by Sean Russell
“She appeared to be perfectly well. Healthier than eitheryou or I.”
Carral tried to smile in response, took a step, thenstopped. “Thank you for taking the time to speak with me, Lord Dease. I knowhow busy you are at this time.”
“I wish I could do more. I wish I could summon your daughterup with a spell, but alas, I am no sorcerer.”
“You have that to be thankful for, Lord Dease. That and muchelse.” Lord Carral set off, his steps small, like a frail old man, suddenly.Dease watched him the length of the hall. As Lord Carral walked farther fromthe window he faded into shadow, Dease’s eyes being adjusted to the brightlight falling through the stained glass. In a moment he faded entirely, like aman walking into fog. Only the slow tap of his cane upon the marble floor couldbe heard, like the ticking of a distant clock.
Nineteen
Carl helped Jamm into the boat, lowering him onto the sternthwart. The thief lost his balance and his boots thudded heavily on thefloorboards.
“Shh,” one of the boatmen cautioned.
It was dark, the smallest sliver of a waning moon sailingamong an archipelago of cloud. The two boatmen were nervous, fidgeting,constantly searching the darkness with their eyes. The man-almost a boy-who hadbrought them there, Carl on foot and Jamm on a pony, whispered good luck, andset off, wanting to get as far from the fugitives as he could.
“Climb in now, your grace,” one of the watermen said.
Carl took his place in the bow, and the two strangers,little more than shadows in the darkness, slid the boat down the mud bank andinto the River Wynnd. They both clambered nimbly aboard, and the boat bobbed onthe river, finding its equilibrium. Carl did not much like boats. They alwaysseemed tippy and unstable to him, the surface upon which they rode moving andtreacherous.
“Don’t be worried, your grace,” the nearest waterman said.He must have sensed Carl’s anxiety. “My brother and I have spent our lives onthe water,” the man whispered. “You’ll not get a toe wet on this little voyage.”
And with that the two men shipped their oars and dug theblades into the dark river.
They pushed off toward midstream, the low, treed banksragged shadows in the distance. Over them the stars and shred of moon glitteredin a great arc. The men rowed silently, having silenced their oars with rags.Only the dipping of the blades could be heard, the drops of water dripping asthe oar was lifted clear of the surface.
Carl looked over at the western shore. A fire burned there-Renneguards, perhaps. They would watch the river by night in case the Prince ofInnes tried to cross the river in force. Carl wondered what had happened tohis father. He should never have stayed. Carl knew in his heart that it was amistake, but his father would not be talked out of it. Stubbornness was afamily trait.
Even though the current would be less near the bank, the watermenwere afraid to stay close lest they be discovered by Renne patrols watching theIsle’s shore. Jamm was all but invisible in the stern, likely curled up in aball, still not well after his ordeal. If not for the four days spent in thehouse of the healer, Carl was sure he would have died. But they had moved himtoo soon. Jamm was no longer recovering. Oh, he wasn’t getting worse, butneither was he getting well. This could not go on. Carl had to get the littleman somewhere where he could rest.
“I judge we’ve come far enough,” the waterman said to hisbrother, and they began turning in toward the eastern shore.
Carl did not like what he was about to do. He slipped hisdagger from its sheath and leaning forward encircled the forward rower’s headwith one arm, putting the edge of his dagger against the soft part of his neck.
“Row to the western shore, now,” he said evenly and clearly,“or I’ll cut your brother’s throat.”
“What …?” the other waterman swore, turning in his seat.
“He has a knife to my throat, Brother …” Carl’s captivebreathed. “Please do as he says.”
The oarsman turned them in a circle and sent them toward thewest.
“So, how is it you’re a traitor, Lord Carl, when the Duke ofVast has ordered his men to kill you on sight?”
“It is a long, complicated story, my friend,” Carl said. “Ifyou knew what scum Innes and Menwyn Wills, were you wouldn’t be so keen tosupport their war. Row on and make no noise. I don’t want to do harm to yourbrother.”
