A Princess of the Chameln (20 page)

She went down two steps and said in a low voice, “Bring out the soldier's body from the pit. Lay him outside the mill.”

There was a horrid whimpering in the darkness, a damp, soft sound. She knew the fetch begged for reward, its only reward, release from the mill, freedom.

“Very well,” she said. “You may come out with us, but you must do my bidding exactly. If you do not, the power from this stone will find you out and destroy you or wall you up forever in some dark place!”

There was a change in the old mill; the air was soft and pleasant with a smell of meadow flowers. A thread of melody, a little song, lived in the old timbers. The fetch was docile, but she did not trust it completely. She went quickly up into the dome of the mill again, and as she passed by the eastern window, she was caught and held by the strangest scene of all.

She saw a windy autumn day, the sky full of mares' tails. A party of riders were setting out on the road to Varda. Their clothes were rich but somber; she thought some were armed. In the midst of the riders was a figure in white upon a white horse. It was too far away for her to tell if this mysterious rider was a young man or a woman. For a moment she thought of Sharn Am Zor, but she doubted if he would ever learn to sit a prancing steed so well. As she watched, the white rider waved a hand, slowly and purposefully, then the whole company was out of sight behind the hedges of the Varda road.

“Come then,” she said to the two men, “we will go out. Take my hand, Sergeant, and you, Highness, take the sergeant's hand. Be careful on the stair.”

They followed her like sleepwalkers; the mill was sweet and quiet. At one turn of the stair, they heard weeping; and at another, there was a globe of light that danced about over their heads. They went down and down, and Aidris led the way out of the dark door. The sun was covered by a thin film of cloud, and they could see the boundaries of the spell, the charmed circle that lay around the mill, like a mist. The prince's horse stood some way off, and now it was afraid, trembling; it gave its master a nervous greeting when he appeared. The cause of its fear lay close by the door: the dead body of the young kern, Simmen, pale and unmarked. Aidris guessed that his neck was broken.

“Bring the mare, Highness,” said Aidris firmly. “She must carry out poor Simmen.”

The prince moved cautiously through the grass and led the mare closer, then he held her head while Sergeant Wray lifted up his young comrade and laid him across the rich saddle. There came again that windy clattering from inside the mill, which struck fear into all of them. Aidris took the sergeant's hand again, and then came the prince, leading his horse. They took the same track that Aidris had made in the dew-wet grass, now warm and dry underfoot. As she walked along, Aidris became aware of a little track that grew in the grass at her side, as if some animal walked beside her across the meadow.

So they came at last to the bridge, and Aidris walked on boldly into the mist itself, feeling the firm boards under her feet. She stared ahead and saw shapes form in the mist: men and women standing stock still, like figures in a dream. For a moment she was afraid, but then she saw that these were watchers of flesh and blood, waiting for their return. For a few paces she saw them as uncanny, dwellers in another world, and yet she knew most of them. Niall of Kerrick, Ortwen, Mother Mora and the miller himself, and Dickon, the young lad. Megan Brock stood there with an officer in strange livery, and a fair-bearded man, fancily dressed, whom she took for Fantjoy, the prince's servant. There were children come to gape, and Gavin, the lame waker, from the barracks.

Aidris came out of the mist completely and stood aside at the entry to the narrow bridge to let the sergeant, the prince and the mare with its burden go past her. The watchers came forward as if a spell was broken and gathered round the sergeant and the prince.

Aidris glanced down at the grass by the bridge and said quickly, “Go to Niall of Kerrick in the brown and yellow robe. Serve him faithfully. In his service is your freedom.”

There was no sign that she had been heard; she might have been muttering to the air. People were coming towards her. She flung up a hand and spoke the word of unbinding given her by Prince Terril. A wild wind sprang up, whirling about the mill, catching at the hair and clothes of those watching, bending the poplar trees. Hats flew off, geese ran honking along the river bank, dogs barked, the horses plunged and reared. Then the wind was gone, as suddenly as it had arisen, and with a harsh grating sound like a long sigh, part of the old mill fell away as they watched, a wall crumbled and fell in, raising a cloud of dust.

