Tomas laughed and sighed and shook his head at all her adventures. He had heard and read of the Wilds of Wildrode—the possibility of a curse upon that Athron house had long been suspected. He was keenly interested in her summoning by Queen Aidris Am Firn, in Achamar, but obviously in close touch with Vanna Am Taarn, the Guardian of Hagnild’s house, in Nightwood.
“Aidris is often called the Witch-Queen,” he said. “As well as the Old Queen. Would you say she is a sorceress, like her grandmother, Guenna of Lien?”
“It is her nature,” said Gael. “It is her own natural magic that she makes. I do not know too much about Queen Guenna, but it seems she was a sorceress indeed. Queen Aidris uses magic more simply.”
“No, my sweetness,” Tomas reminded her. “Remember always that Guenna was Markgrafin of Lien, never Queen. Those were the days before Rosmer laid his hand upon the land, when Lien was beloved as the lush and lovely land of roses.” Looking into his eyes then, and seeing the melancholy there, Gael was reminded that for all he made his home in Lort, Tomas was born of Lien, and because of this felt a deeper gladness for the evil she and the Finns had turned aside, enacted in his country’s name. But it was Aidris of whom Tomas spoke next:
“Does she keep watch over all the lands as some powerful magicians are supposed to have done—Rosmer of Lien, for example?”
“No,” said Gael. “It is Vanna Am Taarn who does that!” But she was grinning, for she did not really believe this.
Then they went over the rescue of Elnora Hestrem from the Witchfinder in some detail.
“I could do no other,” cried Gael. “O Tomas—do you understand? I could not see any woman or any man made a spectacle of by this Lienish fanatic, hater of women and of the Land of the Two Queens …”
“Hush,” said Tomas, “I see it very plain, and I wish I had been there to lend the strength of my arm. Gael—if there is reproach from Lord Luran, you can remind him that you are one of the dark folk and must go about in the dark world, the world of everyday in the lands of Hylor. You have your own knowledge of right and wrong, your own duty to the Goddess …”
“I must remember your words,” she said, “to use them in my defense.”
Then they spoke of the words of Mistress Elnora—a treasure brought into the Chyrian lands? Gael smiled, remembered her dream, and would not tell him more. She had some ideas concerning that treasure …
“Oh sweetheart,” said Tomas, “I have sad news. It happened just hours after you rode away.”
“What is it?” she said, afraid, thinking of her family in Coombe.
“Forbian Flink is dead,” said Tomas. “He passed on from his chest rheum, night before last—word has not even been brought to Finnmarsh. Mistress Beck cared for him—did she not tell you?”
“He will not come to his old comrade, Yorath Duaring,” said Gael sadly.
So they mourned for the scribe, Forbian, who was even now being taken back to his own city of Krail, in the Westmark, where Arn Swordmaker would see to his last rites. Tomas said that his history would be written up by none other than Brother Less himself.
They spoke of the Chameln visitors, Prince Gerd Am Zor and his cousins.
“Tomas,” she said. “Is our host, Rolf Beck, hiding from these young fellows?”
“I have some ideas about that,” he grinned. “The young prince, Gerd Am Zor, has strong powers, the sort of natural magic you saw in Queen Aidris Am Firn. He could break through any magical protection—find out secrets.”
“How do you know this?” asked Gael. “From a scribe?”
“From their bodyguard, young Garm,” said Tomas. “I have often wondered how our Master Beck came to wed a woman from the eastern tribes beyond the mountains—the Ettlizan, the Milgo, and the Skivari, that Prince Yorath helps to shut out with his wall. I believe poor Beck may be some high-ranked deserter from the Chameln wars with these tribes—his oldest daughter is the right age to match that explanation. We have heard of others who were trapped beyond the mountains.”
“You have such good ideas!” she said, cradling his hands in her own.
Soon after, he went off and returned with their supper of lamb stew, with fine bread and greens, and a flagon of their favorite golden wine. As they ate and drank and lovingly jostled each other on their shared settle, Tomas offered to leave his scrolls in the morning and ride with her to Tulach Hearth to confront the Shee. Gael was tempted to accept his support, but she did not.