“But there is one other question I have for you,” the manasked softly. “Can ye swim?”
And with that the two brothers threw themselves to one side.The boat rolled, slewed, and suddenly went over, throwing them all into theriver. Without thinking, Carl had let his man go, not wanting to cut the man’sthroat, despite all his threats.
“Jamm!” he called, as he surfaced.
“There he is, Brother,” the older of the waterman said. “Sinkhim.”
“He might have his dagger, yet,” the other answered. “Slideme an oar.”
Carl went under, surfacing on the boat’s other side. “Jamm,”he whispered again, but there was no answer.
He took hold of the submerged gunwale, the slick planks ofthe boat glistening dully in the faint light.
“Where’s he gone?” one of the watermen asked.
“Under, I’d guess. Thought he probably couldn’t swim. He wastoo nervous when he climbed aboard.”
Carl felt a little turbulence near his leg. He recoiled, butthen reached under the boat. Someone was under there, clinging to a thwart.Carl ducked under and came up in utter darkness, but there was air to breathe.
“Jamm?” he whispered so softly he barely heard it himself.
“Here,” came the equally soft reply.
“Hold your breath,” Carl said, “we have to go under.”
In the darkness he found his guide clinging to the thwart, breathingtoo quickly. He waited until he heard a quick gasp, then took the little mandown. They surfaced a few feet away, and Carl swept an arm under Jamm’s andacross his chest. Something hard knocked against his shoulder, andTam realizedhe had an oar. With some difficulty, for he was working one-handed, he slid theoar under Jamm’s other arm. It was not much, but it would provide somebuoyancy.
Slowly Carl took them toward the western shore. They heardthe soft whispers of the watermen for a while, heard them struggling to righttheir craft and bail the water out.
“Will we make it?” Jamm whispered.
“Yes. Trust me. Kick your feet a little if you can-up anddown. That’s it. Lie back. I will keep your head above water.”
Toren Renne was a contradiction to the eye, Carl thought,for he was both grim and fair. His youthful good looks, upright posture, andwheat-colored hair were at odds with the hard set of his mouth, the suspicionin his clear blue eyes.
“But he is a thief. Why would I take his word over the wordof the Duke of Vast, our ally for all of my life?” Toren watched Carl closely,weighing his response.
“Because Jamm is telling the truth, and Vast is lying. I cantell you no more than that.”
“But Vast came to our aid on the Isle of Battle when heclearly could have thrown in his lot with the Prince of Innes. It seems astrange thing for a man to do if he was secretly allied with Innes.”
“It does, though I meant to do the same-fight against theRenne so that the Prince would think me loyal, and I could still spy for you.As your cousin Kel will tell you, I saved his life at great risk to my own.That is what brought me here. Someone saw me save Kel and reported it to thePrince. The rest I have told you.”
Toren looked over at his mother, Lady Beatrice. Carl couldnot help but hope this noblewoman would intervene on his behalf.
Lady Beatrice favored her son with a tight, sad smile, a dipof her graying curls.
The room was summer-warm, afternoon, a small breeze rustlingthe curtains and pressing against the cut flowers in a vase on a low table. Twoguards stood behind Carl, ready to restrain him if necessary, but his handsand feet were not bound, which he took to be a good sign. Bits of black debriskept tinkling in the fire grate and, from up the chimney, men co
uld be heardworking.
“I have nothing to gain in coming to you,” Carl said. “IfVast caught me, as you say he claimed, with stolen letters, I would certainlyhave returned to the Prince of Innes. But I will assure you, it is death for meto cross the river. The Prince will see me dead the moment I’m found. And ifnot for a stroke of luck, Vast would have finished me on the Isle.”
“There is a truth I can verify,” Toren said. “Kel reportsthat Vast’s men were told to kill you on sight, which I take as being somewhatstrange. Anyone would want to question a spy if given the chance.”
“Whatever you decide for me, Lord Toren, beware of Vast. Heis in league with the Prince of Innes. There is no doubt of it.”
