"Good. Suppose Vulk wedded to this proud, fair-haired girl."
"I suppose it. What then?"
"Then next in line of succession to our good prince and Emperor Auraris is—"
The Earl jerked a thumb. "Pretty-boy forward, Prince Aurareus."
"Is he like to leave progeny or even sit well on the throne among the hot lords of Scroby?"
"Ho—ho—ho, I see where you lead. Aurea and her man heirs of the Empire! That's clear from the start. So you think she's delivered to me, as 'twere, by Marshal Bordvin to make it sure there's no Imperial dignity between him and the title of Count Vulk the Fifteenth? But is that not a long way to go? Pretty-boy lives in health."
"Aye, and was sent with his sisters to the court of Vulk the Unreasonable. Sad if he met accident there. . . ."
"Which is to say our good Emperor Auraris prefers a Vulking heir to the one of his body."
Alsander cleared his throat. "Or that the lords of the Empire would throw it into a collateral line, grasping true power for themselves. Is there not a cousin-german or something of the sort?"
Mikalegon brought his fist down again. "In fine, here's the fact among these lofty matters: Vulk seeks to be emperor, Bordvin seeks to be Vulk, and the Emperor seeks a sword that will keep the peace of the Well in his house or domains, whatever Dzik or the Dodekapolis may do. But we hold the ruling piece on this game-board, and 'tis check with the queen, ha, ha. But you masters of Dalarna, what is your desire?"
"Freedom from the Vulking rule," flashed Rogai, and Airar nodded, marking from the corner of his eye how there was a twist round Meliboe's lips.
"So do we all," said the Earl. "What! What! How would it fare in Carrhoene, once a Vulking prince sat in the high house of Stassia, with his claim to be lord of the Twelve Cities and no sons of the Well to rein him in?"
"I do not think you or we need crack our brains on that," Evande said. "Even the dog-smelling People's Party—"
"Faugh, they'd be the first to hail it," said the Earl. "Why, 'tis precisely as the party of the whole people that these Vulkings rule, with neither lordships nor baronies of heritage, but with these dignities held from hour to hour by will of the Count and council. Nay, you brethren of the sword are deeper caught in this coil than the Dalecarles themselves they'd but have freedom from Vulk the single man, but for you it's root up all the Vulks and the rule they live by."
Again Meliboe shot Airar a glance that might have said this was the choice of Briella or Carrhoene in new words, but no one added another voice. "Bah!" continued the Earl. "This politic wearies a man more than battle, and it's with battle we must concern ourselves the now. Old man, I'm told you have been somewhat in the counsels of our foes. Think you they mean a crack at our hold of Os Erigu?"
"Sobeit Count Vulk has his way, and not the Marshal — but that's an idle question now. By stealing the bride you have touched Vulking pride and made the contest certain." The enchanter drummed on the table with his fingers. "Bordvin has the lesser ambition for himself, but the more for his race—or mayhap it would be the other way round, I do not know. 'Twas a matter of debate in the lyceum of Briella till Vulk the Unreasonable made his decree against magic and closed our doors. Bordvin's way is to conquer all in the Vulking name, Salmonessa and the Twelve Cities; Vulk would seize all in the name of the Empire, then the Empire itself. So that as matters have fallen out you have admirably brought both parties to agreement against you, for Vulk's hope of the Empire rests on recovering the Princess, while to Bordvin it will surely be clear that he dare attempt no great wars while there sit at his back in Os Erigu such mischief-makers as these young masters of Dalarna and the Star-Captains of Carrhoene— not to mention myself, a poor doctor of the philosophies, though somewhat skilled in gramary."
Os Erigu's brow had puckered in the effort to follow. Now his countenance burst in a smile of animation. "Ah! I had forgot you were a warlock and foreteller. Show me my fate—I've never had it told but by a pretended spae-wife at Lectis Maxima when I went there in disguise once. She said I was a wool-merchant who should have great success in the sale of woven stuffs, which was not true at all."
Meliboe plucked his beard. "Lord, the fate of us all is death, and no profit in learning its manner, for 'tis not to be avoided."
