The Misbegotten King

by Anne Kelleher Bush

  “Oh, the poor little one,” crooned Norah. “Such a journey for such a little lamb. I’ll send you more hot water, lady. There’s fruit and bread and cheese—if you require anything at all, it will be my pleasure to provide it.”

  With a gentle squeeze upon her hand, Norah was gone. Roderic eased her through the door, motioning to her women to come and help remove the heavy cloak, the muddied traveling shoes.

  When at last she was lying on the wide bed, the baby nestled, nursing in her arms, the fire snapping on the broad hearth, he sat beside her on the bed and touched her cheek.

  She smiled. “I know.”

  “You are a witch, aren’t you?”

  “It doesn’t require witchcraft to understand that you have work to do. I know you’re itching to begin. Go on.”

  “Will you be all right?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  He touched the baby’s forehead with the tips of his fingers. “You two are the most precious things in the world to me, you know that, don’t you?”

  The child sighed in his sleep, and the nipple slipped from his mouth. She shifted her position and touched Roderic’s cheek. “Of course I know that. Now. You have a throne to secure—for you and for him. Go.”

  When he was gone, she lay a little while, musing, drowsing. She knew her ladies came in, took the baby from her arms, and covered her with a blanket, and as she was slipping into deeper sleep, a knock on the door roused her.

  “My lady?”

  She raised her head from the pillows and blinked. The concerned face of one of her ladies peered around the corner. “Yes?”

  “Forgive me, I would not disturb you, lady, but Lord Vere is here—he asks to speak with you on a matter of utmost urgency.”

  “With me?” Annandale raised herself to a half-sitting position.

  “Yes, lady, he says it is most important that he speak with you—you and you alone.”

  “Very well—I’ll see him. Come and help me dress.”

  When she had been restored to some semblance of order, her hair brushed, and her face washed, she entered the outer room to find Vere standing beside the fire, staring into the flames.

  “Vere?”

  He raised his eyes to hers, and a slow smile spread across his face, softening the harsh craggy contours of his face, making his mouth more vulnerable, his eyes kinder. He crossed the room in a few swift strides and was down on his knee before her, her hand pressed to his lips, before she could stop him.

  “I’m glad to see you, too, Vere.” She smiled.

  “Lady.” For a moment his shoulders sagged, and a wave of immense weariness washed over her.

  “What is it, Vere? What’s wrong?”

  He shook his head, overcome by emotion, and she gently disentangled her hand. “Come sit, have some wine. Tell me what is wrong.”

  He took a long, shuddering breath and slowly rose to his feet, his bony shoulders gaunt beneath his worn, gray garments. She noticed how pale his face was beneath the faded tattoos. “Everything is wrong, lady. Everything.”

  “Yes. It seems that way.”

  She drew him to the chairs beside the fire, poured out a goblet of wine, and handed it to him. As he drank, she waited.

  Finally he spoke. “I have just come from speaking to Alexander. He told me everything that happened—how you healed him of the hold Amanander had upon him— of the visions he has had while in Amanander’s grip. Lady, I cannot tell you how this troubles me.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I wondered if it were wise to bring him here, nearer to Amanander. But he insisted, and Roderic felt even Ahga was no longer safe.”

  “Roderic was right,” Vere replied. “For it seems to me that Amanander, or Ferad, or both of them together, have discovered a new way to use the Magic—a way which may have no consequences at all.”

  Shocked, she raised her eyes and looked at him. “What do you mean?”

  “On our way here, Deirdre—the M’Callaster—and I were attacked, set upon by Mutens. Magic was involved, and close to three hundred men died. Ferad, or Amanander, used the Magic to get out of Ahga. That’s a lot of Magic to be used with such impunity. That suggests to me that they have either discovered a way to control the effects of the Magic, or for some reason, they are no longer worried about them.” He paused, sipped his wine, and raised his eyes to her. “I’ve come to ask you to come with me.”

  “Go with you?” she echoed. “Where?”

  “To the College of Elders. To my masters.”

