In matters of difficulty, it was Gilliam’s custom to let Stephen speak for them both. He did not even venture a syllable now.
“Elsa, is that wise?”
“Perhaps.” It was her turn to shrug. “Perhaps not. But truthfully, Stephen, it is not just because of the girl that I summoned a member of the Order. I want answers—and some restitution—for the attack last evening. And answers, I will have.”
Stephen nodded; when the Lady of Elseth used that particular tone of voice, the matter was already settled. He tried to change the direction of the conversation. “Did you find anything of interest this morning?”
“On the corpses?”
Maribelle’s eyes widened slightly at her mother’s bluntness. Stephen didn’t even blink. “Yes.”
Lady Elseth closed her eyes and raised a hand to her forehead. “I’m sorry, Stephen. That was uncalled for. But I like these affairs no more than you, and I’m not in the best of moods for delicacy.” She smiled wanly. “Yes. I did find something that may be of significance.” She rose. “If you wait, you can look at it and tell me if it has more significance for you than it does for me.”
They waited, still uncomfortable, while Lady Elseth left the room. Stephen did not even try to keep up light or pleasant chatter, and Gilliam certainly wasn’t about to start what he had avoided for most of his life. Maribelle’s silence was unnatural—but Maribelle looked very much like Gilliam; sleepless, dark-eyed, haunted.
Lady Elseth’s return was a relief.
Until she stopped at Stephen’s side and very gently unfurled one hand. Like liquid, the pendant she carried fell free, stopping to swing as the chain pulled tight against her thumb and finger. “This,” she said, studying Stephen’s face.
Stephen stared at the pendant in fascinated horror.
“Stephen?”
He shook his head, reached out to touch the obsidian surface of the flat oval, and then pulled back sharply before his fingers made contact.
“You recognize it.” She put her free hand around his shoulder, as the pendulum continued its gentle swing. “Is it your—from your dreams?”
He nodded quietly. “But I also recognize it from my studies. In the King’s library.”
“Yes?” Her voice was gentle, but the question demanded an answer nonetheless; Lady Elseth had that kind of voice.
“It’s the emblem of the Priests of Allasakar.” Stephen glanced up and met the eyes of his Lady. “The Lord and ruler of the Hells.”
Lady Elseth was silent a moment, absorbing the news. “Well,” she said at last. “I think this merits a visit to the King’s City. And perhaps even a visit to the Queen herself.” She caught the pendant firmly in a tight, solid grip. “If I guess correctly, that religion has been forbidden practice in Breodanir.”
“And in every other civilized land since the birth of the Twin Kings,” Stephen replied. “But so has thievery, and thieves have never died out in the history of any people.”
“True,” Lady Elseth said, her gaze remote. “But it is not the habit of the seat of judgment to ignore those infractions that are brought to its attention. Especially not when that seat is the High Seat. I have work to tend to here, and accommodations to arrange in the city itself.
“We will wait upon the arrival of the member of the Order of Knowledge before you set out.”
“How do we know they’ll send one?” Maribelle asked.
“They’ll send one,” her mother replied grimly. “And quickly.”
She was right, of course. She was the Lady of Elseth.
• • •
The Hunter Ladies had an informal messenger service and route that they used in circumstances of great urgency only. Elsabet had deemed this to be such an occasion, and had ordered her courier out on the roads with a horse and the writ of summons that bore her blood-red seal. She knew that once the messenger reached Valentin, he would turn his horse in to the Valentin stables in return for a fresh one; this operation would continue along the straightest path to the King’s City. Therefore, a messenger that might normally travel for weeks would take perhaps five days to arrive. She expected one of the mage-born to arrive at the month’s end.
He arrived two days after the earliest possible moment of the message’s receipt.
His arrival was not an auspicious one to start; he walked, unhorsed, up the long and half-tended path to Elseth Manor. He was met by villagers who carried the long, wooden planks that were necessary to frame the second story of the half-completed kennels, and given the stories of attempted murder that had been whispered at the hearthside of each and every cottage and shanty in the Elseth village, his arrival was greeted with suspicion and worry.
