She closed her eyes and could have groaned. What am I doing here? she thought. I might have been in Orm by now. She opened her eyes and glanced back at Roshka.
"But what has become of your sister?" she said. "You said she was the elder. Should it not be she, then, who is crown princess?"
The young man nodded. "I was coming to that. When my uncle seized the throne, he said if the Lady Eryka would marry him, he would forgo children of his own and make her children his only heirs. But my father's footman had shown her a great black feather he had found at the spot where my father died, and she refused.
"He set her in a tower then, that tower where he had met the bird, and said he would never let her out but she would wed him. He fed her hungerspice to make her forget her former love and long for her captor alone—and she ate, pretending to suspect nothing, until at last she had made herself thin enough to pass through the narrow window of the room.
"Her maid had brought her bits of silk to fashion a rope, but the stone sill wore through the cord before she reached the ground. She fell—not far, but because she had made herself so thin and frail, she did not live."
Roshka eyed the lamp burning between himself and Aeriel. His lips had grown thin, his green eyes dark and hard.
"My mother's maid says they searched the tower, but could not find the princess royal. I had already been taken away from my mother, but her maid claims my uncle was unable to get the little girl from my mother's arms without violence, and so left her, meaning to return and take her while Eryka slept.
"My mother's maid swears she saw a great white bird alight at her lady's window just before she fell and carry away the child. But I think she must have been mad with grief, and that my uncle murdered the crown princess."
Aeriel stirred upon the couch. Her shoulders were stiff from sitting so long. "What has any of this to do with me?" she asked. "And how, if your uncle would be lord in Pirs, has he let you live?"
Roshka smiled a little, thinly. "I am in no danger yet. My uncle has no wife."
"Wife?" said Aeriel.
"To bring him an heir," the crown prince said. "I am his only heir until then. All the women of this villa fled long ago. The daughters of the noble families hide underground—the peasant women, too.
"They live as the underfolk once did, before the underfolk went away. No one tends the land anymore. It will not bear. The Torch has grown dark. The lightbearers have no beacon to follow inland___"
"Lightbearers?" said Aeriel. She had lost his thread. The young man still knelt, now staring off. His voice had fallen to a murmur. He glanced at Aeriel.
"The pearlmakers," he said. "They bring the blue salt from the Sea. They once made Pirs so lush it was called the jewel of the West. Now everywhere save the suzerain's own private gardens and hunting wood has grown barren."
"Because the suzerain has no wife?"
"No woman will have him, a nameless man. My uncle sends his huntsmen out daily to search for them. In all the years he has been hunting, he has captured five women, but all have found ways either to escape him or die. He has another means to hunt them by night."
"Another means," murmured Aeriel.
"A winged seraph," Roshka replied. "A gift from the mistress of his dreams. They say its wings are darker than the dark----"
"But," Aeriel said, "he was hunting the Grey Neat, by night, when he found us." She glanced at Erin. The dark girl watched.
"Ah." Roshka nodded. "I should have said. He has been hunting the Grey Neat these last day-months, and no other, for the white lady's seraph has been hunting it, too."
"She wants it, the White Witch?" said Aeriel. "Why?"
"Who knows? He does not. But she values it, that much is sure. Perhaps if he can capture it before she does, he might use it to buy back his name."
Aeriel said nothing. She could not think, felt herself growing silent as Erin, as a shadow.
None of what the prince said made sense to her but this: the suzerain had been hunting her gargoyles all this daymonth, and she had known it, and somehow it had meant nothing to her. Hungerspice. She shivered hard.
"There is a prophecy," the young man was saying. "The last woman his huntsmen took, four daymonths gone, shouted it at him just before she killed herself with a bit of bone.
She cried it was written on the rocks, carved below ages past by the underfolk, that the Torch would blaze again, and Pirsalon return, and the rightful heir come once more in the land."
Aeriel started. "Pirsalon."
"The great stag," said Roshka, "warden of Pirs. The seraph bore him away when it came."