“Yes, but the Prince of Innes is no longer alive, so I don’tknow what that will do to Vast’s alleged alliance.”
“The Prince is dead?”
Toren nodded, his curls bobbing. “Assassinated by one of hisown guards, it is said.”
“Hafydd!” Carl pronounced.
“That hated name,” Lady Beatrice said, making small fists onthe arm of her chair. “Why do you blame him?”
Carl felt his shoulders shrug. “It can be no other.”
“It is not much of a reason you offer, but nonetheless, Iagree.” Toren shifted in his chair. His gaze seemed to focus high on the oppositewall, and his face was troubled and unhappy. “We will have to consider thismatter carefully. Until then I’m sorry, but we will have to confine you to acell.”
Carl bowed his head. “I can survive a cell, but Jamm needs ahealer. He almost died on the Isle. I fear a damp cell would bring back hisfever and coughing.”
“We will look out for your friend,” Lady Beatrice said.
Toren nodded to the guards, and they led him out.
“I don’t know what we should do with him, Mother. He accusesone of our oldest, most loyal allies of treachery, yet it was Vast who came toour aid on the Isle of Battle. There is only really one thing that gives me anydoubts. Vast ordered Lord Carl killed on sight. Strange.”
“Vast is a passionate man.”
“Yes, but he is not foolish. Certainly he would have wantedto question Lord Carl.”
“I am more influenced by the utter lack of guile in LordCarl. Everything he said had the ring of truth.” Lady Beatrice sat back in herchair and closed her eyes a moment.
Toren felt his heart go out to her. Her life was so difficult.
“Yes, but that would mean that Vast is our enemy. Vast …”
Twenty
The cells smelled of mold, damp stone, and candle smoke.Toren took the lantern from the guard and hung it on a rusted hook.
“Dease?” came a voice from within the cell.
“No, Cousin, it is I.”
Samul’s face, paler than Toren remembered, appeared in thebarred frame of the small window. “Toren. No doubt my reputation forhospitality has drawn you.”
“Yes, that was it,” Toren said.
Samul gazed at him a moment, saying nothing. Samul’s thoughtswere always hidden, and here, in the shadows, Toren could not hope to read hiscousin’s face. Rage might lurk behind those eyes, but Toren would never know.After all, Samul had plotted to murder him, and Toren had not guessed it.
“What brought you back, Cousin?” Toren asked. “You agreednever to return to Renne lands. Have you forgotten our bargain?”
“Have you forgotten that I saved you from Beld?”
Toren paused. “I remember that you tried to murder me,Samul.”
Samul took a step back, almost disappearing into the gloom ofhis cell. His voice echoed a little against the hard walls. “Yes, but then youwere betraying us to the Wills-all your vain attempts to make peace. If you’dlistened to me, you’d be ready for the war you are fighting now. You werewrong, Toren, and I was right.”
“Yes, in some ways you were right, but when I disagree witha member of my family I don’t try to murder him.”
“And how many lives will be lost because you were pursuingan impossible peace with an intractable enemy? Your death would have savedlives.”
Toren shook his head sadly. There would be an undeniablelogic to Samul’s argument. Beld might have tried to murder him from hatred,but not Samul. He would only have done it out of conviction.
“I cannot trust you, Samul Renne,” Toren said softly. “Youshouldn’t have come here.”
He could hear Samul’s breathing-exasperated.
“I was spewed out of a little hole in the earth into ashallow stream,” Samul said disdainfully. “A patrol found me as I made my wayto the river. I had no idea where I was. Certainly, nothing would have inducedme to set foot on Renne lands, for our bargain was still sharp in my mind.”
Samul appeared at the window again, the shadows of the barsdrawing dark streaks upon his face. “Coming here was an accident, Toren. Iswear it.”
Toren nodded. He did not really doubt it. Samul was toosmart to have returned to Renne lands.
“What will I do with you now, Samul?” Toren said. “I sworethat if you returned to Renne lands, you would pay for your plot against me.What will I do with you now?”
“Can you not let me go?” Samul whispered.
