A Princess of the Chameln (24 page)

She had held back then, and now she must still be silent. She wondered if there was prophecy in Sabeth's dream as well as a scene from the past. She had come once to Zerrah by night with her two kedran; perhaps she and Sabeth and Gerr would all be happy in that place together, in the future.

The grey morning began to grow into a grey day; the midwife came and tended to Sabeth and was pleased to find her so well. Her fever had gone; her sleep had given her strength. The sadness because of the child that had been lost was echoed in the stillness and greyness of the autumn weather turning at last to winter. Aidris left the midwife to watch and stole away back to barracks before Gerr of Kerrick was awake.

Chapter Six

I

In four years as a kedran Aidris had been no further from Kerrick Hall than Benna in the southwest; but in her fifth year, she travelled clear across Athron and back again. The New Year came in with freakish warm weather; then in the Willowmoon, snow and wind. There was a gift of horses from the Kerrick stables to be delivered, some way off, and the journey was put off several times. Then at the last possible moment, Grey Company took the duty and set off for Wildrode Keep, in the far northeast, beyond the Ettling Hills. The two colts and two fillies were a splendid gift: one pair were thoroughbred of the Athron stock; the others were of the new Kerrick breed, taller and stronger, the colt red-roan, the filly bay, sired by the great stallion, Fireking. Sir Jared Wild of Wildrode was to be married in the first days of the Birchmoon to the young daughter of a neighboring lord.

The going was easy in spite of the wet and the unseasonable cold, and the hills were passed almost before Aidris knew they had been climbed. The party stayed at an inn near the sacred spring where the river Flume had its beginning, and all the kedran made wishes at the spring. Aidris, looking towards the mountains that rose a handspan above the horizon in the northeast, knew her wish, and it happened she knew Ortwen's too. A new suitor had appeared at New Year in Cashcroft, and Ortwen, heir to all her father's acres, thought she would take this handsome fellow and stop soldiering.

They came to the old black-browed, mouldering keep in good time; but here in the border country, the order and the quiet magic of Athron did not seem to have so firm a hold. Their lodgings were poor, the local kedran and men-at-arms all curst and sad. It was, as Sergeant Lawlor said, more like a wake than a wedding. Aidris singled out the quartermaster, who was more approachable than his companions, and spoke to him of a person who had been in her mind during the journey.

“Where is Mistress Quade?”

They were in a little snuggery beside the stores with a few younger kedran and kerns clustered round a brazier against the cold. Master Roon grinned at her mildly.

“Friend of yours, Kedran Venn?”

“Yes,” she said. “We met lately at Kerrick.”

“Poor Jess Quade has her bower at the top of this tower we're now in. She will be glad to see a friend.”

“Master Roon,” said Aidris, “what is her estate?”

“Quade was the steward of the keep,” said the quartermaster. “Young Jess was brought up as book-sister to the young lords, Garl and Jared; she was older than they were by four, five years.”

“Was Jared the younger brother? Not the heir?”

“Not at first. Our young lord, Garl, died on his wedding day. That is one reason you find us a little cast down and fearful before
this
wedding.”

“And Mistress Quade was the kedran serving Sir Jared . . .”

“Just so. They went on many a quest. They might have married. Then Sir Jared became the heir, and from their last quest together, Jess Quade brought him home wounded. At least she bore him no bastards.”

The bluntness and cruelty of it surprised her. She climbed the stairs of the dark tower they were in and came to a room beneath the battlement, with only a faint glow of light under its door. Her knocking brought no answer, but the door was not latched. She went in and found Mistress Quade, pale and handsome, in a gown of crimson velvet, seated in a great chair before the fire.

“Kedran?” Her voice was faint and cold.

“Aidris Venn of Kerrick Hall.”

“Oh my friend . . .”

It was a cry of pain. She tried to rise but fell back in the chair half-fainting. Aidris went to her; there was no water in the room, the jug was dry and dusty. She lit a candle.

“Forgive me,” said Mistress Quade. “I do not know how long I have been sitting here. I had not imagined I would be so weak and foolish when the time came.”

“Dear Mistress Quade, you must eat and drink. Let me call the servants.”

