"Curious?" The harpist smiled. "You have an inordinate curiosity for a Prince of Hed."
"I know. That's why my father finally sent me to Caithnard—I kept asking questions. He didn't know how to account for it. But, being a wise, gentle man, he let me go." He stopped again, rather abruptly, his mouth twitching slightly. The harpist said, his eyes on the approaching land, "I never knew my own father. I was born without a name in the back streets of Lungold at a time when wizards, kings, even the High One himself passed through the city. Since I have no land-instinct and no gifts for wizardry, I gave up long ago trying to guess who my father was."
Morgon's head lifted again. He said speculatively,
"Danan Isig was ancient as a tree even then, and Har of Osterland. No one knows when the wizards were born, but if you're a wizard's son, there's no one to claim you now."
"It's not important. The wizards are gone; I owe nothing to any living ruler but the High One. In his service I have a name, a place, a freedom of movement and judgment. I am responsible only to him; he values me for my harping and my discretion, both of which are improved by age." He bent to pick up his harp, slid it over his shoulder. "We'll dock in a few moments."
Morgon joined him at the rail. The trade-city Caithnard, with its port, inns and shops, sprawled in a crescent of land between two lands. Ships, their sails 'bellying the orange and gold colors of Herun traders, were flocking from the north to its docks like birds. On it thrust of cliff forming one horn of the moon-shaped bay stood a dark block of a building whose stone walls formed small chambers Morgon knew well. An image of fee spare, mocking face of Raederle's brother rose in his mind; his hands tightened on the rail.
"Rood. I'll have to tell him. I wonder if he's at the College, I haven't seen him for a year."
"I talked with him two nights ago when I stayed at the college before crossing to Hed, He had just taken the Gold Robe of Intermediate Mastery."
"Perhaps he's gone home for a while, then." The Ship took the last roll and wash of wave as it entered harbor, then slackened speed, the sailors shouting one another as they took in sail. Morgon's voice anned. "I wonder what he'll say ..."
The sea birds above the still water wove like shuttles in the wind. The docks sliding past them were littered with goods being loaded, unloaded: bolts of cloth, chests, timber, wine, fur, animals. The sailors hailed friends on the dock; traders called to one another.
"Lyle Orn's ship will leave for Anuin with the tide this evening," a trader told Deth and Morgon before they disembarked. "You'll know it by its red and yellow sails. Do you want your horse, Lord?"
"I'll walk," Deth said. He added to Morgon, as the gangplank slid down before them. "There is an unanswered riddle on the lists of the Masters at the college: Who won the riddle-game with Peven of Aum?"
Morgon slung his pack to his shoulder. He nodded. "I'll tell them. Are you going up to the college?"
"In a while."
"At evening-tide, then, Lords," the trader reminded them as they descended. They separated on the cobbled street facing the dock, and Morgon, turning left, retraced a path he had known for years. The narrow streets of the city were crowded in the high noon with traders, sailors ashore from different lands, wandering musicians, trappers, students in the bright, voluminous robes of their ranks, richly dressed men and women from An, Ymris, Hemn. Morgon, his pack over one shoulder, moved through them without seeing them, oblivious to noise and jostling. The back streets quieted; the road he took wound out of the city, left tavern and trade-shop behind, rose upward above the brilliant sea.
Occasional students passed him, going toward the city, their voices, wrestling with riddles, cheerful, assured. The road angled sharply, then at the end the ground levelled, and the ancient college, built of rough dark stones, massive as a piece of broken cliff itself, stood placidly among the tall, wind-twisted trees.
He knocked at the familiar double doors of thick oak. The porter, a freckled young man in the White Robe of Beginning Mastery opened them, cast a glance over Morgon and his pack, and said portentiously, "Ask and it shall be answered here. If you have some seeking knowledge, you shall be received. The Masters are examining a candidate for the Red of Apprenticeship, and they must not be disturbed except by death or doom. Abandon your name to me."
"Morgon, Prince of Hed."
"Oh.", The porter dabbed at the top of his head and smiled. "Come in. I'll get Master Tel."
"No, don't interrupt them." He stepped in. "Is Rood of An here?"
"Yes; he's on the third floor, across from the library."
"I'll take you."
"I know the way."
The darkness of the low arched corridors was broken at each end only by wide leaded windows set in walls of stone a foot thick. Rows of closed doors ran down each side of the hall. Morgon found Rood's name on one, on a wood slat, a crow delicately etched beneath it. He knocked, received an unintelligible answer, and opened the door.
Rood's bed, taking up a quarter of the small stone room, was piled with clothes, books, and the prince of An. He sat cross-legged in a cloud of newly acquired gold robe, reading a letter, a cup of fragile dyed glass in one hand half-full of wine. He looked up, and at the abrupt, arrogant lift of his head, Morgon felt suddenly, stepping across the threshold, as though he had stepped backward into a memory.
"Morgon." Rood heaved himself up, walked off the bed, trailing a wake of books behind him. He hugged Morgon, the cup in one hand, the letter in the other. Join me. I'm celebrating. You are a stranger without your robe. But I forget: you're a farmer now. Is that Why you're in Caithnard? Did you come over with your grain or wine or something?" . "Beer. We can't make good wine."