Aeriel felt heat coming back into her blood. "I am looking for Pirsalon," she said. "I must find him."
Roshka hardly seemed to be listening. "I will come of age in a year," he said. "And my uncle fears to be overturned. The high families want no more of him. They know there is some curse on him. Only by getting a wife, an heir, can he prove them wrong___"
"But what am I in all of this?" Aeriel demanded, again. Her head fairly ached from so much listening.
The green-eyed boy knelt, looking at her. "He means to wed you, Aeriel."
ELEVEN
11
A Nameless Man
Aeriel found herself coming out of her thoughts. How long she had been sitting, lost in contemplation, she did not know. The lamp Erin had set upon the floor was burning very low. She looked up then, and realized it was not the flame that had dimmed, but the room that had grown more light. Dawn lit the highest spires of the villa. By the window, Erin awoke and seeing the dawnlight, gave a cry.
Aeriel stood up. "We must flee this place, at once, while darkness holds. I dare not stay another hour."
Erin was also on her feet. "We cannot pass the gate. I tried to once. The guards refused to let me by."
Roshka shook himself, arose. "There is a door in the wall I picked the lock of years ago, that I might steal in and out again unseen. If we can make our way..."
His words were interrupted by a rapping at the door. Erin jumped. Roshka bit his whisper into silence. Aeriel turned.
"Who knocks?" she called.
"My lord's chamberlain," came the reply. "The suzerain requests you to come to him upon the terrace." ,
"Do not go," the dark girl hissed. "Say you are ill."
"He would only send his herbalists."
"Lady?" the chamberlain called.
"Tell your lord," Aeriel said, "that I will join him shortly. I am only just awake."
She listened carefully. Slippered feet beyond the door padded away. Erin plucked at Aeriel's sleeve.
"Quickly. While we have the chance."
Roshka was already on the balcony. "Come. We can flee west. The high families will take us in."
But Aeriel hung back. "If we go now," she said, "we are sure to be taken, for the suzerain will soon grow impatient and send to see why I have not come. You two go on and I will follow."
"No," said Erin, coming back from the window. "I will not be parted from you."
"I will eat nothing he gives me," said Aeriel, kissing her cheek. "You knew his game from the moment you saw him, and I should have listened to you at the start. Wait for me by the plum tree. I will come when I can."
Then she turned and caught up her walking stick, went from the room too quickly for Erin to even cry after her.
Aeriel went out upon the terrace overlooking the garden. He stood at the balustrade, gazing westward toward the dawn. As Aeriel approached, he turned, smiling.
"Forgive me if I woke you," he said. "But dawn over my garden is too beautiful for you to miss a second time."
Aeriel joined him.
"You look weary," he ventured.
"I... slept badly," she murmured.
Solstar arose, slowly, taking an hour to pass from where its rim first edged above the near, tall hills until the last of it broke free. The suzerain held up his hand, shielding his eyes from the light.
"Aeriel," he said, "all Pirs, all I hold could
be yours." His gaze took in the gardens, his estates beyond. "These things I would give you if..."
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Aeriel felt weary and distracted. She smiled a little, thinly, and spoke before she thought.
"If I were your brother's heir, they would be mine. They are not yours to give."
The suzerain's gaze snapped around to stare at her. "Roshka," he whispered. "You have spoken to Roshka."
Aeriel's head felt suddenly clearer. She had not meant to say what she had, but now it was done. With an effort, the suzerain regained his calm.
"My nephew is mad. He can never take the throne. He caught a fever shortly after my brother died—his mother and sister, too. It killed them. He alone lived, but he has been mad since, telling everyone I caused their deaths."
Aeriel did not answer him. The suzerain seemed more composed now, his smile no longer forced.
"He has deceived you well, I see. Do you doubt me still? Come, I will take you to meet someone. Then, I think, you will no longer doubt."
He held out his hand, as if expecting her to take it. Aeriel gripped her walking stick. The suzerain shrugged. He turned and started away. Aeriel watched him a moment or two, but he did not pause or look behind. She followed.