“I have a few days grace,” she said, “before I am expected to return to Tulach. I have asked for Mistress Vanna’s report on the Rescue—what has become of Brother Sebald and his fellow brothers and the Lienish guards? Will they yet attempt their progress overland through Athron?”
“With the prime object of display lost to them, I fancy not,” said Tomas. “This attempt, at least, to convert Athron to their beliefs is lost to them. But when you have this news, do let me come with you to Tulach …”
“Whether Lord Luran is angry or not,” said Gael, “I must beg leave of him to travel to Coombe, after I have seen him—I know something that will make him agree. I want to see my family as well, and you must come with me! I can send for you through my magic slip of wood from Tulach.”
It was still not too late when they went eagerly to their bed.
She was the better part of a week in Nightwood, conferring with Mistress Vanna and observing, through Hagnild’s stones, the progress of Brother Sebald. His fury was hard for Gael to bear, his wrath at suffering such “humiliation” all too evident. From what they saw, it was clear Sebald and the others had intended this venture as a sort of marching triumph of their ways. Their route had been made public to some of those who would support them. Now they progressed only to a chorus of catcalls and ridicule, for the story of the bird plucked free of their clutches in Wennsford spread swiftly on before them.
Sebald and his companions crossed at last the Adz and back into Lien—from there Vanna Am Taarn did not have the power to closely follow his movements. Gael rode home alone toward evening time, disturbed in her thoughts. Tomas welcomed her with open arms, and they fell quickly into bed together, eager for the warmth and comfort of a loving embrace.
In the night, while they were sleeping, a liveried servant rode in and left a message for Scribe Tomas Giraud, sealed with a ring that bore the crest of three bells. They read it over breakfast in the parlor of the Swan. Part was a request for common services—part was in a cipher only Tomas could read. He copied the words out for Gael on a wax tablet before he erased them and burnt the letter.
Good Tomas, I send greeting to yourself and to your betrothed, Captain Gael Maddoc. I have heard something of the rescue that was lately carried out in Wennsford, and I delight in the news that my helper Mistress Hestrem and her lady, Mother Mistress Elnora, are safe and unharmed.
The Chaplain of our house, Brother Less, has spoken to me of a foreshadowing concerning a portrait. I will speak urgently to Captain Maddoc of this matter, as I have by my side one who can shed light upon it. We will be at Aird, the town of the half-Shee, at noon today.
The signature on the message proper was elegant but without curlicues.
Auric Barry
“He is bold to speak of this rescue,” Tomas told her. “In Lien, the Witchfinder carries great power. Even one so high born as a scion of the house of Chantry must watch his words.”
“Even here in Mel’Nir?” Gael was surprised.
“The Witchfinder has been aggressive in the spread of his agents,” Tomas said seriously. “Even within Mel’Nir, one such as Auric Barry must be circumspect.”
“It had seemed to me,” Gael said, “that in Lien, a high title was proof against the Brown Brothers’ dictates.”
Tomas smiled, a little grimly. “You should tell that to the wild Lord Garvis of Grays,” he said. “He is the last survivor of Lien’s highest noble house, but these past fifteen years, he has lived as an outlaw, and all because he would not bow his head to the Council of th
e Brother-Advocates.”
Gael raised her brows—she had not heard this story. “Who is Garvis of Grays?”
Tomas shook his head and sighed. “He is not well-known outside of Lien in these days. Garvis is the example one such as Lord Auric must look to when he stands against the Brown Brotherhood’s ways. He was stripped of his lands—of all his titles and riches—when he would not bow his head to accept the Brotherhood’s rise. He made a plea to his fellow landholders—but they were cowed, they would not support him. The Brotherhood keeps the people of Lien quiet; it commands obedience and order. There are few lords who will stand against that—not least because it keeps their own people tame, where they retain many of their privileges.”
Gael held the wax tablet in her hand, read over again Lord Auric’s message. Perhaps she felt more sympathetic to this young lord, now she knew he risked something to treat with her.
There was no question—of course she would go to this meeting. Gael knew that she was putting off her confrontation with Lord Luran for perhaps another day. Tomas showed that he understood her anxiety—all they could do was promise a swift meeting when she sent for him.