“Venn,” said Megan Brock, “did you do that?”

“No, Captain,” said Aidris, “not entirely.”

The kedran captain smiled at last, watching Aidris very keenly.

“It was well done,” she said. “You brought out Wray and the prince. We have heard something of the business from that damned courtier, what's his name, Fantjoy.”

“It was too late for poor Kern Simmen,” said Aidris.

She saw that the sergeant and a company of men-at-arms were preparing to take their young comrade's body back to the hall.

“Captain,” she said. “I am uneasy about the whole tale. Where was this Fantjoy all night long?”

“Knocked silly behind the mill,” said Megan Brock. “Or so he says. This spell or charm flung him some way when it was set down, and he came to himself after you had gone to the rescue. What are you saying, Venn?”

“The whole working was directed against the visitors, the two princes at the crossroads,” said Aidris. “Oh, I am sure Terril meant it as a prank, no more; but if the charm had been set at the crossroads, the working might have been much worse than here. It was pure chance that the old mill had a fetch and the charm rebounded.”

“I am not up in magic,” said the captain, “but I accept your judgement. You must write a full report.”

“I still don't know the time of day,” said Aidris.

“Past four o'clock,” said the captain. “There was no other hitch, Goddess be praised. Grey Company lacked two horses, but the whole thing went off . . . like a charm. The princes came safely to the hall. This little sideshow has been hushed up. You and Cash are excused from duty until the morning.”

She saluted, cocking an eye at the prince and his servant who now approached.

“This is my witch-maiden,” said Terril. “You see, Fantjoy . . . Kerrick Hall is full of surprises.”

Fantjoy was subdued and weary, all his curls wilting. He had obviously been badly frightened. He snatched up Aidris's hand nevertheless, and she saw Ortwen grinning as he kissed it.

“Ch-charmed,” he stammered. “You saved my master, Kedran Venn.”

“You have put me in your debt,” said Prince Terril. “Ask something, my dear. What will you have?”

“Nothing at this time, Highness,” said Aidris steadily. “Perhaps when I ride home, one of these years, I will need something.”

“Ride home?”

“The kedran surely comes from the Ch-chameln lands,” put in Fantjoy softly.

“That explains a lot,” said the prince airily. “They are all witches there!”

She escaped from the pair of them and came to Niall of Kerrick. The whole crowd of watchers had dispersed and were walking or riding away, some to the hall.

“You must tell me the tale one day,” said Niall.

“It was a bad business,” said Aidris. “They play at magic in Athron, Master Kerrick.”

“I know it,” he said, “but you have done bravely. Perhaps some good will come of this sorry jest. Look . . . I have found a friend!”

There at his side, tongue lolling, trotted a curly black dog, not as large as a lurcher but bigger than a terrier. Niall bent down and ruffled its poll.

“A stray,” he said. “I'll call him Crib, I think, for an old dog I had once as a boy.”

“It is a good name,” said Aidris. “Here, Crib!”

The dog seemed to know its name already. It danced about, and she patted it and gazed into its yellow-brown eyes.

“I am sure it will serve you faithfully,” she said.

Niall seemed about to speak again, but then he lowered his eyes and walked off in silence with the black dog gambolling at his heels. Aidris was left alone with Ortwen and their two horses.

“I'm wrung out,” said Ortwen, “and Goddess knows how you must feel.”

“It has been a long day,” said Aidris, “but longer for you than for me. In there the time passed more quickly.”

“Trouble,” grumbled Ortwen, as they led the horses along the road. “You draw it to yourself, Venn, like honey draws the bees and wasps. Now it's more than house folk, it's a prince. And that sweet-smelling hand-kisser, F-f-fantjoy.”

“Don't nag,” said Aidris. “At least we're off duty and can sleep or go watch the dancing.”

As they passed the mill, Mother Mora stood on its bridge. Aidris returned the little cloth-wrapped charm that she had carried up her sleeve. She thought of the mill and shuddered.

“What is in the charm, good mother? Can you tell me?”

“Carach leaves,” said the old woman, “powdered fine and mixed with . . . certain other things. Our good Athron magic. You have laid the fetch. You have the power and the spirit for such things.”

