The Born Queen tkotab-4

by Greg Keyes

  Then he'd heard the horns blowing and knew the fleet was in. He jumped up, leaving the goats to themselves, and rushed down the hill trail, racing along with the sea down below, until ahead he could see his father's longship with its broad blue sail and prow carved in the likeness of Saint Menenn's horse Enverreu.

  By the time he reached the docks, the ships was tied up. His father already was back on dry land and opening his arms to sweep his son up in rough arms.

  "Fah," he shouted. The sun that day had shown a kind of gold that Neil had never seen since, although he had watched for it and had seen something of its hue that day when he had fought for the waerd. And right there on the wooden planks, in front of all his comrades, his father pulled from his things something long, wrapped in oiled cloth, its head stockinged in sealskin.

  He pulled off the cloth and sock in a hurry, and there it was, his first spear, with its beautiful shiny blade and plain thick pole.

  "I had it made by Saint Jeveneu himself," his father said, but at Neil's amazed expression, he mussed his head and corrected himself.

  "It was made by an old friend of mine on the isle of Guel," he said. "No saint but a good man and a good smith, and he made it special for you."

  Neil had never been so proud of anything as that spearhead flashing in the sun and his father's hand on his shoulder.

  When they got home, it was a different story. His mother embraced his father and had begun bringing out the supper when she suddenly looked at Neil.

  "And what of the goats, Neil? Did you just leave them up there when I told you to bring them in?"

  "I'm sorry, Mah," he remembered saying. "I heard the bells-"

  "And wanted to see your Fah, sure, but-"

  "But you don't abandon your duty, son. Now go get them."

  He got them and missed supper in the bargain, but when he finally made it down and the first stars were out, he found his father waiting for him outside the house.

  "I'm sorry, Fah," he said.

  "Now listen," his father said. "You're going to get older, we all hope, so let me tell you something. You've heard me talk about honor. Do you know what it is?"

  "It's what a warrior gets when he wins battles."

  "No. A man can never fight a battle and still have honor. A man can win a thousand and never have any. You'll hear all sorts of things in the future about what honor is; some, I'm told, in the courts of the mainland have written down all sorts of things a man must do to have it. But it's simple, really. Honor is about doing the things you know you ought to. Not the thing you think will win approval, not the most dangerous thing, not the thing that will win you the most glory, but the thing you know you ought. What was there more important today than doing what your mother asked and bringing in the goats?"

  "I wanted to see you."

  "And I wanted to see you, lad. But you lost honor doing so. You understand?"

  "Yes, Fah. But that's hard, isn't it? How do you know what you ought to do?"

  "You have to know yourself," his father said. "And you have to listen to your own true voice. Now, go get your spear, and I'll show you the proper way to hold it."

  That had been long years ago, and not long after that he'd first used that spear. He'd broken it two winters later. It was years after, when his father was dead and he was with Sir Fail, that he learned the sword and shield and lance, wore lord's plate, and took on the trappings of a knight and the code of honor that went with it.

  Alis was up talking to Berimund, whose men waited in silent formation, facing the gate. Neil went to join them.

  "Excuse me, Prince," he said. "I was wondering if you had a spear or two I might borrow from you."

  "You may have mine," the prince replied. "And a spare if you want it."

  "Thank you," Neil replied. Berimund fetched the weapons: good, well-balanced man killers.

  "Sir Neil," Berimund said as he examined the weapons. "We've reports of a force gathering up the road, about twice our number."

  "Do you know why?"

  "No, but I can guess that a messenger from Hansa has finally spread the news that my father has called for my head."

  "We need only hold them for the space of another bell, at most," Alis said.

  Berimund closed his eyes, perhaps listening to the music, perhaps to something in his own skull.

  "No," he said. "We needn't hold them at all."

  "What do you mean?" Neil asked.

  "I won't let them come at me as they like," the prince said. "My wulfbrothars and I will go and meet them where they're gathering. Even if we lose, they'll have no reason to come here directly."