"How sad." He gazed at Morgon like a curious Crow, his eyes red-rimmed, blurred. "I heard about your parents. The traders were full of it. It made me angry."
"Why?"
"Because it trapped you in Hed, made a farmer out of you, full of thoughts of eggs and pigs, beer and weather. You'll never come back here, and I miss you."
Morgon shifted his pack to the floor. The crown lay hidden in it like a guilty deed. He said softly, "I came ... I have something to tell you, and I don't know how to tell you."
Rood loosed Morgon abruptly, turned away. "I don't want to hear it." He poured a second cup for Morgon and refilled his own. "I took the Gold two days ago."
"I know. Congratulations. How long have you been celebrating?"
"I don't remember." He held out the cup to Morgon, wine splashing down over his fingers, "I'm one of Mathom's children, descended from Kale and Oen by way of the witch Madir. Only one man has ever taken the Gold in less time than I have. And he went home to farm."
"Rood—"
"Have you forgotten everything you learned by now? You used to open riddles like nuts. You should have become a Master. You have a brother, you could have let him take the land-rule."
"Rood," Morgon said patiently. "You know that's' impossible. And you know I didn't come here to take the Black. I never wanted it. What would I have done with it? Prune trees in it?" Rood's voice snapped back at him with a violence that startled him.
"Answer riddles! You had the gift for it; you had the eyes! You said once you wanted to win that game. Why didn't you keep your word? You went home to make beer instead, and some man without a name or a face won the two great treasures of An." He crumpled the letter, held it locked in his fist like a heart. "Who knows what she's waiting for? A man like Raith of Hel with a face beaten out of gold and a heart like a rotten tooth? Or Thistin of Aum, who's soft as a baby and too old to climb into bed without help? If she is forced to marry a man nice that, I'll never forgive you or my father. Him because he made such a vow in the first place, and you because you made a promise in this room you did not keep. Ever since you left this place, I made a vow to myself to win that game with Peven, to free Raederle from that fate my father set for her. But I had no chance. I never had even a chance."
Morgon sat down on a chair beside Rood's desk,
"Stop shouting. Please. Listen—"
"Listen to what? You could not even be faithful to the one rule you held true above all others." He dropped the letter, reached out abruptly, drew the hair back from Morgon's brow. "Answer the unanswered riddle."
Morgon pulled away from him. "Rood! Will you stop babbling and listen to me? It's hard enough for me to tell you this without you squawking like a drunk crow. Do you think Raederle will mind living on a farm? I have to know."
"Don't profane crows; some of my ancestors were crows. Of course Raederle can't live on a farm. She is the second most beautiful woman in the three portions of An; she can't live among pigs and—" He stopped abruptly, still in the middle of the room, his shadow motionless across the stones. Under the weight of his lightless gaze a word jumped in the back of Morgon's throat Rood whispered, "Why?"
Morgon bent to his pack, his fingers shaking faintly on the ties. As he drew out the crown, the great center stone, colorless itself, groping wildly at all the colors in the room, snared the gold of Rood's robe and blazed like a sun. Transfixed in its liquid glare, Rood caught his breath sharply and shouted.
Morgon dropped the crown. He put his face against his knees, his hands over his ears. The wine glass on the desk snapped; the flagon on a tiny table shattered, spilling wine onto the stones. The iron lock on a massive book sprang open; the chamber door slammed shut with a boom.
Cries of outrage down the long corridors followed like an echo. Morgon, the blood pounding in his head, straightened. He whispered, his fingers sliding over his eyes, "It wasn't necessary to shout. You take the crown to Mathom. I'm going home." He stood up, and Rood, caught his wrist in a grip that drove to the bone.
"You."
He stopped. Rood's hold eased; he reached behind Morgon and turned the key in the door against the indignant pounding on it. His face looked strange, as though the shout had cleared his mind of all but an essential wonder.
He said, his voice catching a little, "Sit down. I can't. Morgon, why didn't... why didn't you tell me you were going to challenge Peven?"
"I did. I told you two years ago when we had sat up all night asking each other riddles, studying for the Blue of Partial Beginning."
"But what did you do—leave Hed without telling anyone, leave Caithnard without telling me, move unobtrusively as a doom through my father's land to face death in that dark tower that stinks in an east wind? You didn't even tell me that you had won. You could have done that. Any lord of An would have brought it to Anuin with a flourish of shouts and trumpets."
"I didn't mean to worry Raederle. I simply didn't know about your father's vow. You never told me."
"Well, what did you expect me to do? I have seen great lords leave Anuin to go to that tower for her sake and never return. Do you think I wanted to give you that kind of incentive? Why did you do it, if not for her, or for the honor of walking into the court at Anuin with that crown? It couldn't have been pride in your knowledge—you didn't even tell the Masters."
Morgon picked up the crown, turned it in his hands. The center stone faced him, striped with the dust and green of his tunic. "Because I had to do it. For no other reason than that. And I didn't tell anyone simply because it was such a private thing... and because I didn't know, coming alive out of that tower at dawn, if I were a great riddle-master or a very great fool" He looked at Rood. "What will Raederle say?"
