Measure and the Truth tros-3

by Douglas Niles

  He suddenly missed his wife very much. Jaymes wished he were back home already. He had little spirit for the long ride over the mountainous terrain.

  But it was time to get started.

  Blayne Kerrigan pulled his oilskin cloak over his head, leaning forward against the neck of his horse in a desperate attempt to block out the torrential rain. He couldn’t see the trail-such as it was-before his nose, so he clung blindly to the saddle. His horse forged ahead, shrugging off the water, shivering against the cold. It was a brave and steady animal and showed its true heart, heading resolutely into the savage weather.

  But the mount was as weary as the rider. They had traveled hard through the night, entering the mountains not long after dawn, following a hunting trail Blayne remembered from earlier trips. The trail ran along the bed of a ravine and climbed steeply upward for many miles.

  After the all-night ride, the storm had broken on them about noon, and for the rest of that day, they pressed through a steady rain that occasionally, as at that moment, became a lashing downpour. Because of the steep walls rising to right and left, it was practically impossible to get lost, even with the almost complete lack of visibility, so they simply continued blindly, stolidly onward, past a stream spilling down a rock-filled channel in the middle of the ravine.

  Blayne had nervously watched the water level increase during the course of the rainy afternoon. In places where the ravine walls closed in, there was no dry land between the intermittent streams and the rock wall, and at times the horse surged through water up to its knees, driving forward until the passage widened and it could again scramble up onto what passed for dry land.

  They were hampered by visibility and fatigue and couldn’t maintain their pace after dark. Blayne looked around for a place to stop for the night. But the ground was steeply sloping there and everywhere was exposed to harsh elements. He remembered the presence of a rocky overhang, which would provide minimal shelter, a mile or two farther on, and he resolved to keep going. How different it was from the last time he was on that path. Then he had been on a carefree hunting adventure; at that moment he was fleeing for his life.

  It was his father who had first brought him to those mountains. There, Blayne had learned to shoot a bow and arrow. The deadfalls of the forests had burned in their campfires, and Lord Kerrigan had regaled his only son with tales of Vingaard Keep, of the heroes of the past, the War of the Lance, and the battles against minions of evil. Always that great keep had awaited their return, secure on the plains, master of the great, placid river.

  His thoughts wandered until a surge of white water, swollen by the heavy rain, rushed around a corner of the ravine before him. The sudden deluge overflowed the banks, and a wave higher than his head came at him so fast that he had bare seconds to react. The horse reared in terror, hooves flailing, and Blayne slid from the saddle.

  Landing on his feet, he sprang toward the ravine wall, scrambling desperately. His fingers clutched a gnarl of roots, his boots pounded and kicked, pushing up on rock edges. The water struck him with impossible force, and he was slammed sideways, hearing frantic whinnies as the flood swept his steadfast horse away.

  But a thick root dangled just above him, and he seized it with one hand, then both. It was solidly anchored. He clung to the root as the water tugged at his legs, hungrily seeking to bear him away. Gradually he felt the strength of the torrent wane, the water receding until it dropped to his waist then slowly down the length of his legs. Only then did he try to move, desperately hauling himself up from the water onto the steep side of the ravine.

  His horse was gone, surely dead. He had no food, no home, very little hope. How long he stayed there, he had no idea, but when he awoke, he was surrounded by pitch darkness and frozen to the bone.

  Selinda materialized within her rooms, exhausted and disheartened and full of fear. Those emotions were exacerbated when she saw the outer door to her chambers was open, and several of the emperor’s men-at-arms were searching through the place. One had a wardrobe open and was pawing through her dresses, ignoring the fabulous raiment in a desperate rummaging for… something. Another was on his knees, peering under her bed.

  In a flash she realized they had discovered her absence.

  “What in the name of the Oath and Measure do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, forcing into her voice every ounce of authority she could muster.

  “My lady!” cried the kneeling guard. “Thank Kiri-Jolith you’re safe!”

