From halfway across the parlor, Greghar bowed deeply to Esgrin and repeated this show of respect to the other lady. To his amazement, the lady burst out laughing and ran to him, holding the skirts of her gown in one hand. She threw herself into his arms, crying, “You didn’t recognize me, did you? You have made me lose my bet with the lord Baron Bradar! I was so sure you would recognize me, whatever I wore.”
“Nitya!” cried Greghar, picking her up and swinging her around. “You look so…so…grown up!”
He set her down and looked at her with undisguised pleasure. She put a hand on her hip, stuck her nose in the air, and struck an exaggeratedly sophisticated pose.
“I was rather hoping you would find me more than grown up,” she said in the drawn-out Utrish of the court. “Do I not please your eye?”
“You are very…elegant,” he managed to answer, not quite sure how to respond to this eye-catching woman. Her striking looks made him inexplicably uncomfortable. He caught himself wishing she would turn back into the little girl he had loved like a baby sister.
A disappointed look crossed Nitya’s face, but she erased it in a moment and resumed a sunny demeanor.
“Oh, your aunt, Queen Lovelyn has trained me very well,” she said brightly. “I know all the court protocol, better than you, I bet. And I have learnt all about walking, talking, dressing and dealing with brash young men.”
“I am sure you are breaking many hearts in Nordberg,” smiled Greghar. “I can see that my aunt has brought out the best in you—all the graces that I cannot understand, but only appreciate from afar.”
His happiness showed so plainly on his face that she could not stay irritated with him. She poked his midsection hard enough to make him gasp.
“It’s only me, silly,” she said in her old familiar way. “You don’t have to act all formal now.”
Bradar came up, looking very pleased at their happy reunion.
“I know that my sister-in-law, Guttrin, and my own darling wife worry that people talk about your relationship,” he said amiably. “But I say to hell with the gossips! We all know your behavior is above reproach. My dear mother has grown so attached to young Nitya—this was all her idea. She suggested that I invite you both here separately so you would not be seen together in the capital.”
“Your lady mother is a queen in every sense of the word,” said Nitya, looking at him gratefully. “I try and emulate her to the best of my abilities. She has been so much a mother to me that I am sure you are jealous!”
Bradar laughed good-naturedly.
“I can never hear too much praise for my mother,” he said.
“Her good heart sometimes blinds her to viciousness of the world,” said Esgrin, who had approached. She put an arm around Nitya’s slim waist. “This young lady has grown into such an exotic creature, I can see why she has become the apple of your mother’s eye. But her looks will only make the gossip more ferocious.”
“I am sure her looks are the least of her assets in my aunt’s eyes,” said Greghar, displeased at Esgrin’s words. “It is her loyalty, honesty and above all her virtue that commend her.”
“Come, come,” said Bradar, trying to lighten the conversation. “Let us sit. Tell your maid to ring the bell, my dear. I am sure the stewards are waiting to bring in the refreshment I specially ordered.”
They all sat on the comfortable chairs. The bell was rung and a procession of stewards entered bearing large trays. They were set down and the covers were removed, revealing the pastry Bradar had promised and much more besides. Nitya rose as she had been trained and poured out the hot shlaba, a concoction of a northern yam and fermented mares’ milk that all Utreans loved. She served the men and then Esgrin before pouring a small thimble cup for herself. It had a very strong taste that revolted Nitya’s foreign palate. After a few polite sips, she rose again and helped Esgrin’s maid slice and serve the fine pastry.
It was a noble creation, the crust so light that flakes rose into the air as they cut it. Again Nitya served Bradar and Greghar, before waiting on Esgrin. She served herself a tiny portion last of all. Greghar watched her strict adherence to protocol and her graceful movements with pride.
Bradar steered the talk toward the weather, a safe topic that they conversed on animatedly till the urn of shlaba was empty.
“Cousin, with your permission I would like to show Nitya the view from the top of Observation Tower,” said Greghar as the stewards entered and began to clear away the dishes. “It will also give me a chance to show her the significant improvements you have made to the castle.”