The corner of Rood's mouth crooked up suddenly. I have no idea. Morgon, you caused an uproar in An the like of which has not been experienced since Madir stole the pigherds of Hel and set them loose in the cornfields of Aum. Raederle wrote to me that Raith of Hel promised to abduct her and marry her secretly at her word; that Duac, who has always been as close to our father as his shadow, is furious about the vow and has scarcely spoken three words to him all summer; that the lords of the three portions are angry with him, insisting he break his vow. But it is easier to change the wind with your breath than our father's incomprehensible mind. Raederle said she has been having terrible dreams about some huge, faceless, nameless stranger riding to Anuin with the crown of Aum on his head, claiming her and taking her away to some rich, loveless land inside some mountain or beneath the sea. My father has sent men all over An searching for the man who took that crown; he sent messengers here to the college; he has asked the traders to ask wherever in the High One's realm they go. He didn't think of asking in Hed. I didn't either. I should have. I should have known it would not be some powerful, nightmarish figure—it would be something even more unexpected, We have been expecting anyone but you."
Morgon traced a pearl, milky as a child's tooth, with one finger. "I'll love her," he said. "Will that matter?"
"What do you think?"
Morgon reached for his pack restlessly. "I don't iknow, and neither do you. I am terrified of the look that will be on her face when she sees the crown of Aum carried into Anuin by me. She'll have to live at Akren. She'll have to ... she'll have to get used to my pigherder, Snog Nutt. He comes for breakfast every morning. Rood, she won't like it. She was born to the wealth of An, and she'll be horrified. So will your father."
"I doubt it," Rood said calmly. "The lords of An may be, but it would take the doom of the world to horrify my father. For all I know, he saw you seventeen years ago when he made that vow. He has a mind like a morass, no one, not even Duac, knows how deep it is. I don't know what Raederle will think. I only know that I would not miss seeing this if my death were waiting for me at Anuin. I'm going home for a while; my father is sending a ship for me. Come with me."
"I'm expected on a trade-ship sailing this evening; I'll have to tell them. Deth is with me."
Rood quirked a brow. "He found you. That man could find a pinhole in a mist." There was a pound at his door; he raised his voice irritably. "Go away! Whatever I broke, I'm sorry!"
"Rood!" It was the frail voice of the Master Tel, raised in unaccustomed severity. "You have broken the locks to Nun's books of wizardry!"
Rood rose with a sigh and flung open the door. A crowd of angry students behind the old Master raised voices like a cacophony of crows at the sight of him. Rood's voice battered against them helplessly.
"I know the Great Shout is forbidden, but it's a thing of impulse rather than premeditation, and I was overwhelmed by impulse. Please shut up!"
They shut up abruptly. Morgon, coming to stand beside Rood with the crown of Aum in his hands, its center stone black as the robe of Mastery Tel wore, met the gaze of the Master without speaking.
Master Tel, the annoyance in his sparse, parchment-colored face melting into astonishment, gathered his voice again, set a riddle to the strain of silence, "Who won the riddle-game with Peven of Aum?" "I did," said Morgon.
He told them the tale sitting in the Masters' library, with its vast ancient collection of books running the length and breadth of the walls. The eight Masters listened quietly, Rood in his gold robe making a brilliant splash among their black robes. No one spoke until he finished, and then Master Tel shifted in his chair and murmured wonderingly, "Kern of Hed."
"How did you know?" Rood said. "How did you know to ask that one riddle?"
"I didn't," Morgon said. "I just asked it once when I was so tired I couldn't think of anything else to ask. I thought everyone knew that riddle. But when Peven shouted "There are no riddles of Hed!" I knew I had won the game. It wasn't a Great Shout, but I will hear it in my mind until I die."
"Kern." Rood's mouth twisted into a thin smile. "Since spring the lords of An have been asking two questions only: who is Raederle to marry, and what was the one riddle Peven couldn't answer? Hagis King of An, my father's grandfather, died in Peven's tower for lack of that riddle. The lords of An should have paid more attention to that small island. They will now."
"Indeed," Master Ohm, a lean, quiet man whose even voice never changed, said thoughtfully. "Perhaps in the history of the realm too little attention has been paid to Hed. There is still a riddle without an answer. If Peven of Aum had asked you th
at, with all your great knowledge you might not be here today."
Morgon met his eyes. They were mist-colored, calm as his voice. He said, "Without an answer and a stricture, it would have been disqualified."
"And if Peven had held the answer?"
"How could he? Master Ohm, you helped us search a whole winter the first year I came here for an answer to that riddle. Peven took his knowledge from books of wizardry that had belonged to Madir, and before that to the Lungold wizards. And in all their writings, which you have here, no mention is made of three stars. I don't know where to look for an answer. And I don't ... it's far from my mind these days."
Rood stirred. "And this is the man who put his life in the balance with his knowledge. Beware the unanswered riddle."
Riddle Master of Hed Page 3