He led her along the wall that bor-dered his villa grounds. The parapet was only wide enough for one. The suzerain went quickly, not looking back. They reached a tower at the corner of the walls. The suzerain disappeared into the arched doorway. Aeriel hung back, then followed again.
They ascended a flight of curving steps to the small room at the top of the tower. He unlocked the door and held it wide for her, but Aeriel would not enter until he had first gone through. She stood with her back to the wall, just inside the door. The room was small, plain, scarcely furnished. It was empty save for the two of them.
"Where is this person you would have me meet?"
The suzerain stood at the narrow window, gazing out. "He is not here yet," he said. "But he will come."
Aeriel listened, but could hear no footsteps on the stair. The suzerain turned and went to a grey wooden chest with panels carved in the Istern style. He knelt, lifting the lid.
"I loved a woman once, who had green eyes."
Aeriel said, "Her name was Eryka of Isternes."
The suzerain started, looking up. "Ah, Roshka.
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I forgot." His teeth had clenched behind his lips. "He would have told you her name."
The lord of Pirs reached into the chest, brought out a garment of pale green. The cloth was the same fine stuff they wore in Isternes. He held it bunched at his breast as he spoke.
"She was of your height," the suzerain said. "Fine-boned, your build. Her skin was mauve, her hair pale yellow with a green sheen to it...."
"Like Roshka," said Aeriel.
"Like you."
Aeriel said nothing, taken by surprise.
The suzerain nodded. "You have been in the desert. But I can see your complexion was mauve once. Your hair had green in it before it grew so fair. And your eyes are green."
Upon his knees beside the chest, he shook the pale green garment out. Aeriel saw it was a robe such as the lady Syllva had worn.
"If I gave you this gown," said the lord of Pirs, "would you wear it for me?"
Aeriel shook her head. She would have drawn away if the wall had not been at her back.
"That is another woman's garb."
The suzerain let the gown fall, rummaged in the chest. He drew out a little wand of ivory.
Aeriel had once seen Irrylath's brothers in Isternes using such a thing to turn the pages of a book.
"If I gave you this wand, Aeriel," the suzerain said, "and taught you to read, would you give up that accursed staff you cling to so?"
Aeriel shook her head again. "It is my walking stick."
The suzerain let the little rod fall. He reached out.
"Aeriel," he whispered. "Take my hand."
Aeriel stared at him, said nothing, feared to move.
The suzerain rose. "I would marry you." He moved toward her and Aeriel edged closer to the door. "I love you," he cried.
"You have known me all of one daymonth."
"I admire you."
"You need an heir."
The quietness of her tone stopped him. His eyes grew narrower, his lips harder.
"Roshka," the suzerain muttered. "Is that what he told you, that I need an heir?"
"He will come of age in a year. He says the high families suspect you."
The suzerain shook his head. "You mistake me. Not even Roshka knows all. It is not an heir I need—I can deal with the high families. It is a wife. I must wed, Aeriel. I must wed."
Aeriel gazed at him steadily. "I will wed you," she answered him at last, "when you have told me your name."
The suzerain began to laugh. The sound was hard and desperate. He wiped his eyes.
"Even that?" he said. "Has my nephew guessed that, too? Well, I will tell you all, and perhaps in the end you will pity me."
Aeriel stood ready to run if she must. She wanted only to be gone from him.
"When Eryka of Esternesse first came to Pirs," he said, "my brother and I both courted her, but she chose him in the end. She bore him children, and I was sick with jealousy.
Then the black bird came and told me I might have my heart's desire for only a little payment, a small nothing. It served a white lady, it said, who wished me well.
"But I did not like the look of it. Twice—twice I sent it off. But always it returned, and in between, I dreamed of Eryka. Its mistress whispered in my dreams. At last I went to it and told it yes, take anything, only give me my heart's desire.
"Then it told me, 'Lie down,' and I did so. It said, 'Turn your face to one side,' and I did.