  "They might, in search of Brinna."

  "My men have spread the rumor that we put her on a ship at Saestath. Even if some doubt that, it will take time for them to be certain all of us are defeated; they wouldn't leave us at their backs." He grinned. "Or maybe they will choose their prince over their king. I was well received here until now."

  "I can't go with you," Neil said.

  "Of course not. I'll leave two men outside the gate, but you stay here. What is that knife you people carry-the little one, the blade of last resort?"

  "The echein doif."

  "Jah. You will be the echein doif, Sir Neil."

  Neil watched them mount and ride through the gate. Then he stripped off the hauberk and laid it on the ground, flexing his shoulders under the light padded gambeson. He unbuckled his sword belt and carefully put the weapon next to the armor.

  The night deepened, and behind him the music darkened and lightened weirdly, like the sun coming in and out of the clouds.

  "There," Alis said.

  Neil nodded, for he saw the shadows, too, padding through the gate on foot. Robert's guards hadn't made a sound.

  "Remember our toast," Alis said.

  "I remember," Neil replied.

  Stephen was struck by a sudden impulse simply to close his eyes and sleep, and he almost laughed. Hespero didn't know who he was dealing with.

  "Again," he said. "Nice try."

  "We could be allies," Hespero said. "We could stop her together."

  "I agree," Stephen replied, fending off another stab of Hespero's will. "Individually, neither of us has a chance against her, and we both know what that means. Surrender your gifts to me, and I'll stop her."

  "We could work together."

  "You're trying to kill me even now." Stephen laughed. "It's impossible. One of us would inherit from her, and the other would perish."

  "Brother Stephen, I am your Fratrex Prismo. You owe everything in you to me."

  "Now, that's just silly," Stephen said. "You won your position through lies, murder, and betrayal, and now you're asking for my loyalty? Would you like me to lie down and let you piss on me, too?"

  "You aren't Stephen Darige," the fratrex said.

  Stephen chuckled, then reached out with his full might. "You're going to wish you were wrong about that," he said.

  Hespero reached back, and the lands of fate shrank away, and Stephen was holding Hespero, a waurm, Winna, Zemle, himself…

  It was the same fight all over again, the fight to keep himself whole as he had on the faneway, except before he had had Kauron's help. This time he was Kauron, the Jester, the Black Heart of Terror.

  Which meant he was alone.

  Still, Hespero's gifts seemed made to be broken by his. Until, that is, lightning ripped them apart and sent Stephen sprawling, his muscles pulled into balls like snails trying to retreat into their shells, pain shattering his concentration. He knew that somehow, against the odds, Hespero had won.

  But he hadn't, Stephen realized as he opened his eyes and found Anne standing there, shimmering as if he were gazing at her through the heat of an oven.

  "What have we here?" she asked.

  It wasn't easy, but Stephen ignored her as best he could, because to stand a chance he needed Hespero's gifts and needed them now. The fratrex was unconscious, and that made it easier. He drank greedily from the well that
was Hespero.

  "I know you," Anne said, wagging her finger at him.

  "You threatened me in the place of the Faiths. Not in that skin, but it was you."

  A barrier of some sort suddenly snapped down between him and the churchman.

  "Stop that," Anne said. "Listen to me when I'm talking to you."

  Stephen backed away, trying to reestablish his connection with Hespero and finish the job, but the Fratrex Prismo might as well have been a thousand leagues away.

  He looked at Anne and laughed.

  "You think it's funny?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper in its fury.

  "That was me," he said, "but I didn't know. Dreams, you see? It was all in my dreams. Except in my dreams it was you terrifying me, when I believed I was only Stephen Darige. In your dreams it was me terrifying you, when you believed you were only Anne."

  He rose up from his knees. "And now we are both almost who we were in our dreams. And I'll say now as I did then: We should join together, you and I, bright king and dark queen. Don't you see? We're male and female principle of the same thing. Nothing could stand against us."

