Children of Enchantment

by Anne Kelleher Bush

“The Chiefs. Complete surprise. He trusted them. He sought peace—a new treaty—“

  “Take your time.”

  “No time left.” The messenger groped at Roderic’s tunic. “He sent out five of us—I alone made it through the lines. He is on Sentellen’s Island. I took this—” he gestured weakly to his arm and legs “—when I ran into a scouting party in Mondana.”

  “They have attacked the Lords of Mondana as well?”

  “The whole Northwest—they have set fire to the Forest of Koralane. You will have difficulty moving into the region.”

  “But why? What happened?”

  The messenger’s dark eyes seemed to glaze. “Alexander was working to heal the ancient breach between the Chiefs and the Lords of Mondana. But someone betrayed him … someone turned the Chiefs against him. The treaties fell apart and Alexander was trapped on Sentellen’s.” He fell back in a faint, and beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

  Roderic looked over his shoulder at Brand, who shook his head. “Have him taken to one of the rooms above. See to his needs as best you can, Peregrine.”

  “As you say. Lord Prince.” She kept her eyes down and would not look at him.

  Roderic sighed and got heavily to his feet. He waved the spectators away with an impatient flick of his hand. He glanced at Annandale and motioned her closer. “What do you think?” he asked Brand as Annandale came to stand beside him.

  “We should get up there as quickly as we can,” said Brand.

  Roderic glanced at Annandale. “I would rather not leave Ahga if it can be helped.”

  Brand made an exasperated noise. “Will you excuse us, lady?” He dragged Roderic to a hearth across the hall. “So now you intend to sit by the fire and hold your wife’s hand?”

  “I didn’t say that, Brand. It’s just that—“

  “Just that you’ve been married not a month and the thought of leaving her tears at your heart.”

  Roderic glanced around the hall. If anyone was paying them any attention at all, they were concealing it well. But the walls themselves had ears; he knew the servants gossiped and that there was little they didn’t know. “I have to protect her, Brand. She is very special—“

  “I agree. But who else can go and settle a dispute between our brother and the Chiefs and the Lord of Mondana? Who else has the authority? And didn’t you hear the messenger? Someone betrayed Alex. Who do you think that someone might be?”

  Roderic met his oldest brother’s eyes evenly. “Amanander’s name was the first to occur to me, although I can’t quite believe Amanander would betray his own brother.”

  “Why not? He might have told Alex something of his plans, and if Alex rejected them—don’t you think Amanander is capable of turning against anyone who might stand in his way?”

  “Yes,” Roderic nodded slowly, “I do.”

  “Then let’s go get him. Let’s end this now, once and for all. And then we can all grow fat together here beside the fires.”

  Roderic glanced away. What Brand said made sense and yet, he didn’t want to leave Annandale’s side. But between Phineas and Garrick, and the garrisons of the city and the castle, she should be safe enough—especially if Amanander were in the North. “But the Forest of Koralane is burning. Our overland access is cut off. How quickly can we muster the army?”

  “The standing divisions will be ready within the week,” answered Brand.

  Roderic gazed beyond Brand’s head at the crest of the Ridenaus, the faded banner proclaiming the ancient motto: Faith shall finish… The words echoed in his mind even as his brain formulated the answer. “We must cross the Saranevas at the Koralado Pass and go up the coast. And we’ll pray that snow hasn’t closed the passes, or we’ll have the devil’s own time getting there.”

  “We’ll be almost completely cut off from our own reserves.”

  Roderic looked at his brother. “Not we. You must go to Mondana—someone’s got to fight that fire and attack the Chiefs on their flank. That will open up the overland supply route. And I will send a messenger on ahead to the M’Callaster and try to open up negotiations with the Chiefs. We’ve got to have a clearer understanding of what’s happened.”

  Brand gave Roderic a long look. “Arc you ready for this?”

