by Andre Norton
"Portcullises," Harous said. He had been watching her, apparently judging her reactions. "If an invader comes through the gate, we can trap him between them and destroy him. They will not come down upon you by accident. And see here." He pointed out openings in either wall. Beyond was yet another wall with similar openings, and she gasped as she realized that a man with a bow could stand protected and fire through both walls at an invader, and that his line of sight would cover almost the entire passageway. "And above."
Now she noticed the holes in the ceiling, through which one might drop things upon someone's head, provided an enemy could even get this far. Again, she nudged her horse forward. At the end of the tunnel, another pair of double doors waited to be closed and barred in their turn. "Surely this great keep has never fallen, Count Harous," she said, trying to keep a nervous quaver out of her voice.
"Once, in the far past, through treachery—Ah, now see who has come to meet us.
The messenger I sent ahead did his duty. It is the fair Lady Marcala."
Ashen looked up and saw a woman, someone younger and even more beautiful than the person she had seen when she had so briefly been—where? In the place where
Zazar had been imprisoned in the flame. Marcala approached as Harous helped the girl to dismount. Tired from riding, Ashen moved a little stiffly, but Marcala was all grace and fluidity. She wore a wondrous violet-colored dress that rustled when she moved, and a waft of sweet fragrance preceded her as she came near. Ashen suddenly became aware of her own lupper-skin garments, now shabby and soiled from the journey, and of the fact that she must smell of horse sweat.
Not sweet at all.
"Welcome home, my lord," Marcala said, smiling. She turned to Ashen. "And who have we here?"
"The guest whose coming you have had foretold, my dear lady. A little
Bog-blossom that I hope you will turn into one of Rendel's finest flowers—never to rival you, of course." Harous took Marcala's hand and brushed his lips across her fingers. "I want you two to be friends."
"As you command, my lord." She turned her smile on Ashen, and suddenly the girl wished with all her heart that Zazar was here with her, to guide her, for she knew instinctively that Marcala would never be her friend. And she had never learned the ways of one Outlander woman with another.
Reluctantly recognizing that they were—for the moment— severely outmanned by the
Rendelians, Snolli turned his horse toward New Void Keep once more. At least
Obern was alive and relatively unharmed. Though how he had survived that kind of fall, from atop a cliff into the Bog, remained a mystery. For the moment, the lad would have to take what came and make the best of it. Later, when he had learned where Obern had been taken, Snolli could mount a proper rescue party and demand his son's return, by force of arms. A certain pride in Obern's abilities rose in Snolli as he realized that he could not have planted a better spy in the midst of the Rendelians if he had plotted for weeks. Between him and Harvas, when Harvas escaped as he was bound to do, they would bring back a good report of how things stood in Rendel. It was always wise to know your enemy.
He jerked his head up, roused from his thoughts. An enemy more immediate was presenting itself.
"Bog-men!" Kather said, putting his hand on Snolli's arm. He pointed. "Looks like this time they aren't staying on their side of the river."
And true enough, a party of Bog-dwellers was paddling determinedly toward the place where Snolli and his men had paused. Six to a boat, Snolli observed. And three boats—
Once more they were outnumbered, but the superior weaponry the Sea-Rovers carried, plus their chain-mail shirts, evened the odds. "Dismount," Snolli said.
"We might outride them and escape, but being as we could not retrieve Obern, I am itching for a fight."
The grim nods of those with him told him that his men felt the same. By the time the canoes of the Bog-men grated against the river's edge, the five Sea-Rover warriors had sent Kasai with their horses out of harm's way and put themselves into battle order. Grinning behind their shields, they hefted their weapons in anticipation. Dordan sighted carefully with his bow and dropped the first
Bog-man to set foot on land that was not Bog. The rest began yelling and brandishing their spears, only to be answered by bellowing war- cries from the
Sea-Rovers. Dordan slung his bow and took up an axe.
Then, even before they could charge, as was their wont, the Bog-men were upon them. Snolli quickly fell into his accustomed fighting rhythm, though he sorely missed Ob-ern's presence as his backshield. Kasai, no fighter, still had a weapon at his disposal. He began drumming, and the insistent, throbbing beat strengthened the Sea-Rovers even as it dismayed their opponents.
A shell-headed spear struck Snolli on the shoulder and jarred him, though it shattered before it could pierce the Chieftain's sturdy armor. He remembered this style of fighting from the reports Obern had brought back; Bog- men jabbed, and threw only at the last. Thus he could tell that the tide of battle had turned in the direction of the Sea- Rovers. "Don't let any of them escape if you can help it!" he yelled.
The Bog-man who had thrown the spear turned and ran, but Kather struck him down before he could reach the canoes, obviously his destination. Others of the
Bog-warriors were able to scramble into the boats, push themselves away from the river's edge, and achieve the relative safety of the water.
Kasai ceased his drumming. Snolli straightened up and wiped the battle sweat from his forehead. He glanced at his sword and then cleaned it on a rag he took from the body of his latest opponent. Fewer than half of their attackers had escaped; the remainder lay crumpled upon the makeshift battlefield, proof of the
Sea-Rovers' prowess. One of the Bog-men stood up in a canoe, shaking his fist and screeching defiance.
