by John Dalmas
On Macurdy's last day at the fort, three other men had arrived at Ternass, well mounted, with remounts and packhorses trailing behind. Two of the saddle horses needed reshoeing, and Rillor had decided he couldn't delay it any longer. They'd lodge the horses at a stable, see to their shoeing, enjoy a bath house and inn, and leave the next day.
For the past several days, no one seemed to have seen a man with a giant boar, but Macurdy was probably still ahead. He was known as a wizard, and according to legend, the great boars were sorcerers. Belonging to the Sisterhood, concealment spells were entirely real to Rillor, even though he lacked the power to cast them.
Meanwhile, three days of steady riding would bring them to Duinarog. There, Rillor told himself, he'd learn how the situation stood, and how best to complete his mission. He felt confident of his ability to carry it out.
18 Supper with the Cyncaidhs
Rillor and the twins learned how near they were to Macurdy from conversations overheard while steaming in the Ternass bathhouse. What they did not learn was when he planned to leave. Rillor thought briefly of riding to the fort and looking him up, but decided not to complicate matters. As it stood, they'd arrive in Duinarog either ahead of him or on the same day.
The twins were confused by what they heard. Their father had carried a crippled boy three miles on his back? To heal his leg? Who'd been in charge of the child? Why hadn't the community corrected the situation? Had they no healers?
They didn't ask Rillor those questions. He was their commanding officer; they were lance corporals.
They left in midmorning, after picking up their horses at the farrier's. Within an hour they came to the Great Marsh. They'd spent their lives closed in by mountains, and most of what they'd seen on this trip had seemed at least somewhat strange. But the great marsh, and the highway that crossed it, were the strangest. The highway was built on a raised bed of rock, packed with dirt, topped with gravel, and flanked by large, water-filled ditches. Straight as a die it ran, through the marsh to the horizon and no doubt beyond, wide enough for wagons to pass on. It seemed to them that only a marvelously rich and able people could build such a road.
The marsh itself stretched out of sight ahead and to both sides, a vast expanse of cattails, and black pools sheened with limonite. Scattered here and there were patches of ten-foot reeds, or brush and scrubby trees. Blackwater creeks passed with imperceptible currents beneath small stone bridges, and along their low shores, muskrat lodges humped like miniature beaver dens. Redwinged blackbirds provided the nearest approximation of birdsong—a monotonic but pleasant trill. To the twins, it was intriguing. Dohns, the more imaginative, wondered what lived in its water, and if it extended all the way to Duinarog. Ohns wondered how one might take an army over it, if the road were defended.
To Rillor it was desolate, and he gave his attention to his mission.
Poison was the logical means of assassinating Varia and Macurdy—and the twins if convenient. Idri had supplied him with an envelope each of two potent poisons. One was to be ingested in drink or food. Very little was required, and supposedly it had almost no taste. (He wondered how anyone alive could know that.) Also, Idri had assured him, it had a delayed action, allowing several people time to take it before the first showed any effects.
The other poison could be sprinkled on the surface of lamp oil. When the lamp was lit, heat caused the tiny crystals to dissolve. The contaminated oil then rose up the wick to the flame, where it produced extremely toxic fumes. By the time the telltale pungency could be detected, it was too late. The victim collapsed and died.
He wondered where Idri had gotten them. Perhaps from Farside, he thought, back when she'd run the outpost there. He didn't have to wonder why she'd gotten them. She'd no doubt wanted the dynast's throne half her life ago, or more.
At any rate, his job was to apply them. In his mind he rehearsed a scenario set in the Cyncaidh's residence, as he imagined it. He'd present Varia and Macurdy with their sons, then with the sealed envelope from the dynast's office. At the same time presenting himself as the dynast's courier. They would, of course, invite him to supper. Almost invariably, ylvin nobility were courteous to embassy personnel.
The food poison would be his primary weapon. It was the most target-specific. If he used the lamp poison at all, it would be before dark. Then he'd make an excuse and leave.