"Nay, I'll not be so put off. The fate of this war in which we are engaged, and whether there's peace and a good life for me short of a draught from the Well of the Unicorn."
"You'd have it shown before these others?"
"It is my will."
The frosted eyebrows of Meliboe the enchanter flicked once, but without more words he drew from his compartmented pouch a pinch of each of parti-colored powders, and mixed them on the table, bidding Earl Mikalegon strike a spark on the little pile from his own flint and steel, while he himself traced a pentagram around, and bringing out his grammarion began to read certain spells. It was the great divination in form, Airar recognized, though he had never before seen it done by a master magician. As the spark struck, a tiny line of smoke curled from the powder like a waking serpent and, without dissipating, rose to a point just above their heads, where it gathered in a grey cloud that hung motionless, with all in the cabin swinging beneath it to the heave of the sea.
"Amador, volador, amblysecton," intoned Meliboe, and with every eye fixed upon it, the cloud turned translucent, seeming to boil within, then hardened till at its center there grew the likeness of a fairy castle, hanging in air, pillowed on the cloud. The cloud was sea; an ocean washed round the fairy castle's foot, and it was as though the building turned or the watchers sat in a heaving boat offshore, moving past while every aspect was presented to their gaze. Was it night? Did twilight seem to fall on tower and wall? There were lights at the narrow windows high aloft as though a banquet took place within, though no movement of guests was visible across the tracery of bridge-arches that led to the castle's gate. Then, from one of the windows as they watched, the light burst forth as no light but a bright, stuttering flame that licked a gasp from those who watched; window after window shot forth its tongue of fire to join the chorus, the roof-peak of a tower fell in with a silent crash, and a wild cry of rage burst from the lips of the Earl of Os Erigu, but Meliboe signed him to silence and went on:
"Eperuatorion modocaccus." The cloud whirled round the doomed castle and hid it, then thinned again, and now at the center there was a blaze of light as bright as the eye might bear, and to Airar watching it seemed as though he were looking across a floor as though from a prostration. The floor was black and white marble; in the background were visible skirts and men's shoon and the feet of pillars richly carved. The view shifted; a manikin strode across that rich pave, and it was Mikalegon of Os Erigu, walking proud as a prince, in plum-colored hose, with golden armor and a white surcoat bearing the black sea-eagle of his badge and a sword by his side. It was to note that his hair was not storm-black as now, but touched by grey; men and women gave back as he marched, the view following, till he reached the steps that led to a dais or throne, where he went to one knee and bowed the head. One saw, as though walking round to the back of the man bowing, a golden coronal upon his hair, and for a moment it seemed to Airar that the face of the queen on the throne could be none but that of the Princess Argyra— or was it dark Evadne? —but the mist swirled in fast, the cloud vanished, and Earl Mikalegon boomed:
"Is that your divination? I could make a better one myself."
There was a smell as of something dead and rotting foully in the cabin; it made one ill and weak together, as though this were an illness to be cherished till death's release. The enchanter shrugged and blew a little puff of dust from the table-top. "There's no compulsion to follow such a road, and the will is free. I but show you the most favorable; all other ways lead to an end of less delight. I am faint; have you to drink?"
"The man to whom I will bend the knee is not yet born," said Earl Mikalegon, "and before any shall burn Os Erigu, they must break not a few heads of myself and the free compa
nies. But a pox on this madness for children; let's talk of present necessity. They strike us then—but who and in what strength? That's all we need to know for tomorrow, not so, old bag of bones?" He threw the question at Alsander of Carrhoene, and that one replied: "A fair case. It is all one needs for war." "The 4th tercia, certainly," Earl Mikalegon went on, thinking aloud. "It's at Stavorna and it's Count Vulk's own. That I count upon; we can meet it in equal battle. But what of the 8th, that used to be in the castellas of Norby and all down through Shalland and the Dales? Does Marshal Bordvin's influence run so far that he can hold it back from this attack? Does this new 12th tercia replace it, or is it gathered toward the south for some move overseas? We'd be farther forward if we knew these things."
