.”
He refused to face her for a while, then grinned. “None taken.”
The gods knew but he had a pleasant smile. She could understand why Ellyn found him attractive—and the girl did, that was increasingly obvious. Ellyn, she suspected, had sooner been alone with Gailard than share him. But the world turned as it turned, and the three of them were thrown together, and Shara sensed in her bones that Ellyn must learn to use her talent properly and be returned to Chorym’s throne. Else Talan would own both Chaldor and Danant, and Nestor would whisper in his ear and further the Vachyn aims of dominance. So Ellyn must learn. And were she to come into her full power, then Shara must be her friend. The sorceress stifled a sigh; she could not deny she felt a powerful attraction to Gailard, and it would likely be pleasant if she took him to her bed. But … no, she told herself. I cannot chance making an enemy of Ellyn. Are we to defeat Nestor, then Ellyn must trust me. So … she sighed and made her mouth smile.