  “Why shouldn’t I be safe?” she demanded. “Safe, that is, except from the presence of rude men who burst into my chambers without an invitation. I repeat, what are you doing?”

  The guard in the wardrobe had withdrawn with as much dignity as he could demonstrate, closing the door behind himself and bowing to Selinda. “Begging your ladyship’s pardon, but we came through the door when you didn’t respond to our knocks-over the span of hours, of course! And when we came in, we didn’t see you-”

  He blinked and scratched his head. “That is, where were you, my lady?”

  “I should think the wife of the emperor is entitled to a few moments of privacy,” she said icily. “It is not necessary that you know everything about my room! Now, leave me, please. At once!”

  The two men exchanged glances but wasted no time in retreating, whispering to their companions in the outer hall and bowing and scraping as they pulled the door shut behind themselves.

  Only then did Selinda allow herself to breathe easier. Realizing she was trembling, that her knees seemed on the verge of buckling, she dropped into a chair and tried to collect herself.

  Collect herself for what? The question rose up and challenged her almost as soon as her breathing returned to normal.

  What in the world was she going to do?

  Jaymes drove the Freemen hard, riding past dark every night, rising before dawn and returning to the mountain road early each morning. His thoughts were focused on his wife: she would understand what had transpired; she would see the reason he had needed to show his mastery of the nation! He didn’t stop to think about the matter rationally but just rode forward, thinking of Selinda and of the miracle of the child growing within her.

  Anxious to keep moving, the column rode right past the High Clerist’s Tower, without the emperor even thinking to stop and pay his respects to General Markus. That garrison commander watched from the High Lookout in some amazement as his lord and the escort of his loyal riders passed the crest of the pass and started on the long, downhill course to the great city by the sea.

  So hard and fast did they ride that on the afternoon of the fifth day, Palanthas was in their sights. Only as they drew close to the city gate did the emperor allow the column to slow. He was, after all, returning from a victorious campaign, and he would enter his capital with all the pomp and ceremony his station warranted.

  So he slowed the procession to a proper march, and he and his men smartly returned the salutes offered by the guards at the gates. Still, it was all he could do to hold back his horse, to refrain from galloping to his palace on the great square, from bounding up the steps, racing up the stairway to the room where she was waiting for him. He felt a sudden flush of regret at locking his wife up in her rooms. He would apologize and explain; she would understand!

  Riding through the city gate, he threw back his cloak and sat astride his saddle with his head held high. He glanced up at the tower of his palace, rising into view from barely a mile away.

  He took scant notice of the citizens of his city, although the Freemen muttered among themselves that there seemed to be an unusually small and unenthusiastic turnout for the emperor’s return. The great leader had eyes only for his palace, and when at last he rode through the gates, Jaymes dismounted quickly, strode through the front doors, and started across the hall.

  It was there that he was met by his old sergeant Samuel, a garrison commander who had experienced all that the Age of Mortals had delivered unto Krynn. Something in the grizzled vete
ran’s eyes gave the emperor pause, and he halted.

  “What is it, Sam?” he asked, fighting to remain calm. “Is my wife unwell?”

  “Er, no, Excellency. She seems fine. It’s just that… well…”

  The old soldier was uncharacteristically hesitant, and Jaymes had no patience for delay. “What is it? Spit it out, man!”

  “Well, it happened about six days ago. We went to check on her, as we did nice and regular, just like you ordered.”

  “Was it the baby? Is something wrong?”

  “No, well, I don’t know. You see, she was gone when we looked in on her. And then she came back-just like magic, my lord.”

  Selinda watched Jaymes lead the Freemen back into the city. The emperor’s column of a hundred knights came down the road from the High Clerist’s Pass. They were trailed by a heavy wagon, and palace heralds shouted the news that the carriage bore the overdue taxes owned by Vingaard Keep to the national treasury.