Said Airar: "There is one very sure way of finding out. At the battle on the road of which we told you, there were three men taken who belonged to this new 12th tercia. Let them be brought and questioned; I have found it already that such men are often wiser than their captains."
Alsander said: "As to those three, Master Airar, we have them no longer. I let slay them all when we left Gaspelnith, for fear of betrayal on the forced march we made."
"Which shows one should not discard even a copper aina lest it be the fee to heaven's gate," said Earl Mikalegon. "Well, let's to meat; our mystery's for the term insoluble and the old spae-man lolls in his seat."
Airar said nothing at all. Alsander, too; and Alsander had been the best of them.
25 The Northern Sea: Third Tale of the Well
WHERE THE PLANKS of the skonare of Gentebbi had charged creaking into the sea, these sang. Airar could have picked out their tune from the thuttering blocks that formed a bass. White water gambolled from under the prow and away in diamond spray across a sapphirean sea, above the straining sweep of crimson sail.
Said she: "It is hard to lose a friend yet what's this friend that you have lost? A presence physical, or the friend's love for you—and yours in turn? If the former, why, all tears will not restore it, but if the latter, it was never lost to my way of thinking, since love's lost only when self-betrayed."
"I thank you, gracious lady," said he. "You are most kind." (And beautiful, beautiful, the back of his mind shouted, so it was almost pain to be beside her.)
"Nay, if you'll play courtier, go make attendance on Aurea. She feeds on speeches; but I was brought up peasant in the Scroby hills and like a plainer style."
"Well, then, it's not so much the loss of the little cat itself, but to lose it so. It would have been better to give it to one of the Shalland women. Oh, you say you're peasantfostered, but I am peasant-born, and in our country we'd treat no friendly creature so. . . . And there's that manner of luck and symbol, that Meliboe spoke on. Such gramary as I have does not see so far as to say what it may mean."
She let him finish. "I would not know of your gramary. It is forbidden to us of the House by the rule of the Well. But you would say, I think, that what the Carrhoene did was careless-cruel."
"Something like that. . . . Tell me, bright lady, and you will be so kind, how is it they look on these Star-Captains of Carrhoene from Stassia?"
"Oh, they are surely the greatest war-dukes and champions that ever lived, but troubulous; not of our time, but the silver years, when heathen still raided. We'd rather the People's Party, that believe in the Well and the sons of the Well . . . . Or so says my father."
The ship heaved and her shoulder touched his under the brilliant sunbeam; chill though the day was, he felt a flood of warmth all down the front from chin to knee. But she was a princess! He moved a little and in a moment found words: "The Well, the Well, and ever the Well—do I make it from your tone that all's not smooth therewith?"
She giggled, but it trailed off laughing-serious. "Will you catechize me? Fie! Your wits are of Uravedu, the country of my great-grandmother whose name was Kry, and she more of a peasant than you or I in spite of our upbringing. But here's my brother, seeking as usual to keep me from the hands of evil men, I think."
Airar started round. This prince at first glance might be older than himself, but after a moment one saw it was youth spoiled by petulance and eye-pouches. He had the broad jaw under thin head and darkling hair of Uravedu; was small and carried himself even on the heaving deck well back under his yellow cap of pretense, so that he visibly strutted. The Princess Argyra made a curtsey; Airar swept off his hat and bowed, but heard what might have been a laugh from the shipman at the tiller behind. "I present," said she, "Master Airar of Trangsted in Vastmanstad, a most loyal servant of the House and the Well and all."
Prince Aurareus made a gesture dismissing legions. "Our liege servitors shall always have our eye," he said in the form, and Airar remarked a mincing lisp. "Sister, my puss, our good friend and well-wisher of Os Erigu conveys messages, and it is a question of what to say. Will you wait on our sister?" He turned, with the girl following him, then turned again, and looked Airar down. "You are a very wellbuilt man. You will wait on us in our apartment at twilight."
"There's no punishment if you avoid him," whispered the girl behind her hand, stuck out her tongue at his back, and hurried.