She rode into Aird not long after midday; the town was serene and beautiful as ever in the sunshine. As she came to the center of town, where the chestnut tree was in full bloom, a man came running up, followed by several others. He cried out in a troubled voice:
“Captain! Captain Maddoc!”
She was alarmed at first and reined in Ebony.
“Captain Maddoc, forgive me—”
She saw that the man was dark, middle aged, stockily built; it was Galdo, the innkeeper at Tzurn’s Haven, who had been so rude at their first meeting.
“Yes,” she said. “Of course I forgive you, Master Galdo!”
“I behaved very ill, when we first met,” he panted. “Then we understood that you served the Eilif lords—the hero Waltan himself came and bore you away … . Now we know you are the Wanderer …”
“Hush,” said Gael. “I have no wish to be known …”
“You are awaited in Tzurn’s Haven,” he said humbly. “Please to step in.”
She dismounted and gave Ebony to the servants, then walked with him toward the inn.
“I was so rough when you were last here, Captain,” he said, “because I was half-mad with the stress of so many passing through the town on the way to the wedding at Chernak. Goddess bless us! The news we hear is that that all goes well for the young queen and her consort!”
Gael had heard something of the same news from Mistress Vanna: in marriage, it seemed the ice that had sheathed young Tanit’s heart had been broken; all was well in the Chameln. Thinking on this, she touched at the hallow-string, which she had taken to wearing at her throat. The Chameln rulers had kept their Hallow safe—the Stone of the Daindru was cemented into the foundation wall in Achamar city. In Chernak, she had learned that the rulers performed a ceremonial “Honoring of the Stone” every year in the Aldermoon, the Moon of Death. Maintaining such reverence for their Hallow—was this how the Chameln lands managed to shrug off the trials that passed over them so lightly, while lands like the ancient Chyrian coast, so poor and impoverished, and Mel’Nir and Lien themselves, so embattled and full of rancor, could not find their peace?
Athron, where she had just been, had no Hallow to hold or lose. Perhaps this was why that land lived so well in quiet peace, lacking glory or fire perhaps, but also disruption and sorrow—save perhaps for a curdled curse of old, like Myrraud’s bane on the Wilds, or an aggressive venture such as that so recently put forward, so unsuccessfully, by Brother Sebald.
Ahead of her, Galdo flung open the door and bowed; in the darkness after the bright sunlight, she saw Lord Auric, handsome as ever, spring up eagerly. She put thoughts of the Hallows hastily away—here was one whose course lay deep within the distresses of his country, high born enough to serve close to court, yet nourishing, through his mother’s chaplain Brother Less, a fire that flared counter to the ruling Brotherhood’s purposes. Her eyes became accustomed to the shade, and she saw that his companion at the table was an older man in Chameln dress—long full trousers of fine dressed leather and a long tunic of plum colored velvet.
“Captain Maddoc,” said Auric Barry earnestly, “tell me how my friends are faring after this daring rescue! How does it stand with Yolanda Hestrem and her mother?”
“They are both well, my lord,” she said. “Yolanda took no harm at all, and though her poor mother, Mistress Elnora, had been mishandled by the Witchfinder’s men, she was recovering quickly in her daughter’s care. They have sailed off in a Merwin ship, home to Lindriss in Eildon.”
It struck her that Lord Auric had asked for this news as he would for a friend, a helper—he did not regard Yolanda as a lover, as it had seemed at first.
“What will the Witchfinder, that fanatical young Sebald, do now?” he asked. “What will his bear-leader, old Justian, the Brother-Advocate, do?”
“They are both back in Lien,” said Gael, wondering that Lord Auric did not already know this. “My Tomas tells me this is a more serious matter than even I have understood.”
A shadow fell across the young lord’s handsome face. Gael could see he was a little disgusted, although reluctant to show such feelings. “Our queen will not delight to see her favorite humiliated—and by a pack of women out of skirts!”
Gael did not see why this should make any difference, though she knew it was the case in Lien, so she only shrugged. “They mocked him all through Athron,” she said. “Whatever triumphal procession he had planned came to naught.”