Were it not for the fact that he arrived at midday, looking tired, travel-worn, and not a little exhausted, they might have been tempted to take matters into their own hands. Instead, the village head ordered him contained—much to his obvious chagrin—and marched, in the center of the village’s most able young men, to Elseth Manor proper.
Elsabet discovered this oversight in her people’s hospitality when a very harassed-looking keykeeper all but barged into her study. He knocked, yes, but entered without giving her the grace of time to give him leave to do so.
“Lady,” he said, his face pale and lined, “an emergency that requires your attention has arisen. If you would be so kind?”
“Is it Gilliam?” she asked, rising immediately.
“No. I believe it is a visitor that you’ve been expecting.”
“That hardly seems an emergency, Boredan.” But she followed him quickly down the long hall and out to the manor’s wide doors. Stephen met her in the hall.
“What’s upset Boredan?” he whispered.
She shook her head, and he let the matter drop, but did pause to offer his arm. She took it.
When they at last went through the doors that the keykeeper held open for them, they found most of the village gathered at their steps.
“Lady!” Corinna said, her voice a rather hoarse shout. She was dressed in the daywear of a busy village headwoman, and her sun-lined, darkened skin was covered in a fine mist of wood dust and dirt.
Lady Elseth surveyed the crowd quietly. “What has happened, Corinna?” she asked at last.
“We’ve brought another robed intruder. He came with no papers and no letters, and we thought it best you dealt with him.”
“I . . . see.” Lady Elseth had turned a very becoming shade of white. Unconsciously, she put an unadorned hand to her throat as she searched the crowd more thoroughly. Then the color returned to her cheeks in a blush. “You’ve done well,” she said, her voice so faint it could barely be heard. “But I believe all is as it should be. Have the men release him.”
Corinna raised a peppered brow. “You’re sure?”
“Yes,” Elsabet said, her voice, if possible, weaker. “I had a summons that has been answered rather earlier than I thought possible.” She was furious with herself for the oversight. “You haven’t—he hasn’t been hurt, has he?”
The tightly knotted crowd pulled back, and the intruder in question, a slender reed of a man in rather wrinkled traveling clothing, was given leave to speak for himself.
“No,” he said wryly. “He hasn’t.”
Stephen felt Elsabet sag against his arm in relief. He, too, felt some relief—but that was understandable. One did not anger the mage-born often and survive it. Or so legend said.
This particular mage did not even look annoyed, although his smile was perhaps a bit thin at the edges. “I give my apologies for arriving without the proper seals and writs, Lady.” He bowed, low, to her, and then to the amazement of all, also bowed courteously to the head-woman. She frowned at this and turned her back.
“Well?” she asked the waiting crowd. “What are you all hanging about doing nothing for? You heard the Lady—she’s safe enou
gh. Get back to work!” For good measure, and as an emphasis to the command, she whacked the nearest strong-arm on the side of his bronzed face.
Nobody argued with her, just as nobody argued with Lady Elseth—but it was always a wonder to Stephen how two such powerful women could carry themselves so completely differently. The villagers trickled away until only the mage was left standing at the foot of the Elseth steps.
“Where is Gilliam?” Lady Elseth whispered to Stephen.
Stephen rolled his eyes. “Out running the dogs.”
“The girl?”
“With him.” He started to speak, and then shook his head. He did not want to discuss his Hunter, and his Hunter’s situation, in front of a stranger.
“I see.” She turned back to the member of the Order of Knowledge. “Please accept my apologies—”
“Zareth. Call me Zareth if you don’t consider that to be too informal.” He bowed again, brushing his dark hair from his face as he straightened. In the light, the medallion that swung against his brown tunic glinted perfectly clearly; the quartered circle was obvious, although the elements each quarter contained could only be imagined.