“Why, that is an excellent idea,” said Bradar heartily, pleased with Greghar’s mention of his work. “Estrans Castle has a most dramatic setting, and there is no better place to see it all than Observation Tower. Be careful on the spiral stair.”
Nitya rose and carefully thanked and paid the full measure of respect to both Bradar and Esgrin. Then Greghar and Nitya left the Sea Parlor, maintaining a decorous distance between them. However, as soon as they were out in the corridor, she clung to his powerful arm, nestled in his side, and whispered, “I am so happy to see you, Greghar! It has been so long! You cannot imagine how I have missed you.” When he put an arm around her slim shoulders, she felt like the little girl he remembered, and he felt more at ease. Nitya sensed this, and they walked on to Observation Tower in blissful silence.
As Bradar had warned, the spiral stair had very high steps, and it was difficult for Nitya in her long gown. She lifted her skirts above her knees, but even so it was hard going in her high heels. About halfway up, her heel caught on an uneven step. She lost her balance and fell backward, but Greghar was right behind her and caught her. She put her arms around his neck and closed her eyes. For a brief moment she regressed to her childhood, when his powerful arms had been her sanctuary in a world that hated her. But for him, the close contact with her womanly body was discomfiting, and he quickly disengaged from her. He was relieved when they reached the top of the tower and emerged onto the viewing platform. There were two men-at-arms on watch, and they came to attention and saluted.
“You may take your ease for a short while,” Greghar said. “We will keep your watch and call you when we are done.” The men bowed and retired down the stairs.
Nitya sensed his discomfort and looked contrite.
“Have I said or done something to upset you, Greghar?” she asked diffidently.
“No, no,” he remonstrated.
“But you don’t seem at ease with me,” she persisted.
“You are still the same determined little imp,” he said. “It is just that you seem so different now. I could never have foreseen that the little girl I found dressed in rags in the Northern Marches would turn into such a fine lady.”
“I am not yet twenty,” she said mildly.
“Most women in Utrea are mothers at that age,” he said.
“Can we not be as we were before?” she asked. “We were so close when we journeyed together! Princess Caitlin and you are the only ones in the world I can trust completely.”
“Are they not kind to you in Nordberg?” asked Greghar, his face tightening. “Have you been ill-treated again?”
“No, no,” said Nitya quickly. “I spoke truly when I said that your aunt, Queen Lovelyn, has been like a mother to me. So good and kind, fulfilling my every whim.”
“I am sure you give her good cause to love you,” said Greghar. “Loyalty such as yours is hard to find in the court.”
“Yes, I try to serve her as best I can,” agreed Nitya without false modesty. She paused and looked out to sea. The breeze pasted her gown to her body, emphasizing her womanly curves. Greghar felt a manly twinge and was inwardly embarrassed that Nitya could elicit such a feeling.
“But even with the queen’s favor, I am foreigner at court with no family, connections, or money. Rumors of my being a witch continue to circulate. Your cousin’s wife, Guttrin, misses no opportunity to poison your uncle the king against me. King Lothar
tolerates my presence, but he does not love me. He makes it quite clear that he would be greatly relieved to be rid of me.”
“My uncle may not be the warmest of men, but he is fair,” said Greghar seriously. “He will not treat you unjustly.”
“It is your aunt’s love that I fear more than your uncle’s coldness,” said Nitya. “For the last year she has felt that I am now a lady complete, a fit wife for an aristocrat. She has encouraged several young noblemen, chevals, and even barons to court me.”
“Is this so repugnant to you? You are not Zon.”
“Becoming an Utrean noblewoman has its attractions,” she replied. “But not in this way. The queen does not see it, for as Baroness Esgrin said, she sometimes does not realize how grasping people can be.”
“Without fortune or family, a nobleman would only court you to gain the favor of the queen and perhaps the king,” Greghar said, completing her line of reasoning.
“Exactly,” said Nitya. “Some have been quite blunt. One powerful baron came with a proposal for me to become his son’s second wife. But when we walked together, he said that in exchange for becoming a lady and having jewels and servants, he expected me to share his bed as well as his son’s. And that no child of mine would ever inherit his ancient title.”