  She sat back, profoundly shocked. Part of her rebelled instantly—the thought of another journey made her bones ache and her muscles sore just by thinking of it. Part of her was instantly curious. The mysterious College of the Elders—where the Muten knowledge of the old Meriga was kept, where the secrets of ancient Meriga were reality not legends. Where she would need not be afraid of the priests, of the superstitious waggle of tongues, where her ability would be cherished, prized, where she might find the same sort of acceptance as Vere.

  “Why?”

  He set the goblet down beside the fire. “The Elders need you. There is only one way to fight this Magic, and that’s with Magic of our own. Ferad is back. His Brotherhood has infiltrated the College. Many of our highest professors were slain, the apprentices butchered. And this time he has found an ally—a Muten warrior named Jama-taw. Does that name mean anything to you?” Vere sighed. “He is one of the sons of old Ebramtaw, the one whom Roderic fought in the last rebellion. Old Ebram has never been the same, but this son of his has stepped into his father’s place with a vengeance. He has made himself the leader of a highly trained, skilled force. Jama is still young—no more than eighteen or twenty at the most, and while his zeal may be an admirable thing, I have no doubt Ferad has found him easy to convince to use the Magic in his pursuit of his goals.”

  “What of Amanander?”

  “I don’t know what Amanander knows, or how he fits in with Ferad. What I do know is that we need you. We need to be able to use the Magic and we need to use it in safety. We need to be able to study it without fear of destroying the very land we walk on.”

  “But—”

  “My lady, I would not ask this of you were the matter not of such importance. The fate of all Meriga—no, even the entire world—hangs in the balance. If Ferad and his minions are able to use the Magic as they please, imagine what will happen. Nothing will be able to stop them. Up to this point, the consequences of the Magic were so potentially devastating that no one, not even Ferad, would use it without dire need. But if there are no consequences, or if they can be controlled at will, what’s to stop him from taking over the world? Who will stand against him?

  “You know only the Elders possess enough of the knowledge of the Old Magic to fight Ferad, and only with your help can they use it without fear of the repercussions.”

  She glanced beyond his shoulder to the room where she knew the infant prince slept. “But, there’s Rhodri—”

  “Bring the baby with you if you must. It’s the only way, lady, surely you see that.”

  She stood up, shaking her head, twisting her fingers in the fabric of her gown. Outside the courtyard still rang with shouted orders to the grooms and the wagon drivers as they continued to unload the supply wagons. “What is it that the Pr’fessors would have me do?”

  “Only do willingly what Amanander would have forced you to do last summer. Lend your will to their endeavors—lady, without your help their hands are tied. Without, they dare not do anything. Your gift is rare and precious.”

  “I know that, Vere. But Roderic will never allow—”

  “Roderic must be convinced. He’s seen the Magic work… he knows its power. He’ll do what he must, even if—”

  “Even if it means risking my life and the life of his heir? Vere, surely you understand he will never agree to what you suggest.”

  “Do you agree, lady?”

  “Vere, it isn’t me—”

  “But, lady, indeed it is. If y
ou decide you want to do it, surely Roderic will be convinced.”

  For a long moment, Annandale stared helplessly at Vere. She knew he spoke the truth, but she doubted that Roderic would ever be brought to agree that she should leave the relative safety of Ithan Ford, take their son, and go traipsing with Vere into some unknown territory. “Where is this place?” she asked faintly.

  “About a two-week trek, lady. It we go we will go quietly… I know the hills and hollows. We will take the old Muten trails, and no one, least of all Ferad, will expect that you or the child will have gone to the College.”

  “Doesn’t Ferad know where the College is?”

  “No.” Vere shook his head and uncrossed his long legs. “The College was moved for safety’s sake. No one knows now where it is… except me and a few others.”

  For another long moment, she stared at him. She knew the truth of his words. If only, she thought, if only she had her mother’s gift and could see the future. But no, she realized, his future would hinge on her response. “I will agree to talk to Roderic. I will agree to lend my voice to yours. But Vere—I can hardly believe that he will agree with this. You know that as well as I.”

