But she had been Jakoven's wife for many years. She smiled. "I'll ask him, of course. But don't get your hopes up too high. He seldom changes his mind because of any request I make. Now, go find me something to drink."
He jumped up and bowed low. "Queen of my heart, it will be done."
Sheira, her maid, continued grooming her after he left, and Tehedra fought not to flinch away. It wasn't the girl's fault that she had to report everything to the king. Damn the boy for being stupid and getting himself killed.
Garranon fought to keep from rolling his eyes. If the Oranstone contingent at court had looked all year, they couldn't have found a worse person to plead their case than old Haverness. Morning hearings were seldom pleasant for Garranon, but this was more painful than usual.
"We are yours, my king. Sworn to you by our life's blood," said Haverness.
That oath you take much more seriously than the king, thought Garranon sadly. Haverness had to know what he was letting himself in for. Garranon had explained to the Oranstonians that the king would not help them. He'd tried to warn them that they would only make things worse by pressing. But they'd ignored him.
Haverness of Callis looked like the old warrior he was. He was the only Oranstonian at court with the courage to keep his hair in the fashion of the Oranstone nobles: shaved from temple to ear and cut short everywhere else. Garranon knew Jakoven regarded Haverness as a beaten man, a failure. If Garranon saw instead a hero, it was something he would keep to himself.
Resolutely, Garranon turned his attention elsewhere. The king held morning business in one of the larger antechambers. The Tamerlain was here this morning as she often was; she said that it relieved her boredom now that Menogue was deserted. Her yellow and gold mottled body was almost shocking in comparison to all of the somberly clad nobles. She was bearlike in size and shape, but more gracile, like a giant forest cat. Her head was more catlike, too, with mobile features and sharp, white fangs. Impressive and predatory as the guardian of a god's temple should be, the only discordant note was the extra-long fluffy tail. He wondered why no one stepped on her in the crowded room, as she'd assured him years ago that he was the only one who could see her.
Her imperious yellow eyes met his over the crowd.
"Callis is besieged, your majesty. Surely you must know that these are no raiders. If they take Oranstone, Tallven and Seaford are next." There was a passionate intensity in Haverness's voice that forced Garranon to turn his attention briefly to the old general. When he looked back, the Tamerlain was gone.
"We are acquainted with the events to the south," agreed the king mildly. "But we are also acquainted with the marvelous abilities of Oranstone fighters. Why, I bet—" The ingeniousness of the king's voice made ice crawl down Garranon's neck. He kept his face blank, for there were too many people watching the king's pet Oranstonian for a reaction. "I bet that with a hundred men you could drive the raiders off yourself."
Haverness knew the king. He bowed low and started to say something, when he was interrupted.
"I'll take that bet," said a voice Garranon knew well, though he hadn't seen the king's bastard half brother in the room. Alizon Tallven sauntered to Haverness and patted his back. "Though I'd rather bet on Haverness's side. Fought against him in the last war, you know." Alizon might look the fop, but he'd been his father's general and military advisor when he was twenty-two.
The king settled back in his chair. The contrast between the two men was startling, especially since their mothers had been sisters. The king looked like all rulers should: strong-faced, gray eyes cool and measuring. He wasn't handsome, nothing so plebeian. His nose was narrow and aristocratic, with a knot where it had been broken once. His curly hair—entirely gray now, though Garranon could remember when it had been chocolate-brown—Jakoven kept cut in a short, military fashion.
Alizon, oldest of the last king's three sons, dyed his hair. Today it was a rich chestnut that spread to his shoulders. He was tall and wolf-lean, moving with comical grace. It was hard to imagine him leading an army. He had stepped down from his official post when his half brother ascended the throne. Personally, Garranon thought that was the reason Alizon had escaped the fate of Jakoven's youngest brother who was in the King's Asylum.
"You would like to bet that Haverness and a hundred can drive the raiders out?" asked Jakoven, amused.
"With the help of the Oranstone natives," agreed Alizon. "I think, too, that the choice of the hundred should be his alone."