  Selinda noticed that the crowds of Palanthians-usually festive on such occasions-seemed to avoid the heralds. There were very few people lining the streets as Jaymes made his way to the palace, and those who were out seemed to be watching in sullen silence. The attack on Vingaard had certainly not been popular with the people of Palanthas.

  Indifferent to his people, the emperor sat astride his horse, looking neither right nor left, Selinda noted. He accepted the effusive praise of the palace garrison with a casual salute as he rode through the gate. Stablemen vied to take his horse, but he ignored them as he entered the keep, vanishing from her sight.

  Not long after, he was knocking forcefully at her door.

  “Enter,” she replied.

  He came in, looking to her eyes like a stranger, though he was still the same man. Jaymes Markham… an outlaw when first she met him… then general and ultimately lord marshal of a great army… and finally the emperor of Solamnia. A long, long time ago, it seemed, she had agreed to become his wife. The reasons for doing so seemed compelling at the time, since then they were vague and indistinct.

  No, she did not love him. And yes, she feared him.

  “Hello,” he said. She was aware he was scrutinizing her. His narrowed eyes were dark above the neat beard. She noted more gray along his temples, and in that beard, than she remembered. Had he really changed that much in a fortnight? She watched him closely, saying nothing. She had nothing to say and felt at a loss for words.

  “The guards tell me you gave them quite a start.”

  “How so?” she asked, feeling a jolt of terror.

  “They thought you were in danger, had fallen or suffered some stroke in your sleep. But when they broke in here, after hours of trying to rouse you, you were nowhere to be seen, according to their report.”

  “I was…” She faltered. The lie that had diverted the guards would no longer suffice. “I was gone. I traveled to Vingaard. I wanted… I wanted to see firsthand the way you would rule your new, proud nation.”

  “Magic?” He frowned then glared. “You teleported! How?”

  She didn’t answer but unconsciously placed her left hand over her right, concealing the ring. The quick movement did not pass unnoticed.

  “So you have a magic ring,” he declared haughtily. “Don’t you understand the dangers-to yourself? To our child?”

  “I felt perfectly safe.”

  “I can’t allow you to risk yourself and the baby like this.” He took a step closer. He didn’t appear so much angry as concerned. Holding out his hand, he spoke again, more gently but still firmly. “You can’t do this again; I won’t allow it. Give me the ring.”

  “No!” The word exploded from her lips, but Selinda didn’t regret blurting it out. She felt a wave of relief, the first excitement of honesty. She took a step backward, watching him warily.

  “Don’t refuse me!” he snapped, his anger starting to flare. “I’ll simply take it from you if I must.”

  “No, you won’t do that, either,” Selinda said. She stood at her full height, chin raised. Her fingers touched the little circlet of silver, ready to give it a twist, to activate the magic. “If you try, I promise by all the gods that I will use the ring to go away from here and never return.”

  “To where?” he asked, appearing-for the first time ever, in Selinda’s experience-to be stunned.

  “I won’t tell you. But I will tell you this: I will not be locked up in this tower, not by you, nor by all the troops in your army.”

  He stood staring at her, mute, for what seemed like a long time. Finally he turned and stalked to the door. “This is not the end of this,” he said before marching from the room.

  Jaymes was wrapped in a cold fury as he rode out of the Old City, lashing his horse into a gallop, scattering pedestrians out of his path. The steed galloped up Nobles Hill and clattered onto the paved road leading to his destination.

  The great manor house was owned by Jenna, Mistress of the Red Robes. The powerful crimson-garbed wizard had been declared head of the Orders of Magic at the momentous Conclave that convened after the gods of magic returned to Krynn. Coryn had helped Jenna attain that vaulted station against the ambitions of Dalamar the Dark, and in gratitude-and genuine friendship-Jenna had offered Coryn stewardship of her magnificent house.

  It had been there, in her laboratory, that Coryn made the potion of enchantment Jaymes had used to bewitch Selinda-to woo her love, win her hand, and gain control of her fortune. That seemed like another lifetime, such a distant part of the past that the emperor could almost convince himself that it had never happened. But it had happened. Now, it seemed, his wife had magic on her side.