Then I felt its claw standing upon my throat and the other upon my cheek—cold, cold as night. It drove its beak into my temple. I felt a burning, and another sensation, as of something thin and thready spinning away from me. Then nothing for a while. When I awoke, the bird was sitting on the window again, watching me.
" 'What have you done?' I said. My temple bled into my hand and my ears rang faintly.
" 'I have taken my lady's payment,' the black bird croaked. 'A little thing. Only your name. You never use it yourself. No one will ever use it again—save my lady, to call you in your dreams. Now you shall have your heart's desire—but do not go riding with your brother on the morn.'
"Then it flew, and I went down. The blood had stopped, but I felt very ill. I did not ride with my brother that day, and that was the day his horse threw him. 'My heart's desire'l"
The suzerain laughed.
"She would not wed me, Eryka. I thought the witch meant Eryka: my heart's desire. But she meant Pirs. My love killed herself and I got Pirs instead. I did not want it, nor my brother dead. I only wanted Eryka___"
"Then why are you still suzerain in Pirs?" spat Aeriel. "The lorelei of the Mere is a marvelous reader of hearts. Perhaps she read yours better than you knew."
The suzerain stared at her. "I did not need to sell my name to some sorceress to be told if my brother died I should get his lands!" He turned away, pacing vehemently. In a moment his voice grew quieter again.
"For years after, I could not bear the sight of women. I sent them from me or they fled.
But then I began to see I must have a wife, to break the witch's hold on me—any woman would do. It did not matter who. But by then, there was not a woman in all Pirs to be found.
"Oh, there were women—somewhere. Underground. I sent my horsemen out hunting them, but the Stag thwarted my huntsmen at every turn. And the women killed themselves rather than be taken. They had all heard of me by then, a nameless man.
"So the lady sent me her seraph, her winged son, to help me. She told me she sympathized, would be delighted to fulfill the terms of our agreement. I must have a wife.
Oh, yes. Her seraph captured Pirsalon and carried him away. But
since then he has been no help. I am less his master than his slave. He makes me send him young boys to feed on.
"I want a wife!" the suzerain cried. "I must have a wife, for the curse holds only until my wedding day." His skin was drawn, his eyes upon her desperate. His tone grew soft, almost entreating. "The witch promised to free me on my wedding day."
Aeriel let out her breath. All she felt now was dismay. "And you believed her? The lorelei is a maker of empty promises."
She heard hunting horns sounding faintly in the woods beyond the wall. The eyes of the man across from her grew fierce.
"I will give her the Grey Neat, then," he replied. "Her seraph has been hunting it by night, and I by day since I learned of its coming. She wants it for some reason. I will give it to her instead of you—"
He stopped himself abruptly, as though he had bitten his tongue. Aeriel looked at him.
"Did you mean to sell me to the White Witch, then, when first I came here," she asked him, "in trade for your name?"
But her words were cut short by a flapping of wings. She and the suzerain turned. A black bird had alighted on the sill. It stood as tall as Aeriel's forearm, its wings dark as nothing in the white sunlight.
"So," the black bird said, bobbing. "So. This is she? The one my lady sent word of?"
"It is she," the suzerain said. His face had gone ashen beneath the coppery cast of his skin.
"Cht," the black bird clucked, eyeing Aeriel. "Cht. Alive. Why?" Its eye was so black she could find it only by its gleam among the sheenless feathers.
"Tell your lady—" the suzerain began.
"Our lady," the bird clucked, looking at him.
"Our lady," the suzerain snapped, "that I have the one she told me to look for, but she is mine now, to do with as I choose. She will stay with me under my protection. She will not leave this villa or trouble your mistress___"
"Our mistress."
"She will trouble her no more," the suzerain half shouted. He drew a deep breath, regaining himself. "But she is mine."
The black rhuk coughed, ruffled, hopped down from the window into the room. It was darker than its own shadow. The suzerain fell back.
"That is not what our lady required of you," the bird said, "if you should come upon the one she sought." It reached the robe of pale green silk, hopped onto it, picking at it, toyed with the rod of ivory.
A Gathering of Gargoyles Page 12