The king chuckled, and Garranon leaned toward the belief that Jakoven was honestly amused. "What's the bet?"
"My war stallion against grandfather's sword."
Garranon saw the king tense with his first real interest. Jakoven had coveted Alizon's horse.
"Done," agreed the king. "Callis may choose any hundred men he wishes; if they can drive the Vorsagian raiders back behind their borders in the next six months, I will give you grandfather's sword. If not, you will give me the warhorse, Trueblood."
"Upon Haverness's acceptance, of course," murmured Alizon.
They had managed to turn the old warrior's plea to farce, thought Garranon, playing games with a man's honor.
"I accept your wishes as I am sworn to do." There was dignity in the old man's bearing. Garranon hoped that everyone saw it. Being of Oranstone was something to make him proud when there were Oranstonians like this. His father would have approved of Haverness.
"He's a brave man," murmured the king, looking at Garranon.
Horror knotted his belly, and a small voice inside started gibbering, The king knows, the king knows. But there was nothing for the king to know. He'd done nothing for Oranstone. The only thing the king could know that would harm Garranon was still secret: Only Garranon knew how much he hated the king.
"He has more courage than most." Garranon let admiration color his voice. "It is too bad that such a man is also a fool. He allows his love of Oranstone to blind him to the needs of the Five Kingdoms. Best to send him to Oranstone; he will never fight as hard for anything but his homeland."
Gratefully, he saw the king's sharp gaze grow bored, though Haverness flushed at being so described publically. Jakoven turned to his law-bringer. "Record the decision and Alizon's bet. Oh, give the man a week to make his choices and supply. We shall fund the supplies. When you are through, I will hear the next claimant."
While the king conducted the rest of the morning's business, Garranon studied the room, wondering if the world had ever been right and fair the way he'd once thought it was.
Where the men of honor gone,
In the fading shadow of the hours.
Where the shield, the sword, the steed,
To fight where coward's hero cowers.
The sorrowful little tune drifted through his mind. Something he'd heard at an inn somewhere in that stupid chase for an elusive slave girl. Coward's hero. He liked that; it described him perfectly.
"Stupid of Jakoven to give the old bastard free rein like that."
The soft light of the moon only seemed to make the shadowed garden darker. Garranon turned his head, unsurprised to see the Tamerlain lounging on one of the decorative railings that served as support for a variety of climbing vines. The marble railing seemed to bow under the weight of the creature.
If she hadn't spoken, he knew his eyes would have passed her by, though she wasn't concealing herself. The brightly mottled fur, so startling in the daylight, blended perfectly in the junglelike shadows of the garden. A mythological, magical beast who'd showed herself to a frightened boy for reasons he'd never understood. Boredom, she'd told him when he'd asked.
The Tamerlain was the Guardian of Menogue, but no one believed in her anymore, especially since Menogue had been destroyed. She'd once said Menogue's fall had been fated, though her tail had snapped like an angry cat's while she said it. With travelers to Aethervon's broken temple so few, she interested herself in the doings of the Estian court and the king's Oranstonian lover.
"The k
ing stupid? Why do you say that?" he asked, knowing that they were alone in the gardens by her relaxed manner.
She rolled over on the handspan-wide rail and twisted, rubbing her spine against the hard surface without losing her balance. "Why is it that Oranstone cannot defend herself against the Vorsag, though she's done it before?"
"Because the—" the progression of that thought caused him to hesitate briefly. " — the lords who should be at their seats are stuck here in Estian and have been since the end of the last war. But it's not that easy, Tamerlain. It's been fifteen years. There are no trained men on the estates, because we're not allowed to have armies. Most of the experienced lords were killed—then or by later mysterious means. The only reason Haverness hasn't fallen off his horse or been mistaken for a deer while he rides out in the woods is because there's not a duplicitous bone in his body. Not even a patriotic idiot would recruit him for an underground movement, because he'd tell the king as soon as the words reached his ears."
"Many men will follow him in war," she purred soothingly. "He is a hero—and perhaps not as absurdly honorable as you believe. And there are others here: you, for instance."
