A Princess of the Chameln (3 page)

“A petitioner, Highness,” said Bajan, watching keenly.

He murmured to Aidris; “The old man serves the Lame God! See his staff . . .”

Aidris felt a shadow pass between her and the sun. She urged her dear new grey, Telavel, forward so that she could hear the suppliants address Dan Esher. A band of white woven stuff was crisscrossed around the old man's staff and nailed into position with large thorns. Aidris had been stalking Inokoi, the Lame God, and his followers for years now. She had the same morbid interest in this cult as she had in the lands of Lien and of Mel'Nir.

The murderers of her parents had been named as followers of Inokoi; it was also said that they were set on to the deed by the powerful neighbors of the Chameln. She could not penetrate the mystery; even Nazran was reluctant to speak. Yet the deed had such a dreadful power, it cried out so loudly, she wondered how it could remain a mystery.

Could Dan Esher and Danu Aravel come and go however cautiously with the demanding realm of Mel'Nir or with the patronising friends and relations from Lien if they believed one word of the rumors? Could the followers of Inokoi love humility and seek truth without ridding themselves of this accusation? She stared at the old man addressing the king, at Dan Esher answering briefly, at the clouded face of Baron Werris and at Bergit of Hodd, impatient, anxious for her hunting.

“Justice,” the old man said, “for the lake village of Musna, threatened by the enclosures of a new estate.”

Then the child ran forward with a scroll for Dan Esher and returning gave Lady Bergit a spray of oak leaves. The woman, who wore a long drab cloak, seemed gaunt and plain; she looked out from under her straw hat with a half-smile. The old man had a blank, pale face; his eyes were in shadow. Now the child, who wore a close brown hood, suddenly ducked under the neck of Bajan's horse and thrust a spray of green leaves at Aidris.

“Dan Aidris,” it piped, “see the truth!”

She took the spray and the child sprang back nimbly. Sharn cried out, and she clutched his rein as the hunt moved on, stifling a cry herself. She had seen that it was not a child who had given her the spray but a child-sized creature with wrinkled hands and bright eyes under its hood.

Having seen this, she doubted every one of the suppliants. The plain woman was clearly a young man in a long cloak. The old man was not old and his cloak was two-sided, one rough, one richly embroidered. She could not look back, the going was too steep and she had to take care of the young prince. As they came down at last to level ground, she saw that the tall thunderhead had spread out, darkening the sky. She looked back and could see only the “old man” under the tree, staff uplifted, as if he called down a blessing or some other working upon the hunt as it passed him by.

“Bajan!” she called.

The young Count Am Nuresh looked at Aidris, head on one side. He never showed impatience with her, but she had learned to see a line grow between his black brows. All around them there was laughter, a jingle of bridle bells, as the hunt reformed; the young men were a brave sight, the young women, in the habits of Lien or in the tunic and breeches of the Chameln, were beautiful. She was fourteen years old, and Bajan was not her esquire.

“Those people frightened me,” she said. “How did you see them?”

“The priest is right, Princess,” said Bajan. “The lake village is threatened . . . by a Mel'Nir landlord. But there is no need to be afraid.”

His bay stallion, dancing, seemed to betray his own eagerness to get away.

“Good hunting, Bajan!” she said.

“Aidris!” cried Sharn Am Zor, an edge of tears in his voice, “they're going!”

She turned and smiled at her cousin.

“Here,” she said. “Cheer up!”

She handed him part of her spray of oak leaves.

“Now you are the Summer's King!”

They rode off side by side, galloping at the pace of Moon, the contrary white pony, down the royal ride after Dan Esher. The horns blew up at last: the silver horns of Lien and the curled wooden trumpets of the Chameln. It was a part of the royal hunt, perhaps the only part, that Aidris enjoyed. She liked to be in the wood, under the majestic trees, bouncing along on the thick turf with the quarry and the kill far distant.

Two kedran of her own household rode as their bodyguard; a band of even slower riders, almost hunt followers, came after them at a distance, in the ride, and on either side, in other paths, the bolder spirits crashed and shouted. The horns sounded: Old Loeke and the hunt-servants had done their work well. A stag, a fire-crest stag, sang the horns, and the king's party, far ahead, plunged after him.