  He rose to his feet, unbending his long frame, his gray braids swinging down his back. “Roderic must be convinced, lady. And there is no stronger voice than yours in all the Congress. You know that as well as I.”

  She lifted her chin and stared out over the walls to the hills, where the green buds swelled under the lowering sky. Ithan resonated with tension like a coiled bow string. She could feel it thrumming through her bones, the accumulated residue of the emotions of more than twenty thousand men and women. Roderic had sworn to keep her safe—what would he think of Vere’s scheme? Madness, she knew, that’s what he will think. And yet— The awesome power of the Magic, which had leveled one of the towers of Ahga and released Amanander from his unnatural sleep, was a force to be reckoned with. Surely her own personal safety was to be discounted if her presence at the College meant that the Muten masters of the Old Magic would be able to work the Magic as they needed.

  She sighed heavily and turned back to Vere. “I promise nothing.”

  “Then there is no hope, lady. No hope at all. And if your son survives the attacks Ferad is sure to launch, there will be no realm left for him to inherit. I can promise you that.”

  With a brief bow, he crossed the room.

  As he reached the door, she cried, “Wait.”

  He turned with his hand on the knob.

  “I will go with you. I think it’s dangerous, and I think Roderic will be hard to convince. But I believe a way can be found, and I will go with you. Not for my sake, but for his.”

  With a grim smile and another nod, Vere was gone.

  Chapter Nine

  “I thought to call a Convening, Phineas, not a council of war,” Roderic murmured as the Senadors filed into the small room which served Miles as a council chamber.

  Phineas shrugged. “Those who do not come to speak at the Convening have no voice.”

  “No,” said Roderic, “but they will have plenty to say if we do something they don’t like.”

  Phineas cleared his throat, and Roderic turned to look at the Senadors ranged around the long table. He nodded to each in turn. Too many were missing. Of all the Senadors of the Congress, only Obayana of Kora-lado, Filem of Norda Coda, Gredahl of Arkan, Deirdre and Miles were present. Kye was there, of course, to represent Atland’s interests. Vere, Alexander, and Brand filed in behind the others and took seats at the far end.

  When everyone was seated, Roderic leaned upon the council table and indicated the large hide map of southern Meriga pinned upon it. “I will try to be as brief as possible. So far as we know, the situation is this. Gerik and Cort,” here he nodded at Kye, “the younger sons of the Senador of Atland, have been joined by Harland of Missiluse, as well as the lessor lords of Ginya. In addition, the Muten Tribes have launched another rebellion, which encompasses not just the southern Tribes, but those as far north as the Dirondacs. That means we can expect nothing from Nourk or Everard, for they will have their hands full putting down the Muten rebels in their own estates.

  “To complicate our own position, the Harleyriders are on the move across Loma and southern Arkan, and appear to be poised to take up a position just west of the border of Missiluse. As I am sure you all recall, Harland’s father entertained close ties with the Harleyriders. It is entirely likely that the Harleyriders will ally with the southern rebels.” He paused. The faces around the table grew grim as the implications of his words became clear.

  “There’s something else you’re forgetting, Lord Prince,” said Deirdre in a dangerously soft voice. As the lone woman in the room, her voice struck an incongruous note, and the rest of the men craned their necks to look at her. She met their stares evenly with no trace of discomfort.

  “M’Callaster?”

  “The treachery which destroyed Grenvill garrison. The fact that Reginald has yet to show his face.”

  “Are you saying that Reginald is the traitor?” Brand asked, his eyes narrowed.

  Roderic nodded slowly. “I suppose I would prefer to forget Reginald. Alexander, tell us what Amanander told you in Ahga.”

  Alexander leaned forward, his discomfort plain on his face. “In Ahga—at the Convening when Roderic was acclaimed Regent of Meriga—Amanander told me that he intended to recruit Reginald to assist in the rebellion which was fomenting among the southern lords—that he intended to use Reginald to break the peace in Atland any way he could.”

  “By the One,” swore Kye, biting back an oath beneath his breath. “You knew this that long ago and said nothing? Do you know how many of my men have died? Did you know this, Lord Prince?”

