Do you want to spend the rest of your days alone inside? he wondered. It was easier; it was safer; it was, in the end, empty.
“Are you sure?” he asked. Saying the words was almost as hard as going into battle.
Selatre nodded, a little less hesitantly. With something of the feeling of a man diving into deep water, Gerin leaned toward her. He wondered if she would know how to kiss; she’d said she’d been consecrated to Biton ever since her courses failed to start when she reached womanhood.
But her lips met his firmly; her mouth opened and her tongue played with his. It was, in fact, quite as satisfactory a kiss as he’d ever had. When at last they broke apart, he said, “Where did you learn that?”
“In my village, of course.” She looked puzzled for a moment, then burst out laughing again. “Oh, I see—you expected me to be not just a maiden but ignorant as well. No. Some of the young men there couldn’t have cared less that the god had set his mark on me. I knew I couldn’t yield my body to them, but that doesn’t mean I led an altogether empty life.”
“Oh,” he said in a small voice. “I hadn’t thought of that. When you said Biton had chosen you, I suppose I thought you’d lived solitary from that time on.”
“No,” Selatre said again. “It wasn’t like that, not until the god called to himself the Sibyl that was and chose me in her place—though only for a brief time.” Her face clouded for a moment, then cleared. “But I must say you were right: if that time is ended, I have to live the rest of my life as best I can.”
This time, she leaned toward him. The kiss went on and on. His arms closed around her. She stiffened when he cupped her breast with one hand. He took the hand away. “If you’re not ready, just let me know,” he said. He still wasn’t sure how fast he wanted to charge ahead with her. Had he been a few years younger, lust would have overridden thought, but those days were past him, even if Van still sometimes thought more with his crotch than with his head.
Selatre said, “Having come this far, I think it’s time to finish the job of returning me to the world. I’ve heard it can hurt the first time, but if you know hurt may be coming, it’s easier to bear.”
“I hope I won’t hurt you, or not badly,” Gerin said. “When I was down in the City of Elabon, another student there had a scroll on the proper way to deflower a maiden as gently as possible. What it said made good sense, though I confess I’ve never needed to use it till now.”
“They write books about that?” Selatre said, her eyes wide. “If you had one of those in your library here, Gerin, think how many more people you could win to reading.”
“You’re right, I expect,” he said, remembering the illustrations with which the scribe had enlivened the scroll. Then he noticed Selatre had called him by his name alone, without the honorific she’d always used before. It startled him for a moment. Then he laughed at himself. If they were about to be intimate, didn’t she have the right to address him intimately?
He was never sure afterwards which of them got up first from the table in the library. They walked side by side down the hall toward his bedchamber. With any other woman, he would have slipped his arm around her waist. With Selatre, he still held back in spite of what they were going to the bedroom to do. If she wanted to touch him before then, she could.
They were three or four strides from the door when the lookout in the watchtower winded his horn. Gerin stopped dead. Grinding his teeth, he said, “Oh, a pestilence! Not now, by all the gods.”
He couldn’t read Selatre’s face. Was that wry amusement there, or maybe relief? If they didn’t seize the chance now, would she change her mind later? What was he supposed to do if she did? Pretend nothing had happened? Or—?
Then the lookout shouted, “Lord Gerin, Rihwin the Fox is heading back toward Fox Keep.”
“What?” Gerin exclaimed, his worries about Selatre forgotten. “I only sent him out two days ago. He can’t even have got out of the land I hold, let alone to Aragis’ and back. Has he lost his wits? Has he lost his nerve?”
Selatre said, “You’d better go and see what that’s about Other things can wait for their own time.”
“Yes,” he said abstractedly. That sounded promising, even if she hadn’t promised anything. He barely noticed. He was already trotting for the stairs. Selatre followed more slowly.
Gerin’s trot went to a run as soon as he got down to the great hall. He dashed out into the courtyard, sprinted for the gate. Someone called from up on the palisade: “I see Rihwin and the chariot crews that went out with him, lord prince, but he’s got more crews with him than just those. Not men I recognize, neither.”
The drawbridge was already creaking down over the ditch around the palisade. Panting a little, Gerin waited impatiently for it to drop far enough to let him see out. At last, it did. Sure enough, there was Rihwin’s chariot in the lead, but he was bringing back twice as many crews as he’d set out with.