“They will not serve me,” she said. “I should go to the buttery myself. It is close by.”

“I will go.”

Aidris went out, wondering how to wangle food and drink in a strange household, but at the buttery hatch servants were coming and going with laden platters. She helped herself to wine, bread, butter, broken meat and cheese, mumbled to an old woman that it was “Quartermaster's orders for the Kerrick visitors” and carried her booty up to the tower again.

“Forsaken,” said Mistress Quade. “I made him do it. There was no other way.”

She ate and drank, slowly at first, then with more appetite.

“What will you do?” asked Aidris.

“I am not the first woman whose lover married elsewhere,” she replied. “I could wait a little and then busy myself with his life, their lives again. He would even take me to his bed again. Or I might keep some rag of honor and be elder sister to the married pair, teacher to their children. The bride is sweet and sensible; she will do her best to care for him.”

“You could leave the keep.”

“Where would I wander? I have no spirit to take up arms again.”

“The world is wide,” said Aidris.

“Not for a woman alone, without means,” said Mistress Quade. “Would I go to Lien where they flay women as whores? To the Chameln lands or Mel'Nir? To Eildon?”

“Go to Varda,” said Aidris. “Prince Terril knows your story. He owes me a favor, and this will be it . . . to find a place for you. I will write a request to him.”

“A favor, dear Aidris?” asked Mistress Quade slyly.

“Not for anything you might imagine,” said Aidris, just as sly.

“The Prince was very taken with you, anyone could see that. Did he make you some offer?”

“To be his rune-mistress.”

“How quaintly phrased. And you refused?”

“He is still my friend,” said Aidris, “but there were reasons why I would not do it.”

“Oh, child,” said Mistress Quade, “you almost give me hope to try again. Turn down a prince . . . there is something princely in the gesture. But what would he find for me?”

“A place as teacher or steward or scribe. Perhaps . . . a husband.”

“Even that,” said Mistress Quade sadly. “But it would have to be an old man. I am barren. I could nurse and care for an old man as I have cared for . . . my liege.”

“Mistress Quade . . .”

“My given name is Jessamy . . .”

“Jessamy,” said Aidris, “how came the knight to such a pass? I saw you both, once, from a window in Achamar. I thought it strange that any persons should ride abroad seeking adventure. There had been too much change and violence in my life.”

“I have heard that you know something of magic,” said Jessamy Quade, looking away from Aidris, “so you will believe me if I tell you that the Wilds of Wildrode are accursed. A bane has fallen over the family, and on this ancient keep. I think it even pursued us on our last quest.”

“I have heard of such things but not believed them very much,” said Aidris. “Yet I know what it is to be pursued by misfortune.”

“The history of Sir Jared's line for more than fifty years is one of accident, disease and death. His mother lost ten children. His elder brother Garl, a fine man on whom so many hopes were centered, died after a fall from his horse, on his wedding day, five years past. His father, Old Sir Garl, was found dead in his chamber, mysteriously burned. With the lands it has been the same: even the kind magic of the Carach trees could not heal this corner of Athron. Some have said, pardon me, that we are too close to the wild Chameln lands and the mountains, but I believe it is a curse.

“We swore, Jared and I, to escape this dreadful thing. We went off questing and did well and suffered no harm. Then Jared became the heir of Wildrode. We went off on one last quest. We travelled, as I told you, through all the lands of Hylor, and I must say we thought of ourselves more as travellers than as questors. We used no violence, did not seek quarrels. Then we came at last to the High Plateau of Mel'Nir.

“We searched in that enchanted place, that wilderness of mists and rocks and grass tussock, for the Ruined City whose Chyrian name is Tulach-na-Shee. I have told you and all our questioners that we did not find it, but now I am not so sure. Certainly we found no ruins; but one day we came through a mist and were in a place that was green and flourishing. It was beyond a small, dried-up riverbed no more than a league from the village of Aird on the plateau, travelling to the east.

“In this green place there was a spring near a stone cell, like a chapel to the Goddess, and beyond it, among the tall spreading black pines that grow on the plateau, we saw a grey stone gateway. It was finely wrought with statues of beasts, and through the gateway we could see a tall house, a mansion.