  Roderic shook his head. “Not at the time, no. And by the time we were able to get down here, it was too late. The damage was done.”

  “So you knew this, too?” Brand shot upright.

  “Alexander told me in the Settle Islands.” Roderic looked his eldest brother in the eye. “And then we were faced by the siege of Minnis.”

  “Gentlemen.” Phineas’s voice cut through the tense atmosphere like a blade. “This country is in a grave crisis. It matters not who knew what when. The damage has been done. The garrison at Atland was lost to us the minute you rode away two years ago, Roderic. Reginald was ripe for the picking, and Amanander saw the opportunity and took it. Now is not the time for recriminations. Now is the time to decide what you will do.”

  Roderic looked around the room. Kye still looked angry and Brand looked disgusted, but at least they had been silenced. His eyes met the almond-shaped eyes of Obayana.

  “How many troops can you field, Roderic?”

  This was the question Roderic had been dreading. He drew a deep breath before replying. “Our lines are stretched thin. If I bring the garrisons up to what they should be, I will have no reserves.”

  Filem of Norda Coda raised his face to Roderic. “I can send you troops. It will take a while for them to arrive— but if I send a messenger back to my captain in Arberdeen today, you will have them in six to eight weeks.”

  “My thanks to you, Lord Senador.”

  Filem shrugged. He was a relatively young man, still in his thirties, but his face was so weather-beaten and scarred it was hard to guess his exact age. Life on the border was harsh. “I but honor my pledge, Lord Prince. If the King had not sent aid to me and my father, the Sascatch would have overwhelmed us long ago.”

  Roderic nodded slowly. This was the Meriga Abelard had envisioned, a system where each man could benefit in time of need. He gave silent thanks to the One that his father had honored his pledge-bonds so faithfully.

  “Roderic, may I speak?” Vere stirred restlessly in his chair.

  Roderic nodded, still mentally calculating how best to use the troops Filem offered.

  Vere rose awkwardly. “We must not underestimate the Muten threat. Their sheer numbers—”

  “But Lord Vere,�
�� interrupted Gredahl, “surely they lack supplies and equipment—”

  “Not if they have joined forces with Missiluse, Reginald, and the southern rebels.”

  “Wait a minute,” Gredahl said. “What makes you think they’ve joined with the rebel lords? What man of us would join with those—” He broke off, as Vere fixed him with a steady stare.

  The old man flushed and Roderic knew Gredahl had remembered the stories and the rumors which were told about Vere’s missing years away from the court—how he had run away at fifteen, disappearing for nearly thirty years, and had spent those years among the Mutens. He had only returned when news of Abelard’s disappearance seemed to be connected to the interests of the Muten masters he still served.

  “There’s a piece you haven’t mentioned, Roderic,” said Vere softly. “Amanander.”

  “What about Amanander?” Kye looked at Roderic.

  “Two weeks before we left to come here, Kye, Amanander escaped from Ahga. He did so with the aid of a Muten. It is not outside the realm of possibility that Amanander is drawing all these threads together—the lesser lords such as Kye’s brothers and other malcontents, Missiluse, the Harleyriders, and the Mutens, into one force.”

  “That still doesn’t answer the question,” Filem said, as Gredahl nodded in agreement. “What man would join that pack of traitors, thieves, and dogs together?”

  “A man,” said Obayana softly in the sudden silence, “who will do anything if he believes it to be in his own best interests.”

  Like thunder from a distant storm, a low rumble went around the table. It was inconceivable that Amanander or Reginald or even the southern lords would join with the Mutens, and yet, Roderic knew that Obayana spoke the truth, especially when it came to Amanander. Nothing was beyond Amanander, if he believed it would further his own ends.

  “So what you’re suggesting,” Kye leaned forward, the scar on his forehead an ugly red, “is that we should expect all these enemies to attack as one?”

  “On different fronts, perhaps,” replied Phineas. “But we should not be surprised if there is a coordination to the pattern of their moves against us.”