No sooner had the drawbridge thumped into place than Gerin walked across it. The quicker he found out what madness Rihwin was perpetrating now, the quicker he could start figuring out how to deal with it—if it could be dealt with. He was getting tired of having to clean up Rihwin’s messes, especially when they were as exquisitely mistimed as this one.
Seeing Gerin, Rihwin waved. “Hail, lord prince,” he called. “The business of going to Aragis’ holding just got easier.”
Gerin waited till Rihwin got close enough so he wouldn’t have to scream, then demanded, “What on earth are you talking about, you—jackanapes? How can you be gone two days and come back claiming success? And who are these ruffians you’ve brought along with you?”
He hadn’t had much hope of cowing the irrepressible Rihwin, but he hadn’t expected him to break out in guffaws, either. “Your pardon, lord prince,” Rihwin said when he could speak, though he didn’t sound a bit sorry. He went on, “Allow me to present acquaintances made on the Elabon Way: Fabors Fabur’s son and Marlanz Raw-Meat, envoys sent by the Grand Duke Aragis the Archer to discuss terms of alliance with you.”
“Lord prince,” two of the strangers said together. After they bowed, one of them added, in a voice almost as deep as Van’s, “I’m Marlanz.” He was young, broad-shouldered, and burly, with the look of a man for whom fighting was a favorite sport. Fabors was older and, Gerin guessed, likely to be smarter (although sometimes men who looked like nothing but bluff warriors were a lot smarter than they seemed).
“Well,” Gerin said. That was better than standing there with his mouth open, but not much. He tried again, but only, “Well,” emerged once more. On a third effort, he managed coherent speech: “Well, lords, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t glad to see you. You are most welcome. Come into my keep, you and all your comrades. Drink of my ale; eat of my meat; you shall be my guest-friends here.”
“Lord prince, you are gracious,” Fabors Fabur’s son said. Marlanz Raw-Meat nodded vigorously. Fabors went on, “Should you ride south, know that my keep shall be as your own for as long as you care to use it.”
“And mine,” Marlanz agreed.
“Come, come,” Gerin said, and stood aside so the chariots—both those that had started out with Rihwin and those that had come north with Aragis’ vassals—could cross over the drawbridge and into Castle Fox.
Stable boys hurried out to take charge of the horses and chariots. They gaped, big-eyed, at the newcomers. Gerin’s warriors crowded round him, lest the men who’d accompanied Marlanz and Fabors had treachery in mind.
Marlanz stared at Van. “I’ve heard tales of you, sir,” he said, “and, knowing how taletellers lie, thought to measure myself against you. I see I’m liable to have put myself too high.”
“If you can fight as well as you talk, sir, you’ll do well enough for yourself, I expect,” Van answered. Marlanz bowed. Van bowed back. Gerin was reminded of two big dogs sniffing at each other.
“Come, lords,” he said again. As he crossed the threshold into the great hall, he called to the servant
s: “Ale for my guest-friends. Aye, and carve some steaks from that cow we slew last night, too, and set ’em over the fire.”
“Just singe mine, light as you can,” Marlanz put in. “I can’t abide beef cooked all gray and tough as shoe leather.”
The slab of meat the servants slapped down in front of Marlanz on a round of flatbread was so red and juicy that the Fox expected it to bellow in pain when he stuck a knife in it, but he attacked it with every sign of relish. Gerin had no trouble figuring out how he’d come by his ekename.
Selatre had been standing back by the stairway. Gerin waved her forward, patted the bench beside him. Fabors Fabur’s son raised an eyebrow. “Have you at last wed again, lord prince?” he asked. “Word of this had not reached the Archer’s Nest.”
“Good name for a keep,” Gerin remarked, unsurprised that Aragis kept close track of what he did—he made it his business to learn all he could of Aragis, too. To answer the question the Archer’s man had put, he went on, “Lord Fabors, lord Marlanz, allow me to present you to the lady Selatre, who was Sibyl at Ikos until the earthquake overthrew Biton’s shrine there and loosed the monsters long trapped under it.”