He'd be the prime suspect, of course, so he'd planned his escape carefully. Too bad, he thought, that he didn't have a concealment spell, but wits would serve. During his years at the embassy, he'd become familiar with the city. There'd been several boat rental businesses on the Imperial River, below the Great Rapids. Embassy personnel sometimes rented boats from them to fish for the huge pike there. He'd rent one, ride it downstream to the Imperial Sea, land on its south shore, then make his way back to the Cloister.
It was, he told himself, all quite simple.
* * *
On the second night out of Ternass, Macurdy stayed at an inn, while Vulkan prowled the countryside. The inn's standard of cleanliness was quite good, and it had a bathhouse and laundry. The innkeeper's wife even cut hair. In the bathhouse, Macurdy was propositioned by an attractive ylvin "lass," whose aura suggested she might be on the verge of decline. She didn't seem to be a professional. A widow perhaps, burning her candles. He was not tempted.
The next day he came to a crossroad, with a sign that said DUINAROG 15 MILES. Just beyond it was a police post. No one was near, so Macurdy dismounted, and walked out of Vulkan's concealment cloak. Vulkan, still unseen, then followed him to the post, where Macurdy stepped onto the porch and went inside. A constable got to his feet and asked what he wanted.
"My name's Macurdy. I'd like to speak to your commander."
Rumors had reached there of Macurdy's appearance at Ternass, so while the trooper wasn't entirely convinced, he wasn't surprised at the claim. The traveler's clothing and boots were peculiar enough to be from Farside, that was a fact. "The commander?" he said. "Just a minute. I'll tell him you want to see him."
The commander too had heard the rumor and, like the constable, felt dubious. "You're Macurdy?" he said. "What can I do for you?"
"I'm riding to Duinarog to see Lord and Lady Cyncaidh, and I'd like an escort. I have an unusual mount, and without an escort we might cause disturbances in the city."
"Disturbances?"
"Come out on the porch. You'll see what I mean."
Frowning, the commander followed him. Stepping out the door, he looked around, and opened his mouth to speak. Macurdy anticipated him. "Vulkan," he called, "let the commander see you."
And there he stood, more than half a ton of wild boar. Seemingly half of it head and shoulders, ten percent tusks. Gawping, the commander turned to Macurdy. "Good God!" he said. "I never quite believed in them. And saddled! Is he sapient, as the tales claim?"
Macurdy didn't know the word, but guessed its meaning. "He's smarter than me, and a lot better magician."
«Macurdy, do not undervalue yourself,» the deep voice said, allowing the ylf to perceive it. «Accomplishment is incontrovertible evidence of intellect and character, and you have accomplished marvels, both in Yuulith and on Farside.»
Macurdy grinned at the ylf. "On Farside there's a saying: a man's best friend is his dog. I've got a hog. Or he's got me. Actually, it's a free and open friendship; neither of us owns the other one. But I get more good out of it than he does." He laughed. "If he ever finds out how one-sided this is..."
Fifteen minutes later, Vulkan was jogging up the highway with Macurdy on his back and a trooper on each side. A courier had galloped off ahead, to inform Lord Cyncaidh of Macurdy's coming, and his estimated time of arrival.
* * *
Chief Counselor Raien Cyncaidh had a splendidly appointed office in the imperial palace. The palace was a complex of buildings, only one of them the imperial residence. The others housed the empire's central administrative and judicial functions, and the assemblies of the three estates. Five or six mornings
a week, eight months a year, Lord Cyncaidh arrived there by 8 A.M. But his personal residence was less than a mile away, and more often than not he returned there at midday, for lunch with his wife. Bringing a pile of reports to read and annotate in the afternoon, relatively free of the interruptions that beset him at his office.
Relatively free. The police courier, after going first to Lord Cyncaidh's palace office, arrived at his residence shortly before 1 P.M. The courier was a genuinely young ylf—of mixed blood, actually. Pink-cheeked, brown-eyed, with raven hair and no sign of beard, only his rounded ears showed the extent of his partly human ancestry.