“Very well. Please accept my apologies, Zareth. My people are not normally this . . . cautious.”
“Given the circumstances—and the fact that I remain uninjured—I’m inclined to forgive and forget.” He came up the steps, his stride both weary and long.
“Come in, then. You might appreciate the chance to rest. You arrived here at better speed than I would have thought possible.”
If the mage heard the question in her voice, he ignored it politely. “Yes, I would appreciate it. I’ll be ready to speak more properly in perhaps a few hours.”
• • •
The few hours stretched out to encompass most of the next day. Stephen was well aware of the servants’ gossip, as each and every one of them who had time to be interested in such affairs made guesses—most wrong—about the status of the stranger who had arrived with such indelicate fanfare. He busied himself with the dogs and his Hunter, trying his best to keep away from the stranger’s rooms.
The kennels were not yet complete, and although Stephen was no carpenter, he spent time as an unofficial overseer while the villagers worked their shifts. The sun was free from clouds, and the peak of the day hot and dusty, but he heard no word of complaint pass any man’s lips. These villagers, perhaps better than any, knew how important their task was; the Lord of Elseth was, in some ways, in their care. Gilliam kept his dogs away from the rising frame of their new home—but he kept that building in sight as well, almost as nervous as a new mother. Stephen thought it funny; no other building, no other structure, could command this amount of Gil’s attention—not even the magnificent arches of the King’s castle had moved him. He watched his Hunter, chuckled, and became aware that he was not the only person to notice Gilliam’s anxiety. He was just the only one to think it amusing.
Still, in watching, he noticed that Gilliam’s relationship with the wild girl—the still unnamed visitor—had markedly changed. Although the girl accompanied them in the runs, Gilliam took care to keep his distance. But he was stiff and a little awkward with the new effort. Stephen almost felt sorry for him. He did pity the girl, though; she whined and fretted in her inarticulate way, and her eyes rarely left her master. No—not her master; not that. Gilliam.
Stephen had to admit that it was hard, watching her, not to think of her as one of the hunting pack. It was clear that the rest of the dogs did. They nudged her, butted her, and even snapped at her, depending upon their own pack standing—and she returned their attention in kind.
It was after dinner—a dinner still awkward with tension and worry—that the mage-born visitor finally made his second appearance.
Lady Elseth, clothed in the near-finest of her apparel, rose at once to greet him; Maribelle and Stephen quickly followed her lead. Only Gilliam remained seated in blissful ignorance of custom and required manners. Had it not been a public first meeting, Stephen would have spoken with him.
Stephen noticed that Lady Elseth had forsaken the odd, ugly panniers for a skirt that was more easily maneuvered, and therefore more practical. It was odd; he wondered if perhaps Elsabet did not trust the mage. Still, in the formal, dark greens of her station, with a sash of burgundy and golden velvet to give brightness, she was a commanding figure.
The man who had named himself Zareth was not nearly so striking a presence. He wore clothing that was a cut above common, or so it seemed; the robes of the Order of Knowledge allowed only a glimpse of what lay beneath. Those robes didn’t suit his coloring; they were smoky-gray, and fell heavily, like ill-hung drapery, over his gaunt frame.
For all that he cut such an odd figure, he was above ridicule. Perhaps the pendant, much clearer now in the light of the hall, was enough of a signification of power that clothing mattered little. Or perhaps it was his eyes; they burned with a striking intensity, even though they were dark and ringed.
“Zareth,” Lady Elseth said, approaching him. “Have you eaten?”
“I don’t require food,” he said, and his smile was wan. But he bowed and held that bow longer than strict etiquette demanded. “What I do require—what we both require—is an exchange of information.” He glanced around the room, noted Stephen, Gilliam, and Maribelle, and raised one eyebrow in question.
“Yes,” Elsabet said quietly. “Anything that you have to say can be said freely here.”
“Would you not rather retire to someplace where we might be less likely to face interruptions?”
She thought a moment. The servants would be clearing the table soon. “Yes. Follow.”