  Roderic glanced across the room at Annandale. She met his eyes and nodded, her eyes wide with love and something else, something he wasn’t sure he understood. A look passed between them, and suddenly Roderic wanted nothing more than to hand the charge of Alexander’s rescue over to someone— anyone—else. Garrick and Phineas were old men—too old,surely, to protect his precious bride. And then Brand cleared his throat and folded his arms across his chest, waiting for his answer, and once more, Roderic was reminded that he was the Regent of Meriga, charged with preserving the union of the estates. He squared his shoulders and tried to speak lightly. “It’s like everything else. It really doesn’t matter whether I’m ready or not.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Febry, 76th Year in the Reign of the Ridenau Kings (2748 Muten Old Calendar)

  The oars dipped and rolled, carving a channel into the inky water. Silently as wraiths, the boats moved across the surface of the bay. Before them, the black cliffs of Sentellen’s loomed higher and more forbidding as they approached the island under a shrouded sky. Roderic shifted uneasily in the bow of the boat, as the white flag of truce fluttered in the breeze. A cold drizzle stung his cheeks and trickled down his neck beneath his leather armor and his tunic. He was accustomed to the discomfort. for the march through the Saranevas and up the thickly forested coast of Ragonn had been plagued with driving rain and bitter cold. By the time they arrived on the shores of Ragonn, the defense of Sentellen’s had broken, and Alexander and his men taken captive by the M’Callaster and the Chiefs. All that was left for him to do was try to negotiate a peace, and Alexander’s return. And that, from what he understood, was going to be no small task. The Chiefs were demanding Alexander’s blood. But why? he wondered, as he adjusted his cloak, pulling it tighter against his throat. What had Alexander done to arouse the ire of men with whom he had lived so long and so peacefully? There was something about the whole situation he found unbelievable.

  In the midst of his musings, Roderic felt the man beside him touch his arm. He started. “Yes, Havil?”

  “Up there, Lord Prince. Do you see them?”

  Roderic raised his eyes to the shoreline, squinting to see a mass of men waiting. “I do. That’s the Chiefs?”

  “That’s their welcoming committee.” Havil grunted and hunkered down once more, pulling his hood lower over his face.

  Thank the One for Havil, thought Roderic. Havil had been Alexander’s second-in-command at the garrison at Spogan, a levelheaded, experienced administrator and soldier, utterly loyal to Alexander. He had met Roderic’s army on the northern shores of Ragonn and had already proven an invaluable asset in dealing with the aged Senador of Ragonn and his sulky heir. Lewis of Ragonn was one of those who had risen against the throne during Mortmain’s Rebellion. Although Roderic understood in principle the urge which had made Abelard keep the rebellious lords so firmly under his thumb, Roderic wondered if his father had ever considered the legacy of mistrust he had left for his heir.

  But men like Alexander and Havil went a long way toward healing the breach, and Roderic wondered again and again what could possibly have driven the Chiefs to rise against Alexander. Everywhere was evidence of Alexander’s evenhanded treatment of the opposing interests which vied for control in the North.

  “Not much longer, now, Lord Prince,” murmured Havil as he hunkered down beside Roderic in the bow of the boat.

  Roderic murmured an assent. There had been no sign, no word of Amanander. No one had seen him, no one had heard where he had gone, or what he had done. It was as though he had vanished into the forests surrounding Minnis.

  Roderic found this profoundly disturbing. He had expected some word, some evidence of Amanander’s presence and the fact that there was n
othing, although he had quizzed both Havil and the Senador’s son, suggested that Amanander had never been there.

  The walls of the cliffs seemed to rise perpendicularly out of the sea. The hollow echoing of the surf grew louder, and Roderic realized it was the waves battering at the base of the giant rocks. Roderic drew a deep breath and held it. With Amanander’s disappearance, Alexander’s rescue was paramount. He could not believe that Amanander had not tried to contact his twin, and now, coupled with the urgency to return to Annandale, he needed to resolve this conflict as quickly as possible. He needed Alexander’s insights in order to end the breach once and for all. Too much time had been wasted already.

  He forced his cramped, cold legs to relax as the crews brought the boats through the swirling breakers to scud on the sand of the narrow strip of beach beneath the cliffs. He wiped the mist off his face with wet leather gloves and leapt clumsily out of the boat, where he stumbled on the sand. All around him, the other men splashed through the shallows. Havil touched his arm and pointed.