Lord Auric shook his head. “He is a clever man, and very stubborn. It would surprise me if he did not find some means to twist this defeat to his advantage. That is not beyond him, you must know. Some in Lien have counseled the queen against aggressive outcursions. Sebald may use this chance to bring them low.”
“I wonder at Lien’s lords,” Gael said boldly, for she suspected Lord Auric’s family might have led the outcry against those “outcursions.” “It seems you feel the priesthood to be an excellent thing when it comes to promoting order among your people. It is only when its powers nip at your own heels that you begin to grow wary.”
Lord Auric gave her a sharp look. “Perhaps that has been so,” he said. “But now the Brown Brotherhood is nipping at our heels, and we have indeed grown wary. Which brings me to my introduction.” He made a flourish with his hands, calling attention to the old man who had waited, with an air of patience and benign amusement, while the two had spoken.
“Now I will present one whose name is well-known,” said Auric. “I am sure you have heard of the famed painter, Emyas Bill.”
The old man had a rather pale face with a slight tuft of beard; his hair was long and grey brown.
“I know Master Bill’s fame indeed!” Gael said, impressed and delighted together.
Emyas Bill smiled at her like a kindly uncle.
“Have you seen any miniatures or portraits of my school?” he asked.
“Oh, I have seen a marvelous collection of your original work!” she burst out.
Then she told of Cannford Old House in the Eastern Rift, where the Lady Pearl of Andine kept her school for the daughters of noble families.
“Praise the Goddess, yes!” cried Emyas Bill. “So the Andine-Strett miniatures have survived! Pray tell me, dear child, are they all intact? How are they displayed?”
So she went on and described something of the ambience of Lady Pearl, her magic and fortune-telling and the room where the paintings took pride of place. There they stood on a silver stand, among other family treasures.
“Excellent!” said the artist. “Oh, to think of the changes of fate and fortune that have stricken the fair girl children I painted long ago …”
“They have settled down,” said Lord Auric, a little coldly. “Now the eldest daughter, Lady Annhad, is wed to the Lord of the Southland; the Lady Pearl is an adept, having studied in Eildon; and the
Lady Perrine is wed to Degan Keddar, who will soon be known as the Lord of the Eastmark. Fine fortunes to a trio of daughters whose bastard-born father was lost to civil conflict.”
Gael guessed he compared Strett of Cloudhill’s daughters to the Swans of Lien, whose fate had been more harsh. Still, she did not like his manner. “Our ladies of Cloudhill had no Rosmer to haunt them, my lord,” she said. “And, it is true, no one ever called them ‘Princess.’ But that is no reason to deny them their misfortunes!”
Lord Auric flushed a little, and it seemed to Gael that Emyas Bill hid a smile in his sleeve, suppressing amused approval. She realized as she was talking that her years with Blayn of Pfolben now served her well. She did not entirely understand the role Auric Barry sought to play in Lien’s service, but she would not defer to this handsome Lord of Chantry until he had better proved his merit to her.
Timely for their tempers, Bergit the serving wench came by with a flagon of fine red wine and fresh oatcakes and greeted Gael as a friend.
“Enough of these matters.” Auric Barry swirled his wine within his cup, swift recovering his mood. “I have asked you to meet me here today to speak of another strange affair: Brother Less, my mother’s chaplain and a master scribe, had a foreshadowing—a portrait which somehow told a lie, pretended to be what it was not. Sure enough, this portrait soon after appeared among Tanit Am Zor’s wedding presents.”
“I have heard of this,” Gael said. She could not tell whether or not Lord Auric knew of her strange meeting with Brother Less in the Adderneck. “Was it set out in the fortified garden house where the gifts were displayed?”
“No, it appeared at a private dinner for the young queen, the day after the wedding. It was a simple act of magic—a silk-wrapped package appeared suddenly upon the table, with broidered lettering which showed the names and crests of the young queen. Nothing bad was expected, but of course the package was not opened by Queen Tanit herself, but her taster and bodyguard, Mekkin Am Rann, who also uses magical protection.”
The Wanderer Page 32