“I did not seek this power,” said Aidris.

“It is a gift,” said Mother Mora. “Give thanks for it.”

Aidris mounted up, feeling a pleasant sense of the end of the adventure. She rode back with Ortwen through the cool evening, and when they came up the avenue to the hall, the lamps were already lit and they could hear the musicians tuning up for the night's festivities.

“The honeymooners came safe home?” she asked, “Lady Sabeth and Sir Gerr?”

“They rode in at the right hand of Prince Ross, so I am told,” said Ortwen. “There was an awkwardness because the place should have gone to that poor plain thing, Princess Josenna, wife of Flor.”

“Is she plain then?” said Aidris. “I'm sorry for her.”

“She is bad-tempered and jealous of her rights.”

“The world expects too much of a princess.”

The courtyard before the main entry was lit with golden lanterns. There were kedran from the hall on duty and a company from Varda. Aidris saw for the first time men and women wearing the emblems of the Falconers of Eildon, one of the oldest of the knightly orders. Lady Aumerl, resplendent in her gown of green, came out onto the steps and stood taking the evening air with three guests.

“Who are those three?” asked Aidris, clutching at Ortwen's rein.

She saw that one was an old man, tall and silver-haired, and one a woman with tawny hair and the third a dark man.

“Psst!” whispered Ortwen, although they were a long way off in a patch of shadow.

“Those are the messengers. Uncanny, all three of them and full of old, dark Eildon magic. They serve the Falconers; some say they can fly about as falcons themselves. They come back every few years to Kerrick Hall . . . it is a wonder you have not seen them before.”

“Why do they come back?” asked Aidris.

“To do honor to our Lord and Lady,” said Ortwen. “They helped our good Lord Huw bring back the Carach tree years ago when Athron was in its doleful dumps, a poor and wretched land.”

“They
are
uncanny,” said Aidris. “I have had enough of magic for one day.”

She felt as if she stood upon the edge of a dancing floor or an arena for martial games. She had only to ride into the golden light of the courtyard and show herself to these messengers, and then, perhaps, her secret would be known. She would come out of the darkness, be invisible no longer. Yet she shrank back; the time was not ripe. She rode off to the bustle of the stableyard, and there was old Gavin, grinning with excitement. He gave them a wink and offered to groom their horses.

“You've had a hard day, my girls!”

“That's a kind offer,” said Ortwen. “Come Aidris, you're all worn out with your witchcraft.”

“We'll bring you some pickings, Master Waker,” said Aidris.

That night and other nights she thought of the messengers as she had first set eyes on them, through the western window of the mill. She had seen them ride from Garth with young Huw Kerrick, on an autumn day in the past. She had seen the present too, from the southern window. But the future? She could still make nothing of the dark troop moving towards Varda, with the rider on the white horse.

The long month of the royal visit dragged out for the kedran and men-at-arms. There was too much to do at some times and too little at others. It was spit and polish all day and every day; it was rich food left over from banquets and not enough time to eat it. It was drooping in the saddle, swallowing a yawn; it was the crowded stableyard, where those who had yielded to temptation and become drunk were always under the pump trying to sober up. It was a guardhouse embarrassingly full of the escort troops from Varda and Eildon, who boozed and fought like folk on a fairground, blaming it on the Kerrick wine and beer.

The barracks rang with royal gossip, which Aidris found hateful and trivial. Prince Terril was also a guest at the hall, and whether his jape came out or not he was not on good terms with his brother and sister-in-law. Aidris could not deny that she looked with keen interest at all the royal personages. Flor was a solid, good-humored man who looked exactly what he was: a Prince of Athron. He was prosperous yet not over-refined, dignified but not cultivated. Princess Josenna, daughter of an old Athron lord, was indeed plain and fretful; she was pregnant, having borne two daughters and miscarried twice.

Aidris puzzled over those lands where a woman could inherit only in default of a male heir. In the Chameln lands it was otherwise and in Eildon, but the arrangements of the ruling houses were as strange as all the ways of Eildon. The aged Priest-King Angisfor still lived in his mystical retreat, and his children and grandchildren ruled the land.