Marlanz had started to bristle at being introduced to a woman rather than the other way round, but composed himself at once when he learned who Selatre was. “Sibyl,” he murmured respectfully, bowing in his seat.
“Sibyl no more,” she said. “Simply Selatre … and who Selatre is remains in large part to be discovered.” Her eyes slid to Gerin. The arrival of the envoys had interrupted part of that discovery.
That arrival had also touched off enough commotion to bring Fand down to find out what was going on. Her eyes narrowed when she saw Selatre beside the Fox; she came over and sat down next to Van. Gerin introduced her to Aragis’ vassals as the outlander’s companion. Van nodded at that, though he didn’t seem quite certain he was pleased. Fabors Fabur’s son looked thoughtful, but held his peace—here was more news that had not reached the Archer’s Nest.
After the sharing of food and drink had made them his guest-friends, Gerin said to Fabors and Marlanz, “Well, lords, I know why you’ve come—on the same mission for which I sent Rihwin south. I daresay you’ll have discussed it with him as you came here. What conclusions have you reached?”
“Lord prince, our overlord the Grand Duke Aragis sent us north with virtually the same terms for an alliance in mind as you gave to Rihwin the Fox—a fine fellow, I might add,” Fabors said. “The Archer favors an equal alliance between himself and you for as long as that remains agreeable to both parties, overall command to depend on whether the fighting is north or south of Ikos.”
“There’s a nice touch,” Gerin said approvingly. “I’d simply assumed we’d share the lead. Well, lords, as you say, I think we’ll get along nicely. Since the earthquake, I’ve heard little from south of Ikos. Tell me how Aragis’ lands fare, if you would be so kind.”
Marlanz gulped down the ale in his jack before answering, “Imagine wolves in a hard winter, coming out of the woods to kill sheep and shepherds, too. Then imagine that ten times worse, and you’ll have some idea of the state we’re in. These cursed creatures have more wit than wolves, and they have hands, too, so nothing is safe from them. The serfs are afraid to go out into the fields, but staying huddled in their huts does ’em no good, either. I’m sure you know how that goes, lord prince.”
“Only too well,” Gerin answered grimly. His vassals in the great hall nodded. The Fox went on, “Have the more clever monsters joined together with any of Aragis’ neighbors to make his life even more delightful?”
“No, lord prince,” Marlanz and Fabors chorused. Fabors added, “When your vassal the lord Rihwin told us of their dealings with Adiatunnus—may he roast in the hottest hell forever—we both cried out in horror.”
“That we did,” Marlanz Raw-Meat agreed. “It speaks well of your strength here that you’ve held off such a dreadful combination where we faced only the monsters, yet Aragis saw the need to send us forth before you put your vassal on the road to look for his aid.”
“Don’t put too much into it,” Gerin said. “It may just mean I’m more stubborn and less trusting of my neighbors than the grand duke.”
“Meaning no offense to you, lord prince, I find that hard to picture,” Fabors Fabur’s son said. Marlanz nodded vigorously.
“I think you may have insulted your own lord rather than me, but have it as you will,” Gerin said. “Since matters are as they are, I am going to propose that Aragis first send such chariotry as he can north to aid my forces against Adiatunnus, the monsters, and a few worthless, faithless Elabonians who have joined with them. If he can do that, how soon can he do it, and how many chariots can he spare from his own concerns?”
“Lord prince, I think he can do it, and I think he can send the cars not long after we return with word the deal has been struck,” Fabors answered. “How many he can send, he shall have to judge for himself. He’s spread his chariots and crews widely through the keeps of the lands he holds, and told his peasants to send up fire signals if their villages are attacked. Thus aid can reach them as soon as may be.”
“That’s not the worst ploy in the world for keeping the serfs safe,” Rihwin said. “Why didn’t you try something like it, my fellow Fox?”
“It’s like covering your belly after somebody hits you, then moving one hand to your face when he hits you there,” Gerin answered. “Or, if you’ll let me change my figure of speech, I’d rather dig an arrowhead out of the wound than slap a bandage on it with the point still in there.”
“You’re a man of sense, lord prince,” Marlanz Raw-Meat said. “The grand duke himself has been thinking hard about changing the way he’s fighting the cursed creatures—says it’s like being nibbled to death by fleas. Between his men and yours, we ought to have a force strong enough to really do something, not just try to hit back when things get done to us.”