  Anne just stared at him for a long moment, those awful eyes slitted to hint at the mind whirling behind them.

  "You're right," she said. "I see it now. I understand. But you know what? I don't need you. Nothing can stand against me as it is."

  When Aspar was sure he wasn't being followed, he bound his wounds and slept for a few bells in the crook of a tree. Then he started back to the valley.

  He reached it just before dawn and waited until there was enough light to see who, if anyone, was still there.

  He made out a still figure in the grass about fifty yards ahead of him.

  Closer, he saw it was Leshya, lying propped against a stone. Her head turned slowly as he approached.

  "Another bell," she coughed, "and you wouldn't have seen me at all."

  She glanced down and he saw that she was holding her bowels in.

  "Doesn't really hurt anymore," she said.

  He dismounted and pulled out his knife. He pulled off his broon and shirt and began cutting the shirt into wide strips.

  "No point in that," Leshya said.

  "There might be," Aspar said. "I know something Fend doesn't know, something you don't know, something only I and the Briar King know."

  The slit down her belly was fairly neat. Fend's work, for sure.

  "He wanted me to tell you he'll find you," she said. "Said he never imagined you could be such a coward."

  "Werlic," Aspar replied. "He went in the Vhenkherdh, but he hasn't come out, has he?"

  "No."

  "Did he leave anyone to guard?"

  "One fellow, hidden just in the entrance. I see him now and then. He's careless."

  He handed her his water. "Drink it all," he said. "I'll be right back."

  "Aspar-"

  "Hush. Don't die."

  And with that he went softly through the grass, coming around behind the strange growth of trees.

  He edged around until he saw the man there and recognized with relief that it wasn't the Vaix.

  He closed his eyes, trying to remember, back through a haze of fever and time. Trying to be sure.

  He stepped around. The man looked up.

  The passage into the Vhenkherdh wasn't covered with a door or any such thing. It was just a twisty little path back through the trees.

  The man shouted at the top of his lungs, grabbed the hilt of his sword, and started to stand.

  Aspar's ax hit him between the eyes. He sat back down.

  Aspar went back and got Leshya. She still was breathing, and her eyes opened again when she saw him.

  "Done?"

  "Not by half," he said. "Come along now."

  He took her arrows and put them in his quiver, then carried her to the Vhenkherdh.

  "Now, listen," he said. "I need you to crawl on your belly until you're in there, do you hear?"

  "I don't understand."

  "When I went in before, it was just for a few moments. For Winna, out here, it was three days. Do you see?"

  "I've lost most of my blood," she said. "It's hard to think."

  "Yah. Can you crawl?"

  "It's stupid, but yes."

  "Just do it," he said. "It'll hurt; I'm sorry. But I have to see something. It will help me, werlic?"

  He tried not to think about what she was feeling as she drew up onto her elbows and inched into the place. He followed a step behind her, wishing he could help, knowing it had to be this way.

  The color of the faint light on her faded, and then she was gone.

  He moved up to just that point and drew his hood to cut out any other light, and he saw her again, a bloody shadow.

  Beyond Leshya he could make out a few vague shapes, all the dark red ghosts, all apparently immobile. He watched, knowing he had to make the right choices, glad he had a little time.

  The Vaix was easy to make out because he held the feysword, and it glowed the color of gore dripped in water. Aspar took careful aim and shot at his neck. The arrow crossed into the same space as Leshya had, faded, and slowed to a snail's pace.

  He shot at the Sefry three more times, then located another target, which, as his eyes grew used to the light, was pretty obviously an utin. Its head was turned away, but he aimed for the ear and then the inner thigh of one of the legs. He spent the rest of his shafts on the thing, because he couldn't be sure who the other shadows were.

  He sat down and sharpened his dirk and then his ax. He had a bite to eat and let it settle. He walked over to the battleground and found a lance, which he broke down into a stabbing spear.