Toren paused a moment, sadness settling upon him like aweight. “If you were me, is that what you would do?”
“No,” Samul said. Toren could see him shake his head. “No.It’s not what I would do.”
Their silence filled the dank chambers. The guard coughed athis post. Toren could hear Samul breathing raggedly, wondering if he had justpronounced his own death sentence.
“You could let me escape. I would disappear, Toren. Youwould never hear my name again.”
Toren did not answer. It was the easy decision-and leaderscould not always take the easy way. What message would Samul’s release send?That Toren Renne was so softhearted that he could not even execute his ownassassins!
“I can’t let you go, Samul. You know that.”
“Then why have you come here?”
“I don’t know. To find out why you were here. To tell you myselfwhat will be done.”
“And what will be done?”
“You shall meet the executioner, and I shall weep for yourloss, for the love I feel for you.”
Toren turned and started down the passageway between thenarrow cells. He had not gone five paces when Samul called out.
“You might cut off my head, but I am still loyal to myfamily, despite all that you might think. I will give you this one last gift,Toren Renne: another matter where I am right and you are wrong. I have beenspeaking with Lord Carl across the corridor. Vast is a traitor. Carl A’denne istelling the truth. Vast will betray us.”
Toren stopped only an instant. “Vast will not betray us,” hesaid, and went on.
At the top of the stairs he met Dease, who hurried down a corridorbearing a paper, folded and sealed.
“A Fael brought this,” Dease said. “It is from A’brgail.”Toren broke the seal and opened the letter, walking a few paces into the lightof a lantern.
Lord Toren:
I have just arrived at the Fael encampment where the Westbrookmeets the Wynnd. Elise Wills is here, and much is afoot. I think I will be offthis night, and would like the honor of your counsel before I set out.
Your servant, Gilbert A’brgail
Toren looked up to find Dease watching him closely.
“Will you have a horse readied for me, Cousin? I will rideto the Fael encampment within the hour.”
“I will have guards ready to accompany you as well.”
Toren nodded. “Do you know where I might find Fondor?”
“In his rooms, why?”
“I must arrange an execution.” Toren set off down the passage.
He found Fondor in the company of Lady Beatrice, both seatedby a cold hearth, now barred with steel against chimney sweep spies. Torenlooked at the letter again. It was from Kel-intelligence from his many spies.
“But why would Hafydd go off now? We are at war.”
“It sounds like wishful thinking to me,” Toren retorted. Helooked down at the letter again. “If A’denne has gone off with Hafydd, then hisson, Carl, is either mistaken about his father’s loyalties, or he is lying.And this legless man-”
“Kai, whom we had here beneath our roof and whom we let fallinto Hafydd’s hands,” Toren’s mother said. She put a hand to her brow a momentand gave her head a quick shake.
“And this about Beldor …” Toren said. “Beldor was snatchedup by one of Death’s servants. If the rest of this letter is as truthful asthat, how reliable can it be?”
Fondor looked at Lady Beatrice as though he worried Torenwas raving. “Kel thinks this news is reliable,” Fondor said, “and Kel is notoften mistaken.”
“Yes,” Toren said softly. “Yes. You’re right. Kel is notoften wrong.” He stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the finallight of day, the growing shadows. “I will go out to the Fael encampment andspeak with A’brgail and Lady Elise,” he said.
“And I will see to the execution,” Fondor said. “I hope you’reright about this, Toren.”
“So do I, Cousin.”
Fondor made a quick bow to his aunt and went out, his boots echoingdown the passage outside. Toren listened to them fade before he turned to findhis mother regarding him. He often thought she must have been very beautiful inher youth, and her poise and grace were undiminished by time. But her face wasso careworn now. It made him sad to see it. The burden of his father in histower was great. It would almost be better if the man died, instead of comingback to sanity every now and then-like a man coming back to life, then dyingonly to be reborn. One could never quite stop grieving-or hoping.
“Yes?” Toren said after a moment.
“There is one other matter I think you must attend to,” shesaid.
“Only one?”