Stephen watched the mage as he walked down the hall. It was clear that exhaustion still marred his step, and he placed a hand upon the wall to serve as a crutch. Whatever magics he had used to travel so quickly had obviously cost him dearly. The thought comforted Stephen.
They retired to the parlor, and Zareth chose the seat closest to the fire. Only after watching the mage press his hands tightly together did Stephen realize that he felt chill. Rather than call the servants, Stephen began to build up the small fire himself.
“Thank you,” said Zareth, a trifle dryly. “I’m sorry to be so obvious in my infirmity.”
“I’d rather see an infirm mage than an active one,” Stephen replied, equally dryly.
Zareth laughed softly. “I imagine you would. You’re Stephen?”
“Does it show?”
Zareth spoke much more softly. “Yes. I was told there would be a Hunter and his huntbrother—and I’ve rarely heard of a sullen and suspicious huntbrother.”
Stephen smiled and turned back to the fire. He had surprised himself—he hadn’t thought to like the mage that the Order would send.
Lady Elseth, however, had not apparently warmed to the visitor at all. While she was polite, even solicitous, and certainly a graceful hostess, her face was very set, and her eyes were free from the lines that bespoke a genuine smile. She waited until Stephen took a seat before she began to speak, and it quickly became clear that she intended to do all of the talking for the Elseth contingent.
“Let us come immediately to the matter at hand.” She rested her elbows upon the arm of her chair, and rested her chin upon the tips of her pale fingers. “Ten days past, my estates were invaded by unknown men—led by a member of the Order of Knowledge.”
Zareth nodded intently. “So you said in your letter.”
“That member’s name is Krysanthos.”
“Are you certain of that?”
She nodded, not even glancing to the side to look at Stephen’s face. “He is not, I assume, still in the capital?”
Zareth glanced down at the ground between his feet. “No, Lady. A summons was sent for him, but I do not believe it will be answered.”
“How convenient.”
Th
is time, Zareth flinched. “I have come with an offer of restitution for any damages caused; the Order will cover your costs.”
“That is acceptable,” Elsabet replied. It was her turn to wait.
“You haven’t brought this to the attention of the Queen’s court?” Zareth asked softly. His hands, resting also against the arms of his chair, now gripped the rests almost convulsively.
“Is there any reason why I should not have done so?”
“No, of course not.”
She watched him, her face set in the lines of judgment. After a moment, unblinking, she added, “But, no, I have not yet notified that court.”
His relief was obvious, although his stance changed very little. “We appreciate your forbearance in this, Lady. As you well know, the mage-born are feared by the populace at large. We wish to avoid panic or any hasty reactions.”
At this, the lines of Elsabet’s mouth curved into a sardonic smile. “Such as the reception my villagers gave you?”
“Such,” he said, returning her smile cautiously, “as exactly that.”
“Perhaps if the mage-born were more open about the limits to, and extents of, their powers, they would be less feared. The Hunter Lords are not feared.”
Zareth raised one dark brow. “Are they not?”
“Not in general,” she said, conceding a small point. “But, yes, I have no wish to upset the Breodani for no reason. There is no reason?”
Zareth moved his head restively.
“Master Kahn?”
His eyes widened in surprise. Then he shook his head, and this time, he did laugh out loud. “I’m not of Breodanir,” he said apologetically. “I constantly underestimate the Hunter Ladies. Yes, Lady Elseth, I am Zareth Kahn. Do you know the names of the rest of our Order?”
“Only its foreign members.”
“Which are almost all. Very well. There is no reason to worry. Let me be blunt.”
“Will you be?”
“As blunt as is prudent. Krysanthos is of Essalieyan, and a mage of the second circle. He has power. In Breodanir there is only one mage to match him, although they are generally considered to be equals in magecraft. The Order of Knowledge cannot explain his attack upon your manor; there is no reason—nothing at all to be gained—by such an obvious assault.
The Sacred Hunt Duology Page 37