  Then he went back to the Vhenkherdh and went in.

  As before, his heartbeat sped quickly into a buzz, like a mosquito's, and time went strange.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  AWAKE

  NEIL COUNTED only four men with Robert, all in black leather. They all carried themselves as if they knew how to fight.

  "All alone?" Robert asked.

  Neil didn't reply, but he noticed that Alis was nowhere to be seen.

  He watched them get closer.

  "You'll pardon me if I don't make a conversation of this," the prince said. "Given how our last talk went, I doubt that you're disappointed."

  Robert drew the feysword, which glowed even more brightly than when Neil had last seen it. It looked like it had been forged from a lightning bolt.

  "The music offends me," the prince confided. "An old friend thought I might like it, but he clearly doesn't know my tastes." He stopped and looked down at Neil's sword and hauberk where they lay on the ground. His eyebrows arched, and his eyes glittered oddly in the torchlight.

  Neil had killed his first man when he had had eleven winters, with a spear. He had killed his second a nineday later. He wasn't strong enough to use a broadsword until he was fifteen.

  He threw the first spear, feeling the motion come back to him, as natural as walking. His arm didn't protest at all, and the shaft flew true, straight into Robert's shoulder, where it sank deep and stuck. The feysword flew from his hand, and the prince's shriek was a piercing counterpoint to the strange music coming from the house.

  Neil lifted the second spear out of the soil. Everwulf had been right-he still had his feet. He danced toward Robert's guard as they tried to encircle him, gripping the weapon underhand with his knuckles against his hip.

  He rushed up to the lead man, forcing him to cut before he was ready while Neil skipped to the side. His arm shot out, and the steel head punched in at the navel, splitting the chain beneath the leather and coming out bloody. The man stumbled back choking, and Neil went on to deal with the others before the first one discovered that his wound wasn't critical.

  One had come around behind him, so Neil jabbed the butt end back and ducked as something whirred over his hair. He felt the blow connect with a knee and turned, taking the weapon two-handed, and rammed the blade up through the foeman's crotch.


  The spear stuck there, so Neil released it and rolled away, noticing as he did another of Robert's guards stumbling about headless.

  The last man he could see coming from the left, but he was off balance, and there was no way to dodge the blow.

  He threw up his forearm to meet the sword at an angle. He heard the snap of bone breaking, and white light seemed to explode from everything.

  Between one footfall and the next, the arrows suddenly blurred back to speed, and Aspar followed right after them, vaulting over Leshya and drawing back the ax for a blow. The Vaix's head whipped around as the arrows hit him. The Sefry stumbled, and Aspar chopped him in the back of the head with the ax as he went by, thrusting at the utin's eye with the dirk. The dagger went in deep, but the monster hit him with a backhand that slung Aspar back against a tree, then sank its talons into his shoulder and gaped a mouthful of needles at him. Aspar hit the butt of the knife with his palm, driving it in to the hilt. The beast screamed and fell, writhing so furiously in the cramped space that Aspar couldn't get by it for several long moments. When he was finally able to retrieve his knife and move on, he found two men waiting for him, and beyond he could see the wide opening inside the living lodge where Fend, Winna, and Ehawk were watching him with astonished eyes.

  The men confronting him stared at him in what could only be terror.

  "You can walk out of here," Aspar snarled, "or I can kill you."

  A look of resolve flashed over the face of one of them, and he cut at Aspar with the sword. He ducked so that the edge thunked into a tree branch and stayed there while Aspar disemboweled the wielder. The other howled and swung wildly, hitting Aspar on the side of his head with the flat. Aspar stumbled back, ears ringing, as the man shouted something in a language the holter didn't know.

  He threw the ax, and it buried itself solidly in the fellow's breastbone. He stared at Aspar as he walked up, yanked it out, and kicked him over.

  "Fend!"

  Fend drew a pair of knives.

  "How did you do that?" the Sefry asked.