But Airar did go, more from curiosity than else, after he rose from evening meat. The Prince sat cushioned well; there was an odor of southern island incense in his cabin which room, though not wide, was yet large enough to permit that two blond young men, muscled like tree-trunks and stripped clean naked, wrestled against each other at one side, after the manner of Stassia, arms up at length before them and fingers locked with fingers. When Airar was admitted Aurareus clapped his hands:
"Done," he said; "and I do name Balinian winner by two bouts to one. Now leave us; we would speak with this heart from our dominion of Dalarna."
"I would have beaten him the second time but for the throw of the ship, graciousness," said one of the young men sulkily, picking up a shift. "Let me try but once again."
"Another time. The sport commences to weary us." The Prince waved a hand gracefully. The other wrestler was climbing into his clothes and Airar's wandering glance surprised on his face a look of pure and petulant hatred that filled him with amaze. When they had gone:
"Trim the chrysma," said Prince Aurareus. "Your name again, Dalecarle?"
"Airar of Trangsted, son of Alvar—sir," said the young man, none too pleased over this Prince's lofty-from-above manner of address after the ease of the Star-Captains, Earl Mikalegon, and even the Princess Argyra; but he supposed it to be a matter of the form of the High House of Stassia and would not appear impolite.
"It is easy to see that you have been little near the golden court. You should address us as 'graciousness,' who are to be your emperor and ruler. What is your art, Airar?"
"Graciousness, I know something of the art magical, but it is an art I prefer not to employ."
"You have right; the forbidden thing. Come here."
He pinched Airar's arm. "Ah, well-thewed. You might throw Balinian flat on his back, and Garrus, too. Have you another art besides the dark one?"
"Only what little I know of the war-art, graciousness."
The Prince's smile was meant to be kind. "Among civilized peoples we do not count it an art but a barbarism to wreck fine bodies so that might be better used; hence our law holds that arm-bearers may not sit in high places. You will have to find a new art after coming to the Well. What can we do to please you, Airar? How came you by that name, among other matters? It might almost belong to the House, and we are not sure it is permitted."
"Graciousness, it is an ancient name in our family," said Airar, avoiding the first question with an answer to the second, for there was something about this Prince that made his short hairs crawl.
"No matter. We grant our permission as to the name." Aurareus smiled and shifted his position so that his foot came in contact with Airar's where he left it; but with the next move of the ship the childe of Trangsted made that he had been a little moved from balance, and drew away. On the Prince's countenance the smile rema
ined as though graven. He said:
"You have not answered on how we can please our subject and servitor—our delight, to bring new blood to the old lands, even if it means the ennoblement of Dalecarles, who have no blood noble whatsoever in their provinces." He paused to let the suggestion drive home arid Airar thought in a hard momentary flash on how Argyra and those others had referred to his birth, which must be something they had caught up somehow from the rest, leading back to that rash statement at the gate of Salmonessa which he wished he had never made. Prince
Aurareus smiled with a steady determination. "They are not a few estates in Scroby that want good masters. Come, we'll have a bottle of wine and discuss pleasantly on't." He lifted his hands to clap, but Airar stopped him desperately with: "Gracious lord—" The smile changed. "Speak."
"How could I hold an estate in the Empire, being under the ban of the Empire?"
"You have not drunk?"
"From the Well of the Unicorn? No, graciousness." "Then it's a matter easily amended. Once you dip there, all bans fail. But we'll converse on that at ease."
The place was not warm, but Airar found himself gently perspiring down the back of his neck and in the palms of his hands. "Graciousness, I cannot the night. My men—" "You need not fear Balinian. He is under my orders." "Graciousness, I—"
Prince Aurareus signed and relaxed among his cushions. "Another day, then. You have our leave to withdraw." The sun was already westering next day before she came to the place by the bulwarks. She girded him a little for his glooms and few-spokenness; it was several minutes before he could be brought to say that her brother wished him to take the service of the Well, since he would not give the true reason. Argyra twisted an invisible something impatiently in her hands. "It is a service I would not have you take, nor any," she said, and now came her turn to fall silent while he looked interrogation; for he like all in Dalarna knew how that great wonder was the luck and foundation of the House of Argimenes. But out of respect he forbore to ask, till at last she:
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