"He's not likely to choose me after I embarrassed him in public like that."
"Perhaps not," she allowed, flipping herself off the rail and onto her padded feet. Her claws clicked on the brick walk. "But your question was why the king is a fool. Think what will happen if Haverness succeeds with his hundred men. All of the Five Kingdoms will know that it was spite that made the bet. Everyone loves an underdog who triumphs. It might be enough to shake his grip on the throne. If I had been the king, I would have killed Alizon long ago. Intelligent men are dangerous."
"Why do you care so much?" he asked suddenly. "What do the events here matter to you?"
She changed suddenly, as he'd seen her do only once before. A human seemingly rose out of the bulk of her animal body. Her skin was dappled as her pelt had been; otherwise, she could have been any other naked woman he'd ever seen. Even her eyes had changed to a warm amber. It surprised him again how young she looked. If she'd been human, he'd have said that she was less than twenty.
The Tamerlain stepped forward and touched his cheek. "The time is coming, Garranon of Buril. It has been dark for a very long time, not just here, but among the other creatures of magic. The dwarves have huddled down in their reaches, but disease and disharmony are rife among them. Something tainted the magic of the land long ago. Now the land may be saved."
"Defeating the Vorsag will change the taint?" he asked. She'd spoken often of tainted magic but never so specifically.
She smiled. "I don't know, but it might. The future is hard to divine, even for Aethervon."
"Aethervon?" Garranon looked at her in surprise.
"Just because Menogue lies in ruin does not mean that Aethervon forgets his promises." The Tamerlain lowered her eyes, looking more cat than bear. "In return for giving his followers Menogue, Aethervon promised the high king to look after his kingdom." Her eyes went unfocused briefly as she sniffed the air. "He is coming." She took up her more usual shape again and gave him her usual words of parting. "Fare thee well, child."
Uncertain what he should do with what she told him, Garranon sat on the rail she'd occupied and brushed at a chipped area with his thumb.
"Garranon," said Jakoven. "I remember you sitting there just so when you first came to me. What makes you so sad?"
Garranon sat upright, though the king's hand encouraged him to lean back against Jakoven's shoulder. Enough lies, he thought. They wouldn't work anyway. "Oranstone, my liege."
His answer displeased Jakoven; the hand on his shoulder tightened. "Your father abandoned you to fight for Oranstone's freedom. Abandoned you so there was no one to defend you when the soldiers came, killed your sister in front of your eyes. And they raped you and your brother, didn't they? If your father had followed his oaths, he would have been there to save you."
From you, thought Garranon with sudden violence. For a moment he was terrified he had said the words aloud. But the king's hold softened.
"You were so hurt when you came to me," Jakoven murmured. "So small and terrified. It hurt me to see you, to see the fear in your face. So I made it better," he nuzzled Garranon's neck.
Not fooled by the loverlike tones, Garranon knew the reminder of what had happened had been deliberate. Especially the reminder of his brother's fate. But his brother was in Oranstone, safe from Jakoven. Perhaps, he thought while his body responded to the king's caresses, perhaps he would join Haverness. It would be good to see his wife and lands again.
7—WARDWICK
Aethervon has always been a curious problem for devout Tallvens. If he was really a god, why did he allow the destruction of his temple? Fortunately, most Tallvens are not given to worship anything except gold so, on the whole, they aren't much troubled.
"Tell me again why we're traveling so close to Estian, Ward," said Tosten, swinging his sword my way.
"Because the best path through the mountains is straight south," I replied, parrying. "From what you said, Garranon has given up finding his brother's runaway. He'll have taken the faster road to Estian, so we won't meet him."
We were doing patterns he and I had practiced since we could hold a sword. Stala encouraged talk during patterns, said that engaging the mouth demanded the body operate from reflex. I wasn't certain of that, but I did know I didn't have to worry about him missing a link in the pattern.
"Think we'll reach Estian today?" asked Tosten, increasing the speed of his strokes so I had to as well.
"Should." I increased my speed a little more than he had.