Aidris and Sharn came through the first clearing and checked to let by a stream of riders cutting back into the ride. They found their way past the roundhouse of undressed logs decorated for the hunt. Maith, the younger of the two kedran, reined in her grey gelding with an oath.

“Taken a stone!” she called. “I'll catch up.”

Eri Vesna, the older captain on Aidris's left, barely slackened her pace; she shouted something to the young officer and they rode on. Moon, the pony, was going well, it was not a time to check. The path narrowed, and they took a right-hand path at the heels of a brightly clad party; she recognised old Lord Hargren and his new wife on her skittish roan. Aidris thought that this play-hunting at a child's pace might be no more than a disagreeable duty for the kedran and their horses. The small greys could ride all day, untiring.

The horns called a view, a view, far off. The wood had become very dark; up ahead they saw only two blue riders. They rode at a tall thicket, an unexpected wall of green across the path; the blue riders had vanished from sight. They turned into another path of untrodden moss and grass; up ahead thick yellow sunlight slanted down between the young elm rows. The going was smooth, but Moon was beginning to lag. The horns sounded a confused call that none of them could read. They listened for the movement of the hunt, but heard nothing. The shafts of sunlight died and went out, one by one, as the storm cloud covered the wood; they had reined in, almost involuntarily, to watch the sight.

Vesna gave a sigh.

“Must get back into the ride, my dears,” she said.

“We have lost them,” said Sharn.

They rode on into the place where the sunlight had been and found no way out except a small leafy path, very dark. Aidris felt a twinge of anxiety; she was glad when Vesna took the narrow path at a good pace. They came into a round clearing with a stone drinking trough in the center. They listened again, but the wood was absolutely still. Even the sounds of insects, the whisper of the leaves, were hushed.

Telavel pricked her ears when a bird gave a loud two-note cry and was answered by another, further off. Vesna was looking about at the three paths leading out of the round.

“Let's give a hail!” she said.

They called with the wildness of children who had not much opportunity to shout aloud. The hallooing sank without an echo; there was a distinct and distant burst of shouting, far away, not an answer to their call. Then horns were blowing, and this time they read the sounds: nothing for the hunt, but three harsh notes, repeated. The alarm. The kedran call to arms. Vesna's grey mare reacted before she did, flying towards a certain path.

“Come! Follow!” cried Eri Vesna to the children.

There was a thick sound, dull as a knock on wood, and Vesna fell backwards from her horse. Aidris tugged at Telavel's rein, as if she half knew what had happened, and urged Sharn's pony towards the trees. Moon whinnied and pecked; Sharn slid backwards to the damp ground over her rump. Aidris leaped down, eyes still on Vesna, and pushed Sharn towards a sturdy oak. She saw at last, across the clearing, the arrow shaft in the kedran's throat. The poor grey mare, riderless, dashed along a different path.

“Get behind the tree!” said Aidris to Sharn.

His mouth was open to protest, but he obeyed, crawling across the grass.

Telavel trembled, but stood still. Then there came a sound that froze the blood, the shriek of a horse, surely Vesna's grey, hidden from sight. Even Telavel could not stand still; she reared up. Aidris let go the bridle, then boldly seized it again, turned the mare towards the third, the widest path. It was the path nearest them, the one she thought must lead out of the wood, to the lake shore. She slapped at the grey rump, and Telavel galloped away with the pony after her.

“Aidris . . .”

Sharn was halfway round the oak, his boot heel caught in a tough loop of grass. She went two paces, bent down to release him; an arrow thwacked into the tree trunk above her. She stayed down and crawled. She pushed Sharn before her and he went as fast as a weasel. They crawled like two terrified animals into the thicket, deeper and deeper in. Then close together, in a space no bigger than a fox's lair, they paused, panting, smeared with earth, torn by the undergrowth, and listened.

The earth-smelling darkness was lightened, suddenly; then came the thunder. The storm broke over the wood. Rain came roaring down all around them; Aidris took Sharn's short cloak and spread it over their heads. The noise of the storm frightened her more than ever: it must drown out the sounds of their pursuers.