“The villain!” exploded Greghar. “Who is this wretch?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t tell you,” said Nitya unaffectedly. “I wouldn’t want you to do something foolish.” She sighed. “I don’t expect anything better from the courtiers, for I am quite aware that I am not a great lady. I am just a penniless orphan girl who has been pitied by a queen, and believe me, I am very grateful. But I would gladly return to the gutter and to the tortures I endured as a child, if I could give myself to someone who loves me.”
Some Aeolian deity wished to underscore her words, for an errant gust of wind lifted the shoulder of her gown, revealing the vivid Thermadan triangle branded into her shoulder by one of her childhood torturers. Greghar saw it and fought the temptation to hold her. He unobtrusively moved a step away under the pretext of looking more closely at some lateen-rigged fishing vessels that were rounding the point of rocks out at sea. A hurt expression crossed her face, but again she erased it in a moment.
“Your aunt is infinitely patient, but I sense she would be very happy if I were to accept one of the proposals,” said Nitya soberly. “I am often tempted to do so, just to please her.”
Greghar continued to look out to sea, so she went on.
“Vasitha often appears to me in my dreams. He is the only reason I resist your aunt. He keeps urging me to be patient, telling me that my future does not lie in Utrea. Recently, he has grown more forceful, warning me that Malitha has recruited powerful allies and that a big storm is brewing.”
Greghar turned and looked at her.
“Following his counsel has not led either one of us to happiness,” he said grimly. “You would be best advised to marry one of noblemen my aunt recommends. Surely you can find one who appreciates you.”
She felt tears sting her eyes at his words and his tone, but she held them back and smiled at him.
“Nothing is ever that simple,” she said.
BACK IN THE Sea Parlor, Esgrin had rung for more shlaba. She and Bradar sipped it in silence for a while. Eventually, Esgrin put her cup down and dismissed her maid to give them privacy.
“It frightens me to have that unholy pair in the castle,” she said flatly.
“Oh, come, you cannot be serious,” Bradar expostulated. “I have known Greghar since boyhood—a lot longer than I have known you, my darling. And Nitya, she is such a guileless young thing! How can you not like her?”
“I hide my dislike because I fear her,” said Esgrin. “And you should fear her too.” She shivered. “Her skin is the color of old parchment, equally foreign to Utrea, Briga, and Daksin! She is a Yengar witch of the netherworld, not of our world. When you men gaze into those cat’s eyes of hers, she bewitches you. She serves the Evil One, I am sure of it. Guttrin says that Animus the White Khalif has firm evidence of her guilt, and he cannot be wrong. And Greghar! Only a devil could have his looks.”
“Greghar has always been a good-looking fellow,” said Bradar, proud rather than jealous of his cousin. “Even when we were young boys, the girls always sought his hand at parties and dragged him behind the curtains for kisses.”
“You men see nothing!” exclaimed Esgrin angrily. “Look at the unnatural glow on his skin. Look at his hair, so light-colored and such perfect ringlets. His facial features, finer and more delicate than any woman in Utrea. His blue eyes—only ice bears and Zon have eyes like that! Is it not obvious that the rumors must be true? That his mother was a sorceress who seduced your royal uncle and then disappeared? It is no wonder that the witch is happy to be his whore. What a nightmare to have them together under our roof! And you have let them wander off together, without a chaperone!”
A FLASH OF lightning split the sky, revealing the full extent of the stormy surface of the waves. The Peril Sea was always treacherous and the gale had come up suddenly, just after dusk. Shobar stamped about his quarterdeck, oblivious to the pouring rain. His lame First Minister, Katog, limped after him obediently, getting equally soaked without complaint. The crew was nervous, knowing that there were dangerous shoals in the area and that not all were charted. Every now and then they caught a glimpse of the towers of Estrans Castle, dominating a rocky promontory. The helmsman constantly stole glances at his chieftain, hoping to be asked to change course away from shore.