  There, too, the White Witch and a younger Jaymes Markham had shared moments as lovers and friends. They had dreamed of a united Solamnia. That goal was key to their partnership.

  Would that dream, too, end in ruin?

  The emperor dismounted and stalked to the front door, which opened before he could knock. He halted momentarily at the sight of a young man dressed in the livery of an apprentice Knight of the Crown. A small fuzz of brown fur bristled atop his lip, an overly ambitious attempt at the singular mustache of a proud Solamnic Knight.

  “Donny?” Jaymes said, taken aback. It had been more than a year since his last visit there. He was suddenly bemused as he confronted the fellow who was the son of the house’s most venerable servant. “I didn’t know you had taken the Oath.”

  “Yes, my lord,” said the young man, beaming. “It’s Sir Donald, now.”

  “Excellent. Your father must be very proud.”

  “Oh, he is, sir. Most definitely. I’m sure he would love to see you if you have a moment. I can get him right away.”

  “Actually, I’m here to see Lady Coryn on a matter of urgency. Where is she?” His voice had suddenly hardened, and the change in his mood did not escape the young knight. Jaymes was surprised to notice a flicker of defiance in Donny’s-Sir Donald’s-face. The young man’s first loyalty was to the mistress of the house, a fact that shouldn’t have been surprising.

  “Come in,” the knight said after a moment. “I’ll get her.”

  Jaymes waited in the anteroom, looking at those steps he had climbed so many times. The laboratory was up there… and her bedroom too. He had gone to each, in turn, and found strength and renewal with the woman so many knights called the White Witch.

  The stairway seemed unusually bright in the afternoon sunlight spilling through the high windows. When Coryn came around the curve on the stairs, he realized that she, not the sun, was the source of the brightness. It was a magical effect, he knew, and resolved not to give her the satisfaction of shielding his eyes.

  She halted several steps from the bottom, waiting for him to speak first, and he felt the rise of his anger. He was facing betrayal from women on all sides. Instinctively, he went on the attack.

  “You gave a magical ring to my wife, didn’t you?” he began, speaking harshly.

  “You locked her up in her room when you left the city.” Her tone
was calm. “As if she were a criminal. That was something she clearly did not deserve.”

  “It was for her own good!”

  “Who are you to judge what is good for the Lady Selinda?” Coryn challenged.

  “I thought you were my ally!” Jaymes declared. “We are working together toward a strong Solamnia! Surely you understand the importance of keeping Selinda-and the child she carries-safe!”

  “I’m not sure that we agree on what is good for your… wife.” The reply was frank, her tone still cool and unapologetic.

  “But everything is going according to plan,” he protested. “We’ve come so far! Six duchies and regencies, united as a nation, facing a future in strength, as an empire! Just as we always hoped.”

  “What does that have to do with Selinda, with what you did at Vingaard Keep?” she said. “This is how you make a strong future?”

  “It was necessary-”

  “It was brutal and short-sighted,” Coryn spat, her calmness shattered like a broken mirror. Her voice caught; tears swam in her eyes. “Much of what you are doing these days is brutal and short-sighted. You don’t have any idea how the people of this nation feel. You want their respect, but all you gain is their fear!”

  “You’re the one who doesn’t understand!” he replied. “I have carved a place for myself… and for this land. Turn your back on me, on this land, if you will. I can hold that place by myself.”

  “I wish you success in your attempt,” the White Witch replied coldly.

  “Do not dare to betray me again!” he warned.

  “Go now,” was her only reply.

  The last word vanished behind the door the emperor slammed on his way out.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  DAYS OF DECISION

  General Dayr and his son accompanied their army on the southward march back to Thelgaard. It was a grim, businesslike procession, with none of the celebratory chatter and cheering that inevitably accompanied the return from a victorious campaign. Men and officers alike seemed subdued and introspective.