“That’s my hope,” Gerin agreed. “That’s why I sought alliance with him.” As Marlanz had said, even though Aragis was threatened only by monsters, he’d felt the need for help before Gerin, who also had the Trokmoi to worry about. Hitting back as hard as he could had let the Fox keep his foes off balance.
“Together, we’ll smash them,” Marlanz said, slamming his fist down onto the table so that drinking jacks jumped. Fabors Fabur’s son nodded but did not speak. When it came to negotiating terms for the alliance, he seemed to have authority; Marlanz spoke with more weight on matters strictly military.
“Are we in accord, lords?” Gerin asked. Both of Aragis’ envoys nodded. The Fox said, “Then shall we take oaths to bind us to our enterprise. I will take them with you as Aragis’ representatives. I know he will expect them of me, as he and I have not always been on the best of terms since Elabon pulled out of the northlands.”
“And you will expect them no less of him, you’re saying,” Fabors remarked. “He expected as much, and authorized us to swear on his behalf, binding him to the pact in the eyes of the gods. And you are correct: he does desire your oath as well.”
“Cooperation first; trust can come later,” Gerin said. “And whether he authorized it or not, the laws of similarity and contagion bind you to him and him to the pact; I am mage enough to work through them at need. I hope we shall have no need. By which gods would Aragis have us swear?”
“None out of the ordinary, lord prince,” Fabors answered: “Dyaus the king of heaven, of course, and Biton for foresight—that his Sibyl is here will only lend the oath more force—and, because we’re fighting not least to keep our serfs safe, Baivers and Mavrix as well.”
A prickle of alarm ran through the Fox. “Would not Baivers suffice on his own? Mavrix and I … have not got on well in the past.”
“So lord Rihwin told us,” Fabors said. By the way his eyes slid toward Rihwin, the tale had been juicy, too. But he took a deep breath and resumed: “Nonetheless, my suzerain was particular about wanting the lord of the sweet grape include
d in the oath. Baivers, said he, has power only over ale and barley, while Mavrix, along with being the god of wine, is also associated with fertility in general, and hence a protector of farmers.”
That, unfortunately, made too much theological sense for Gerin to come up with a glib way around it. He remembered that he and Selatre had been reading about Mavrix when they acknowledged their attraction for each other; lust was also part of the Sithonian god’s domain. Maybe that had been an omen. Gerin might not want anything to do with Mavrix, but if the converse didn’t hold true, how was he supposed to oppose the god’s will?
He sighed—he saw no way. “Let it be as the grand duke wishes,” he said. “I have but one reservation: if he fails to send at least thirty chariots and crews, and if they fail to reach here within thirty days, I shall no longer reckon myself bound by the terms of the oath.”
Fabors and Marlanz put their heads together and talked quietly with each other for a couple of minutes. At last Fabors nodded. “It shall be as you say.”
Gerin and Aragis’ envoys clasped hands and swore the oath, binding themselves and, through Marlanz and Fabors, Aragis to the terms upon which they’d agreed. Then the Fox called to the kitchen crew: “Slaughter us another cow. We’ll burn the fat-wrapped thighbones on Dyaus’ altar, that their savor may climb to heaven and make him look kindly on our cause.”
“And we’ll eat the rest ourselves,” Van boomed.
“Remember, I’ll want my portion barely cooked,” Marlanz added hastily.
Gerin walked upstairs to his bedchamber carrying a lamp. He set each foot down in turn with deliberate care; he was a little drunk and very full. He opened the door, set the lamp on a chest of drawers, and started to take off his tunic. As soon as he’d undressed, he would blow out the lamp.
Someone knocked on the door. He almost got trapped in the tunic’s sleeves as he pulled it back down. Fabors Fabur’s son had been spinning a long, involved explanation of why Aragis insisted on having Mavrix in the oath—so long and involved, in fact, that Gerin wondered if the real reason was that the Archer knew of his trouble with the god—and hadn’t wanted to stop even when the Fox yawned his way out of the great hall. If Fabors was out there now wanting to natter away some more, Gerin aimed to teach him never to do anything so foolish again.
Prince of the North Page 28