He delivered his message, not omitting Vulkan, then added: "If your lordship approves, he'll be brought here as soon as he arrives at the palace."
"Of course. What time might we expect him?"
"I'd guess sometime about two, your lordship."
"Hmm. I take it the boar is, um, well-behaved?"
"Seems to be, your lordship. If he really is a boar. He might be a wizard wearing a spell; in his way, he speaks as well as anyone. Seems to be physical though, flesh and blood. At any rate he carries Marshal Macurdy easily enough, and the marshal is a large man."
The courier left his lordship with that informational lump, and Cyncaidh called his butler. "Talrie," he said, "we'll have guests for supper, and probably for the night. A man riding on a giant boar. A boar who speaks, I might add." He gave Talrie a moment to grasp and accept the statement. "Prepare a stall for it in the coach house, with clean straw and, um, whatever you think such a creature might like to eat. They may be here as soon as two o'clock."
"Very well, your lordship. Do you anticipate the horses being upset by him?"
"I think not. They're being escorted by mounted police. Apparently the creature is compatible with horses."
Talrie left, to give appropriate orders to the housekeeper, cook, and stableboy. Cyncaidh strode upstairs to inform Varia. Opening her study door, he paused. She sat in her wicker reading chair, facing away from him, no doubt with a book in her hands. What, he wondered to himself, has Macurdy come here for? His business is surely with her, not me.
She'd heard the door, and after marking her place, got to her feet, turning. Graceful, always graceful, he told himself. She was dressed for summer, in sheer green over a gauzy white underdress, setting off her vividly red hair. Her feet were bare—a private quirk of hers. Like her arms and face, they were lightly tanned and perfectly formed. Physically she was more beautiful even than Mariil, he thought. And mentally, spiritually? Equally beautiful, but different. Cyncaidh, he told himself, you've been blessed all your life. And hoped that blessing wasn't in danger.
"Hello, love," she said smiling. "What brings you to my lair?"
It was difficult to hide his feelings from her. She was exceptionally perceptive of auras, when she paid attention. "Guess who's coming to supper," he said.
Her eyebrows rose. "I have no idea." She eyed him quizzically, then grinned despite the discomfort revealed by his aura. "Someone you feel uncomfortable with," she suggested. "Not Quaie the younger. Not that uncomfortable. Someone you—like but feel uncomfortable with." She grinned again. Her fists were on her hips now, challenging. "Who?"
In spite of himself he smiled. "Curtis Macurdy," he answered. "The Lion of Farside, if you'd rather."
Her smile disappeared. She stepped to a chair that faced him, and sat down. "Curtis? Really?"
"And his saddle mount. I'm sure you recall the name of his warhorse."
She frowned, puzzled. "Hog. He named it after a horse of Will's. Why?"
"Now he's riding a different sort of hog."
"Different?"
"He stopped at the police post south of the city. At the Riverton Road crossing." He paused. "Riding a giant boar. An actual giant boar, with a saddle."
She stared, then laughter bubbled out of her. "Curtis? Good God! Whatever became of my quiet, homespun farmboy with literal hayseeds in his hair?" Her husband's solemn, even lugubrious expression stilled her mirth. Getting up, she stepped over to him and took his hands. "Its been nearly twenty years since we saw him last. My decision hasn't changed, and it will not." I wept all that out of my system after he left, she added inwardly, out of my system and out of your sight. I chose you because of the love we had—we have—and for little Ceonigh. And now there's Rorie as well.
There was more to it that she wasn't looking at. With Raien she had security and stability. After her ordeal at the Cloister, security was important. And Curtis had changed, even eighteen years ago. Anyone changed over time, but to become the Lion of Farside...? And perhaps hardest to confront, she could not go back to life on the farm, even if he could. Not farm life as she remembered it.
She would, she knew, love Curtis Macurdy till the day she died. And Cyncaidh for just as long. But Cyncaidh she knew, from nineteen years of familiarity and sharing, from love and admiration. She couldn't imagine leaving him and their sons.