Shobar had a fixed expression on his face and there was a brightness in his eyes that showed a fixity of purpose that bordered on psychosis. Finally, he turned to his helmsman and the man almost started from his post in his eagerness to hear what he hoped was an order to turn back out to sea. He was disappointed for Shobar merely said, “Steer straight for the castle. There is a sheltered cove beneath its southern aspect.”
The helmsman’s fear of their predicament temporarily overcame his fear of his leader. He began to babble in disjointed phrases.
“Sire, the ring of rocks that protects the cove…the sheer cliffs from the beach to the castle walls…the sentries on the battlements ...”
Shobar ignored his words and spoke to Katog in a loud aside.
“How soon can you get a new helmsman? I may have to behead the current one.”
The helmsman dared not let go of the wheel, but even so, he fell awkwardly to his knees.
“Sire, straight for the castle it is! I will carry out your orders to the letter! There is no need for another helmsman!”
Shabor ignored his pleas. After a few moments, the helmsman cautiously got to his feet and resumed his job, ostentatiously staring straight ahead. His fearful expectations were realized when the pounding surf on the ring of rocks protecting the sheltered cove came into sight. He gave himself up for lost, but recognizing that his chieftain’s sword was closer than the rocks, he held true to his course.
More than a score of small coasters trailed behind them, each carrying about a hundred men. They followed the red lantern that was firmly secured at the top of their highest mast. Each captain had firm orders to follow the course of the vessels in front of him as closely as possible, with Shobar’s craft leading the way. From time to time, Katog glanced back to make sure the fleet was close on their heels. The captains must be as nervous as our helmsman, he thought. But no one can be as nervous as I am.
The pounding surf on the hungry rocks was only a hundred meters away when suddenly a bright, glowing orb appeared just ahead of their bowsprit. Shobar seemed to be the only one not surprised.
“Follow that light,” he snapped to his helmsman. “It will guide us into the cove.”
The helmsman nodded and spun the wheel, changing course as the orb moved. His fear of shipwreck numbed his shock and he followed it without conscious thought. Before the unbelieving eyes of all on deck, the orb led them to a narrow gap in the rocks. It was barely wide enough f
or the coaster’s beam and the helmsman jockeyed his wheel to point the nose of the bows directly at the shining orb. The coaster captain shouted a continuous series of orders at the men up in the rigging to make sure they sailed as though the orb was fixed on their bows.
The channel between the rocks was not straight and no human crew or helmsman could have guided a ship through it, except with extraordinary luck. However, the orb led the way flawlessly. It guided them so close to some rocks that they scraped their timbers, and away from tempting channels within which lurked submerged rocks that would have ripped out their keel. Shobar’s captain, helmsman, and crew were selected for their skill, and they proved their worth. Concentrating mightily, they kept coaster’s bows perfectly aligned with the orb. After more than half an hour of tense work, they made a final tack and sailed into the incongruously calm cove.
The anchors rattled down and now Shobar smiled. He clapped his captain and helmsman on the back saying, “You must trust your King, men.”
They both fell to their knees.
“Your Majesty!” cried the helmsman. “Never again will I doubt your wisdom. You see so much farther and so much more than us simpletons!”
The crew worked efficiently and silently. They lowered boats with a minimum of noise and began ferrying the troops to the beach with muffled oars. In the meantime, other vessels of the flotilla began making their way into the cove, each guided by a similar bright orb. One of the vessels did not follow the orb closely enough and had her bottom ripped out by an underwater rock. She rapidly broke up in the rough surf. There was little chance for her crew and the troops she carried, thrown into the freezing maelstrom weighed down by clothing and armor.
“Fools!” was the only epitaph that Shobar gave them.
Even though the men worked as silently as possible and the gale was loud, Katog felt that it was impossible that the patrolling sentries on the battlements could have missed seeing them. There were now nearly two thousand men mustering on the narrow strand at the base of the cliff.
The Eclipse of the Zon - First Tremors (The New Eartha Chronicles Book 2) Page 7