“We drank at the spring and watered the horses and then turned to approach the gateway. A young man stood before us. No giant warrior, no brigand, but a slender youth in a russet tunic. We began to walk across the grass to greet him when he called to us to halt. He spoke in a strange way, lifting up his voice and calling to us as if we were far away or as if he could not see us plainly.

“‘Are you dark or light who come to us?' he called. I remember the words. I remember everything he said. We took it for no more than a queer greeting, on the order of ‘Do you come in peace?'

“Sir Jared called back and said his name: ‘Wild of Wildrode, come out of Athron.'

“Then the young man said: ‘Stay back! You are not yet summoned! You must follow the way to the end!'

“We made nothing of it, but the words sank into my mind. I spoke up myself then and said, ‘Good Sir' or ‘Good young sir . . . may we not approach the great house?'

“But the youth flung up his hand before his face and cried, ‘Go back! Go back!'

“We stood stockstill, and he gave a whistle, putting his fingers to his lips, like a village boy. They came from nowhere, he summoned them up: two gigantic hounds, like Eildon mastiffs but far more terrible. They were of a color between black and grey, their eyes glowed red. I had only a moment of terror, and then they flung themselves upon us. We were struck to the ground; I saw my dear liege overwhelmed, and I fell down and my head must have struck a stone, for I knew no more. I lost my senses.

“When I came to myself, I was surrounded by a thick, cold mist. I cried out and began to crawl to the spot where I had last seen Jared. There he still lay, horribly stained with blood. I found the pulse in his throat; he was alive. His face had been mauled and one eye deeply scratched at the corner, but the wounds were not as bad as they seemed at first. I still had a leather bottle at my belt with brandywine out of Lien, so I was able to tend to him a little. The mist was slowly clearing; it was night on the High Plateau, the stars blazing overhead.

“We were in a bare, dry waste, without grass or chapel or gateway; it had all vanished away. I almost screamed with fright when I saw an animal shape nearby, but it was my horse, my own good Ilsand, and not far away was Sir Jared's charger, Snow Cloud, a white wraith in the night. They were unharmed, our accoutrement was untouched, the knight's lance lay where it had fallen from his hand. I took blankets and wrapped us both and sat trembling until the night was over. In the light of dawn, streaming over the plateau, I saw the strangest thing of all. Not far away there was a little heap of stones that might have been the coping of the stone basin about the spring of water, the only sign that anything had ever stood in that lonely place.”

Aidris listened to the tale and was caught up by it. The quick, almost blunt way that Jessamy Quade used in telling it, convinced her more than flowery speech or traditional flourishes. She saw too how deeply the tale affected the lady herself, as if she lived it all again. Now she drew a shuddering breath and finished the story.

“There was nothing for us to do but stanch our wounds . . . my legs were scratched and torn but not deeply . . . and go on our way. The worst of it was that Sir Jared had no memory of the encounter at all. It had all been . . . taken from him. I told him all that had taken place, and we have puzzled over it from that day to this but found no true answer to some of the things that were said and done.

“Dear Aidris, I swear to you I have told no other person of this strange meeting, and I believe Sir Jared has not either. We felt Shame and fear. It might seem a reason to smile now, but there was something Shameful about an attack by two dogs, even if they were like the Hounds of the Dark Huntress herself. We have sometimes lied and told of brigands, but mostly we have said nothing at all.”

“Could you ride away?” asked Aidris. “Sir Jared at least seems to have been gravely injured.”

“Not at first. We rallied our spirits and made haste through the Adz and into the border forest as far as Vigrund. We were prepared to make light of this dreadful adventure and rode through the forest and searched for the goblin folk quite cheerfully. But we were both growing sick, a sickness of body and spirit. By the time we reached Vigrund and rested at the inn, Sir Jared had a fever; I was terrified lest it prove to be woundfever, lockjaw, or the raging sickness from a mad dog. When we spoke to Gerr of Kerrick, still keeping up some pretence that we were merely fatigued, he urged us to go by the Wulfental Pass into Athron.