* * *
Macurdy and Vulkan arrived shortly after two. Vulkan's bulk and hooves were ill-suited to the carpets and hardwood floors of the Cyncaidh residence. (At the palace at Teklapori, the floors were mainly of granite, with rugs largely restricted to the royal apartment and guest rooms.) So Talrie ensconced him in the carriage house, with a peck of corn and some cabbages. "A fat turkey has been obtained and is being plucked for you," Talrie added. "It will be brought out directly, unless you'd prefer it roasted. That would take quite some time."
Vulkan told him he preferred it raw. And that meanwhile a brief wallow in the fish pool would be welcome. In the residence, Macurdy met with the Cyncaidhs for only a few minutes. The last time he'd met Varia, the circumstances had been utterly different than he'd expected. He'd been thrown completely off-stride, his reaction unsure and tentative. This time he knew her circumstances. What he somehow wasn't prepared for was how beautiful she would seem to him; she took his breath away. Liiset was beautiful, and they were clone sisters, but Varia's loveliness put her somehow in a class of her own.
Varia's greeting, while warm and fond, set enough distance between them to cool whatever hope he'd arrived with. She'd changed, of course. Her speech sounded ylvin now, both in accent and syntax, and her aura reflected a matured serenity that told him her life was happy and complete.
When the Cyncaidhs excused themselves, Talrie took Macurdy to a guest room. Adjacent was a bath with a deep tub, freshly filled with hot water. Macurdy bathed, then lay down in borrowed pajamas for a nap that was slow in coming. He'd been highly skeptical that Varia would accept Sarkia's invitation, but now he realized how much hope it had kindled in his subconscious.
And now having seen her, spoken with her, read her aura, it seemed to him there was no chance at all that she'd agree. Still he'd deliver Sarkia's message. Because he'd said he would, and because he would not waste whatever hope there might be.
* * *
Chief Counselor Cyncaidh had not missed Macurdy's reaction to Varia—the Farsider had been shaken by the sight of her—but her reaction had not matched his. She'd spoken graciously and fondly to him, and her aura had matched her words, but she'd shown little male-female response.
Meanwhile, Cyncaidh was a disciplined man, and returned to his reports with full concentration. After a bit someone knocked again. "Your lordship," said Talrie's familiar voice, "a diplomatic courier has arrived from the ylvin embassy, with two guardsmen. And an envelope. They wish to see you personally—yourself and Lady Cyncaidh. He did not divulge his mission." Cyncaidh arose tight-lipped, and followed Talrie downstairs. It seemed to him he wasn't going to like this. Three minutes later he came back upstairs, going first to the guest room where Macurdy was napping. He'd known at a glance who the two youths were, had known before the captain said a word.
He shook Macurdy's shoulder. "Curtis," he said, "wake up. Some men have arrived. They wish to see you."
Macurdy sat up abruptly. "Who are they?"
"I'll let you hear it from them. I have to noti
fy Varia."
Frowning, Macurdy got up and began to dress, while Cyncaidh went to Varia's study. He told her no more than he had Macurdy, and she didn't press him.
Talrie had already conducted Rillor and the two young guardsmen to the first-floor parlor. They wore dress uniforms now. Varia knew at first sight who the red-haired youths were, though they'd been only four months old when she'd seen them last. Sons seldom looked so much like their fathers as these did, though part of it was Curtis's lasting youth. Standing beside her, Cyncaidh put a reassuring hand on her arm. They both knew the one reason Sarkia would have sent them. She wanted Varia back.
Macurdy was the only one who had to be told. Having no need to shave, he'd never looked much in mirrors. Cyncaidh introduced them. "Varia, Curtis, this gentleman is Captain Rillor, a courier from the dynast. And these two young men are your sons, Ohns and Dohns. They've come to meet their parents."
Macurdy was thunderstruck. He knew instantly what this was about. And if Sarkia had asked, he might conceivably have agreed to it. But to have it imposed on Varia like this... Anger surged in him, shocking even himself. If he'd had his saber, he might have cut the courier down. And Rillor felt it. His knees threatened to fold.