  Roderic looked up. Above them, a mass of men waited: tall, burly men, wrapped in lengths of patterned wool, furs draped around their necks. A burst of rain fell as though the heavens opened, and the wind blew harder. They stared at each other, and then the silence was broken by one of the men in the forefront of the mass. “Ridenau Prince?”

  The words might have been curses. Roderic pulled his shoulders straighter and adjusted the short sword he wore at his hip. “I am Roderic Ridenau.”

  “M’Callaster awaits.”

  With a jerk of his head, the Chief indicated the steps carved into the massive face of the rock wall rising above them. Roderic glanced at his men, and Havil nodded. “Very well.”

  The crowd parted, and here and there Roderic caught the flash of metal, of gold and silver and enameled jewelry at throats and on bare upper arms. Some of the men were naked from the waist up beneath their plaids and seemed oblivious to the damp, whining wind. And to a man, they were armed with swords and daggers, the leather sheaths finely tooled and worked in intricate designs. He met their eyes, and they did not look down or break the stare; he was reminded again that the Chiefs of the Settle Islands did not acknowledge the supremacy of the Ridenau Kings, and that the M’Callaster scorned his place among the Senadors in the Congress.

  He gazed up at the high, forbidding cliffs and he realized what sort of struggle Alexander must have put up in order to repel the attackers. He straightened his shoulders and met their gazes evenly as he passed by.

  The path wound up the beach, to the very base of the black cliffs, and Roderic realized that steps cut into the wet stone were the only route up the face of the wall. A crude rope banister provided the only handhold. He glanced down at the faces staring up at him, suspicion and hostility evident in each one. One by one, as they climbed the face of the cliff, they would be easy pickings. He saw Havil glance over his shoulder at the men behind them, and he set his foot on the bottom step with renewed determination.

  He felt the weight of the eyes staring as he climbed.

  Higher and higher they climbed, wending their way up the path. In places the stone was cracked and broken, and he was forced to tread carefully, clinging to the frayed rope. The faces below faded into pale white moons, and only the colors of the plaids distinguished one man from another. Roderic felt a momentary spasm of dizziness as he looked down. Then his vision cleared and he looked up.

  At the top, more men waited. They looked much like their fellows below, yet here and there, Roderic spied bandages, white against the weathered skin. The fortress of Sentellen’s was where Alexander had withstood the siege.

  The walls of the fortress, heavy crushed stone, bore marks of fire, evidence of a prolonged struggle. Inside the gates, the fortress itself bore silent testimony to the last battle. It looked as if the attackers had fought their way inch by inch, and

  Roderic wondered what ferocity had driven the Chiefs to fight for Alexander’s life with such determination.

  His practiced eye swept over the fortifications. Alexander had been wise to withdraw here. Perched high above the sea, Sentellen’s was inaccessible by almost every route, save the long road leading down presumably to the village. He wondered, fleetingly, why they hadn’t come through the village.

  Another sudden cloudburst saturated his cloak. Water ran down his face and dripped beneath his clothes, running down his back in cold rivulets. Involuntarily he shivered, and their guide noticed. “Don’t care much for our weather, Prince?”

  Roderic shrugged, refusing to be baited. They crossed the open courtyard in silence, Havil following close at Roderic’s heels as they approached a low round, wooden building.

  “That’s called the hodge, in their language,” Havil said.

  “Silence!” barked the escort.

  Roderic stopped in the middle of the courtyard. He resisted the urge to finger the hilt of his sword, but he looked up into the giant’s gaze levelly. “We do not come as your prisoners. We come under a flag of truce, to parley.”

  He heard the low mutter of his men behind him, the shifting feet as the cloaks moved and hilts were touched. The giant narrowed his eyes and dropped his gaze momentarily.

  “M’Callaster waits,” he repeated.

  “Then take us to him,” said Roderic.

  A low mutter swelled through the crowd as the men advanced. The guards who flanked the doorway of the hodge came to attention as they entered, and Roderic saw the rainwater beading on their cloaks, their swords.