"Wouldn't traveling have been faster if we practiced less?" he said with a gasp, but he set the pace even faster.
"Yes. But we need to be ready by the time we reach Oranstone." I managed all that without a breath and matched his speed, too. I added, "I don't want anyone kill—" gasp " — killed because they don't know how to handle a sword." To make up for the loss of breath, I quickened again. From the corner of my eye, I saw the others had stopped fighting to watch.
"Why does Ward look faster?" I heard Bastilla ask.
"Because he is." Axiel's voice carried satisfaction like a proud father's. "He has a longer distance to move to meet Tosten's blows. That's why a big man is almost always slower than a small man."
"It always surprises me to see Ward fight," added Oreg. "He always talks slowly—sounds almost stupid, even when he's not trying to appear that way. Moves that way, too."
"No," Axiel disagreed. "He just moves well. It usually makes him look slow, like Penrod's gelding. Fastest horse in the bunch, but he looks as if he's traveling half the speed of the others." He raised his voice, "Ward, Tosten, slow down. Someone's going to get hurt."
"Want to really show them?" asked Tosten, grinning. The expression took me aback. He'd never been given to a quick smile.
"What do you have in mind?" It would have to be quick, because I couldn't keep the pace up much longer.
"Close your eyes."
Stala had us do that. We all used wooden blades and full armor so that, barring total incompetence, the worse risk was a nasty bruise. Usually, she blindfolded only one of the sparring partners and the patterns were taken at half speed.
"You, too?" I asked.
He closed his in answer, so I did also, and neither of us slowed the pattern. The worst thing about closing my eyes was that it always threw my balance off until I got used to it. On the other hand, it increased my focus immeasurably. The greatest sensory input came from my sword, until I almost felt like Tosten's sword was hitting my arm instead of the silver blade. It was exhilarating, better than running down the cliffside on Feather—and about as smart.
We kept it up until I heard a raggedness in the rhythm of metal on metal; one or both of us was tiring. "Done on three," I whispered.
"One," he said as softly.
"Two," I replied.
"Three," he said.
I jumped back out of range and opened my eyes to see that he had done the same. Dizzy with the sudden addition of sight to my heightened senses, I had to sit on the ground before I fell.
"Idiots," said Axiel. "That kind of horseplay will get you killed."
Tosten and I exchanged unrepentant grins, and I felt the old bond of brotherhood settle over us for the first time in a long while.
Our attitude didn't help Axiel's temper. "I told Stala that blindfolding was stupid. It encourages the steran to do stupid stunts like that display."
Feeling less dizzy, I rolled back to my feet and held out my sword to Axiel, as a repentant student is supposed to do.
He shook his head in refusal but gave me a reluctant chuckle. "I wouldn't have missed it for all the sheep in Hurog—but don't you tell anyone."
"What's a steran?" asked Oreg, with such innocence in his voice that I looked at him sharply. He was pointing out something to me, but I didn't know what it was.
"Foolish young boys," answered Axiel with such well-concealed discomfort I might not have noticed without Oreg sharpening my attention. I knew several languages, as any lord who lived in the Kingdoms had to. Steran wasn't a word I was familiar with.
"Fretsome old dwarf," taunted Oreg softly.
Axiel's face set, but before he could say anything, Tosten jumped in, as he did at every opportunity to attack Oreg. "Poor-mannered bastard," he said. "You need to show respect to your elders."
A look of unholy glee spread across Oreg's face.
"Time to break camp," Axiel said abruptly. It was the first order he'd given outside of the morning and evening exercises. It might have been to keep Oreg and Tosten from fighting, but I wondered if it was Oreg's remark about dwarves.
I thought about pursuing the matter but reluctantly decided to leave Axiel to his own counsel. He'd earned that much by his long years of service to my family. Besides, I never liked playing someone else's games, not even Oreg's. Just how unlikely was it that Axiel's father was a dwarf? About as unlikely as Oreg being as old as Hurog. I could accept dwarven blood; it was the other part that I would choose to disbelieve. When he was really, really drunk, he claimed his father was the dwarven king.
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