“I can fetch help,” she whispered in Sharn's ear, “but you must promise never to tell.”

“Tell what?”

“Promise never to tell!”

“I promise!”

Without hope she fumbled the bronze chain out of her boot pocket. She had sent every year to the northern tribes for new boots, with the long dagger sheath; they had been pleased to serve their princess. Now she drew off the cloth covering and the large oval stone, rimmed with silver, glowed like a blue-green eye in the darkness of their hiding place.

“Help us!” she said.

The stone cleared; it burned red at the edges; in the center was a streak of light, it was a candle flame. The candle stood in some kind of chamber; she could see the covering of a table, the tall pewter candlestick. There was a movement in the stone; the Lady was half visible behind the candle flame. Aidris had never seen her clearly. Sometimes she was not in the picture at all.

“See us,” she said, teeth chattering. “See us. Help us. We are in the wood by Lake Musna.”

There was no sound in the world of the stone; the flame wavered as the candlestick was wrenched aside, and for a few seconds she saw the Lady's face. It was distorted a little because it was so close, like Sharn's face, cheek to cheek with her own. The Lady was neither old nor young; she had a fine fair skin and strong, handsome features. She was, as Aidris appraised people, neither of the Firn nor of the Zor; her hair was brown-black, her eyes a deep blue with dark brows and lashes.

She was already gone; the stone showed a tree, another oak, old and gnarled, and beyond it lake water. The scene widened a little and she beheld the grey horse and the white pony, Telavel and Moon, sheltering beneath the tree, cropping grass. The stone went back to its normal blue-green color; it was a stone, nothing more, a beryl from the mines of Mel'Nir, polished but unfaceted. Aidris put the chain over her head and felt the stone slip down, cold between her breasts.

She led Sharn to the left; they rose into a crouching position and threaded their way between young broken saplings. The rain had eased off, yet the wood was full of the sound of water pouring from the leaves, running away into the crevices of the ground. They heard for the first time running footsteps, a single voice, then the bird calls repeated, dreadfully close. Two notes, then again two.

Aidris found a small path, the track of some animal in the bracken. They ran along it and there before them was the great oak in its own clearing. Telavel and Moon cropped the grass, just as she had seen them, and not far away was the lake. The grey mare lifted her head and whinnied as Aidris and Sharn appeared. They ran across the little space and clasped the gnarled trunk of the oak.

They waited for the pursuit, but it did not come. No one else entered the clearing; it was as if the power of the oak sealed them off from the world. They saw and heard nothing but the peaceful life of the wood.

“What happened?” asked Sharn Am Zor.

“We were attacked,” said Aidris. “Did you see any of them?”

“What should I have seen?”

She stared at him. The prince was sitting on the grass, his back against the tree, prizing an acorn from its cup. He was dirty and his clothes were torn, but she sensed his unconcern, his fearlessness. She took it for pure innocence, an innocence she had lost, three years past. She sat down beside him and ruffled his golden hair in loving exasperation.

“You saw Captain Vesna fall down?” she prompted.

“The old kedran?” he said. “Was she hurt?”

“She was shot with an arrow. Did you see anyone . . .?”

“I saw the blue riders. You saw them too.” said Sharn.

“Yes, I saw them. But after that?”

“Maybe there was an archer . . . a . . . a small archer. In a different tree, not an oak, not one of our good oak trees. There were these blue fellows, who climbed trees, do you think? And shot at you and the old kedran. And her horse. I expect they shot her horse because it cried out. I think these were dark, bearded men, frowning. They shot from trees or behind trees . . .”

“Sharn!”

He smiled at her, pleased with his romancing.

“Sharn . . . what did you see? Tell the truth!”

He had seen the blue riders; he had seen Vesna fall from her horse; he had heard the distant alarm. He had seen a movement in a tree, nothing else, and then the arrow that had driven them into the thicket.

“I wonder what the alarm was all about?” he asked dreamily.

Aidris was suddenly impatient with his ignorance and his story-telling.

“I am afraid Dan Esher might have been attacked,” she said bluntly.

The prince flushed with anger; he hit out in rage at Aidris.