"Shall I teach him one last lesson?" Dordan asked. He had retrieved his bow and now stood at Snolli's side, an arrow nocked and ready. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his face from where a shell-edged weapon had nicked his forehead.
"He looks like their leader. Yes, take him if you can."
But by this time, the current had carried the boats swiftly away from where the
Sea-Rovers stood, and Dor-dan's arrow only lodged in the side of one of the flimsy crafts. The leader laughed, and the Bog-boats disappeared as the men drove them into one of the innumerable Bog- streams that branched out of the river itself.
Snolli spat. "Another time," he said. Then he turned to look at his men. "Is anybody badly hurt?"
"Just scratches," Kather said carelessly. "We hardly had time to get us a proper heat before they broke and ran."
Snolli grinned mirthlessly, admiring the fighting spirit of the men with him.
"They were stout enough. If they had proper equipment, we would have fared far worse. Let's go home," he said, "for we have plenty to keep us occupied there while we wait for Obem to return." He turned to Kasai. "Make note. When we are at New Void Keep, I want to send two of our ships out to see if there are any more refugees from the north. I have a feeling that before this is over, we are going to need all the men with us that we can muster."
Twenty-two
Queen Ysa's many informants began bringing information to her about rumors of incursions from the Bale-Bog. These incidents became increasingly serious as fighting broke out between Rendelians and Bog-men, not always to the credit of the Rendelians. At first these raids occurred close to the river's banks, and then they began edging ever farther into the countryside. More than once, good fanners, untrained in arms, had been the targets of those whose proper place until now had been the confines of the Bale-Bog.
Worse, the fire-mountains rumbled even more ominously. There was a feeling of anticipation in the air, as if an old evil far away to the north had awakened and was now on the move. The three troublesome windows in the Great Fane of the
Glowing began to change more rapidly. The shadow in the milky-white window stirred, as if something was rising from th
e snow, and what was revealed caused
Queen Ysa to order a curtain put over it.
She called a Council meeting at once. Five of the seven were close at hand. Only
Erft, pleading his years, had not come to the city to attend the King's dying, and Harous was, as usual, missing because of one of his mysterious outings. Both men, however, had sent deputies—Edgard for Erft, and Chevin for Harous. Ysa occupied the chair at one end of the table; as head of the Council, Royance sat at the other end, opposite her.
Royance called for a map, which was already marked with pins at the places where the raids had occurred. The pattern was immediately apparent; the Bog-men ventured perhaps a league and a half beyond the river's edge. But there was nothing to guarantee that, emboldened, they would not go farther, given time.
"We must begin sending out patrols," Ysa said. "This cannot be allowed to continue. And I expect all of you to respond. This is not a local matter. Ever since anybody can remember, the men of the Bale- Bog have always stayed in their place. However, once they are out, there is nothing to say they can't overrun us should that become their intent. Our good countrymen are all but helpless before them."
"Agreed, Your Majesty," Gattor said lazily. "I can supply ten mounted men from my retainers."
"And I, speaking for my master, Erft, can send twenty. Also, we can supply horses for those who have none. Rowanwald has always been the home of good horseflesh." Edgard looked around the table with more than a touch of pride.
"The brunt of the attacks have been against Oak-lands, which are protected by
Count Harous," Chevin said. "As his lieutenant, I am authorized to pledge as many of his men as are needed for this enterprise. Also, I am authorized to offer those from other holdings a place at Cragden Keep for both bed and table during the course of this action."
The other Council members nodded, and Jakar of Va-caster spoke for all. "This will ease the problems of barracking. In return, I pledge to send food and other provisions to maintain the dozen men I will provide."
"All must be under the command of Count Harous, or, in his absence, myself,"
Chevin said. "Otherwise, we will be in chaos."
The other members of the Council nodded in approval, and Ysa felt a certain tension ease. Good, she thought. That makes it easier to direct the patrols.
Perhaps this threat had united the ordinarily quarrelsome nobles enough that none would take it as an opportunity to snatch some advantage for himself.
"Let us remember that our goal is to chase away the Bog-men and not necessarily to kill them," said Liffen of Lerkland. He was from one of the affiliated
Families of the all-but-extinct House of Ash. Ysa had no reason to like or trust him, but his words were wise.
"I agree," Royance said. "Let us not fan a flame we may not be able to extinguish. But if the Bog-men decide that they are our open enemies, there will be time enough to act."
Ysa let her mind wander while the Council began plotting out the general outlines of what, despite the conciliatory words, was shaping to be a war between Rendel and the Bale-Bog. Harous's retainers would make up the majority of those who went out to chase away—and sometimes to fight—the Bog-men. This meant that Harous himself would frequently be in the field and, as usual, absent from the daily life at the court. He was never one to lead from the rear. With his influence lightened, and with her Queen of Spies at work, Ysa felt safe in putting the problem of Harous's guest into the back of her mind, to think about at another time. This guest posed no threat, at least not for the moment, whereas the raiders did.