  Within the hodge, their clothes began to steam. Water dripped in growing puddles onto the floor. Around a circular stone hearth, several men crouched, alternately warming their hands and gnawing on meaty bones. Flasks stood at their sides, and Roderic felt his mouth water as the smell of the food reached his nostrils.

  Their escort cleared his throat. The men broke off their conversation, looked up, and began to talk all at once, gesturing wildly. A clear voice cut through the babble. Roderic understood the word “Silence!” more by the tone in which it was spoken than the word itself. The voice was young, younger than his own, a boy’s not yet broken into manhood.

  “M’Callaster,” said the giant in his slow and heavily accented speech, “the Ridenau Prince comes to parley.”

  Roderic gave Havil a glance and slight head shake, and did not speak. The men gathered around the fire conferred for a moment amongst themselves, and then that same clear voice spoke. A slight figure who sat across the stone hearth made an impatient gesture of dismissal, and the rest of the men rose to their feet reluctantly.

  As the others filed slowly out the door, that high voice spoke again in clear and unaccented Merigan. “Which of you is Roderic, the Ridenau Prince?”

  “I am.” Roderic squinted in the smoky half-light provided by the flickering fire and the lanterns hung high on the walls. Who could this boy be?

  “Very well. Irconnell, take his party to the guest house and treat them as is fitting.”

  As one man, the others obeyed, and Roderic nodded a reassurance to his men, standing his ground as the boy rose and walked slowly around the hearth toward him.

  “Sit down, Prince.”

  Roderic was puzzled. The speaker sounded young, too young, and yet it was clear that the others, battle-scarred warriors all, deferred to him. He seemed to be at ease speaking Merigan, as well.

  “Who are you?”

  The boy gave a short laugh and sat down on a low camp stool.

  “Are you the M’Callaster?”

  “Sit down, Prince. Care for a drink?”

  Something about the tone of voice made Roderic look more closely at the youth sprawling before him. “You’re a woman.”

  She grinned. “You have a good eye.”

  “I have a good ear. Where’s the M’Callaster?”

  She stood up and made a mocking bow, sweeping her hood off her hair as she did so. A thick fall of red-brown hair was revealed. “I’m the M’Callaster.”

 
“I see.” Roderic did not see at all. He had never heard that the M’Callaster of the Settle Islands was a woman.

  “Do you now, Prince?” She raised her eyebrow and settled down on the stool again, sprawling her legs before her as he had never seen a woman of the court do. Her eyes went over him as boldly as his might over a maid. “What do you think you see?”

  Roderic wet his lips. He loosened the fastenings of his cloak and swept the wet garment off his shoulders. He pushed his sleeves up his forearms and settled on a stool near the fire. “Lady—M’Callaster—I admit, you are not what I expected. I expected—“

  “A man.”

  “Yes.”

  The fire flickered over her face, and for a moment Roderic thought he saw something like regret wash over the sharp features of her face. “My father died last summer. Maybe you heard? So now you must deal with me.”

  Roderic inclined his head courteously. “May I know your name, lady?”

  “Deirdre. But save your pretty manners, Prince. Your brother’s life hangs in the balance.”

  Roderic shifted in his seat. “But why?”

  She made a soft sound of derision, as though she spoke to an idiot. “Why?”

  She looked about thirty, Roderic thought, though in the flickering light of the campfire, it was difficult to guess. Still, her dark eyes had fine lines about the corners that even the flames could not soften.

  She got to her feet. With slow, measuring steps, she circled. She was nearly as tall as Roderic, and she carried herself with a swagger he had never seen in a woman. “How old are you?” The question was sudden.

  Roderic looked straight ahead and did not meet her eyes. “Old enough, lady.”

  At that she laughed. “Old enough for what? It’s easy to see where you were raised.”

  “I was raised to protect and honor women.”

  “I was raised to protect myself.” She completed another circle and took a long pull at her flask. “I will tell you I was surprised to receive your message. I thought that, given the treachery of the Lords of Mondana, you’d have other things to occupy your time.”