Later, if it seemed advisable, Ysa could, as the saying went, "do something" about this miserable half-breed Bog-wench Harous had brought back with him as a souvenir from one of his many mysterious expeditions. Ysa smiled to herself. It was whispered that the Queen of Spies was not above a little light assassination from time to time, if she were paid well enough. And her location was ideal.
Too ideal? Ysa thought for a moment. Perhaps, if it came to that, it should be someone else, and she should leave Marcala out of it. She had plenty of other resources to draw on for this sort of work. Resources that, once used, were expendable…
Yes. Later, a knife in the night, or a poisoned cup, all while Marcala was conspicuously elsewhere. The Queen of Spies was far too valuable for Ysa to squander her in the elimination of a mere half-Ash, half-Bog bastard of a former rival. A dead rival, at that.
So thinking, the Queen dismissed the entire matter and brought the Council's attention to other problems the Bog-men were creating, problems overlooked in then-pleasant discussions of war. Where the Bog-men raided, they also burned, and if this were not brought into check soon, Rendel might face a shortage of food.
"Thank you for mentioning this, Your Majesty," Roy-ance said. He bowed his silvery head in acknowledgment. "We must consider the wisdom of taking this disagreement back to the Bale-Bog itself. If they are confined there as before, they will not be destroying our lands."
"And in the Bog, there is nothing worth saving anyway," Gattor said. The others laughed.
Ashen's world became one of wondrous new clothing, frothy white linen, baths in tubs full of water scented with rose oil—and soap!—and a variety of foodstuffs that she had never even heard of, let alone tasted. All thoughts of Obern, of the Bog, and even of Zazar, retreated from the front of her mind as she began to comprehend how much she needed to learn for her new life. When she was not at her lessons, she went for walks along the walls of Crag-den Keep, and sometimes for rides out into the countryside. Most of the time, her companion on these rides was Lady Marcala, but occasionally, when he was in residence at Cragden
Keep, it would be Harous. She found herself looking forward to these outings with more than ordinary anticipation.
At first, she thought they might even go into the wondrous, gleaming- white city that, as Harous had told her, occupied an outthrust of rock deep in the valley.
Not yet, both Marcala and Harous told her. That time would be determined by how swiftly she learned to behave as befitted her station in life.
Each morning brought a new gift, sent from Harous. One of the first was a dress made of a blue stuff that, like so many of Marcala's dresses, rustled most enchantingly when she moved. At first, Ashen was appalled at seeing how the dress was cut into such a deep vee that it reached the point where the skirt was attached to the bodice. Marcala's garments displayed no such immodesty, having a froth of white to fill in the neckline. But then Marcala showed Ashen the secret of how dresses were worn over yet another garment, cut much more modestly.
These underdresses—in summer made of crisp, lace-bedecked linen, in winter of pure, delicate wool—proclaimed their owner's social station as clearly as did the ornate overdresses. The longer the garment and the more opulent the fabric, the higher the status of the wearer. Marcala's dress swept the floor, as did
Ashen's.
Along with more dresses came shoes to match them, and a gift of pins for the hair that arrived in a jewelry coffer. Ashen immediately placed the iridescent bracelet she had found in the coffer, where it was joined by other trinkets she received. There also she put the power-stone and hearth-guide for safekeeping.
Harous sent toilette articles, including the first real mirror Ashen had ever seen, and a pot of rouge, which Marcala showed her how to apply. She received embroidery materials that she was immediately set to learning how to user and a bottle of perfume that Marcala told her was made from certain blue flowers. Each morning brought a new token, until Ashen was moved to protest.
"Marcala, this is too much!" she exclaimed as she held up a pair of golden earrings set with tiny blue stones that gleamed in the morning light. "I feel embarrassed by it all."
"Oh, that is Harous's way," Marcala said. She tossed her head and Ashen noticed the earrings Marcala was wearing—somewhat larger and more ornate than hers, and the stones were purple. "He is very generous to all his favored guests."
"Th
at you are favored is obvious," Ashen said with conscious tact. "But why am
I?"
"There are reasons that will come clear to you in time."
Ashen bit back the question on her lips—how long would it take before all was made clear?—in favor of a show of meekness. This had proven to be the best course to take with the other woman. "As you say, Marcala. I am very grateful for all you have shown me already. I must be a great trial to you, as untutored as I am."
"It is nothing," Marcala said with a shrug. "Now, I have had a place set up in your chamber with a little dish of fruit. Let us practice table manners, and later we will go down into the Hall for the real meal. Be sure to put the napkin in your lap as I have taught you, so that you will keep your dress clean."
There was so much to learn. Washing one's fingers and drying them on the napkin but never with the tablecloth. Bread trenchers in the plates, to catch the juices from the meat. And one must cut the bread with one's knife—another morning gift from Harous, an eating dagger set with blue stones in the hilt—and not with the fingers. In the mornings, you ate your porridge with a spoon, and did not leave the spoon in the bowl. Nor did you lean your elbows on the table, nor did you ever dip the meat in the saltcellar. All bites were conveyed to the mouth with the eating dagger, not with fingers, and even cheese—a real delicacy!— was cut into small bits first, and then eaten.
