A Princess of the Chameln (7 page)

On the summit she dismounted and sat on one of the large boulders that crowned the barrow. She pulled her snow-colored cloak of lynx and fox, Bajan's gift, around her, right to her toes, and felt herself invisible. After digging a place in the half-frozen ground with the bone knife, she planted an acorn wrapped in warm earth from the seed boxes in the cellars.
“Let it grow,”
she said in her mind, firmly, reverently, using the Old Speech.
“Let it grow for my deliverance and for the good of the Chameln and their lands.”

She looked about for a sign, but there was nothing particular to be seen except the beauty of the winter day. Telavel, covered almost to her hocks in a quilted blanket, nibbled at a twist of cold grey grass. Aidris drew out the stone from under her cloak and warmed it in the palm of her hand, under her glove.

She thought of her long involvement with the stone. She had learned first of all to hide it skillfully, moving it from place to place so that it was never found. Then she had learned not to approach it too often, not to question or weep, not to expect messages or miracles.

She felt the stone warm on her hand and drew it out and looked into it. There were two tall red candles in gold candlesticks and sprays of evergreen. It looked like an altar for the Goddess at the Winter Festival. There was shadowy movement, the sleeve of a robe came into view, the whole scene blurred, breaking into sparkling points of light, then cleared again. Three objects lay between the candles; a hand, the Lady's hand, moved each one forward for her to see. A small bound book in the style of Lien, with purple-brown leather cover and a silver fastening; a dagger in a green sheath; a cluster of yellow stones on a long gold chain. The three objects were tapped, each one, with a forefinger, then the two hands opened in an offering gesture.

“Oh the book!” said Aidris, pointing. “I will choose the book!”

There was a gesture, hands together, of greeting and farewell; the picture faded. She was schooled by this time to feel no disappointment. It was like a game played on New Year's Eve, with coins and charms in the fruity-bread. She hoped the book meant “good fortune in the coming year.”

II

A day at the end of the Willowmoon, the month of planting, she was sky-larking in the stableyard with Maith and the grooms. Kira, the senior kedran, looked out of the topmost window of the manor house.

“Something to be seen!”

Aidris ran indoors, panting, wet from the water fight, and began to climb the kitchen stairs. She ran onto the second landing and into Nazran's study. As she stood at the window Kira came down from the attic and presently Maith and the Countess Maren came to stand behind them. A troop of cavalry were crossing the plain: thirty warriors of Mel'Nir mounted on their battle chargers.

“If they turn off the road?” said Aidris.

“Goddess help us!” said Lady Maren.

“No sense in taking chances,” said Kira. “If they turn off the road, those draught horses will give us a few moments grace. Dan Aidris and Maith will go on foot through the orchard and into the near forest.”

The mounted warriors moved like a ponderous war-engine; one could almost hear the beat of their hooves, the harness of men and animals jingling as they went along. They passed the point where they might have turned off towards the manor house and rode on until they were hidden by the trees.

“Something afoot!” said Maith. “Countess, shall we send into Vigrund town and try for news?”

“Tomorrow,” said Lady Maren.

Aidris knew that this tomorrow meant “a day like today,” another peaceful spring day at Thuven. She was restless and wished they might send for news at once, but she said nothing.

Tomorrow did not come. The next day she was awakened very early, before sunrise; Lady Maren stood there in her nightgown holding a candle.

“I have brought your milk posset,” she said. “You must dress quickly and go down to the hall. Nazran is here. I have to tell you . . .”

“What? What has happened?”

“Dan Esher is dying . . . dead . . .”

“An attack?”

They were speaking in whispers. Lady Maren sat on the end of the bed and wiped her eyes.

“No,” she said. “A wound-fever. Lockjaw. He took a small, deep wound in the foot from his own boar spear.”

“Sharn Am Zor? My aunt Aravel?”

“Danu Aravel has taken the children and gone into Lien.”

Nazran stood at the foot of the stairs; he looked older than ever, but full of vigor. His white hair stood up in peaks, the hand gripping his saddlebag was gnarled like an old tree root. He was driven by a frantic haste; he drew Aidris to the end of the long refectory table. She saw a shadowy group of followers at the end of the hall.

“Werris has claimed the double regency for yourself and Sharn Am Zor,” he said. “There has been fighting in the city, in the north. Gilyan stood up as regent and Esher's Torch Bearer Zabrandor . . . nothing served. There are a thousand warriors of Mel'Nir in Achamar, more have crossed the border. The Chameln lands are in the power of Ghanor, the so-called Great King.”

She uttered a low cry and stifled it quickly.

“What must I do?”

“You must not come into the hands of Baron Werris,” said Nazran. “You must go at once into Athron, to the house of Nenad Am Charn, the trading envoy in Varda.”

“Yesterday we saw a troop of warriors.”

“They have gone to close the border at Rodfell Pass. You must take another way, through the forest. I have brought a guide, from Vigrund, a man who is loyal to your house. You should leave within the hour.”

She gave a sharp intake of breath, and he waved a hand with frantic impatience.

“Princess, they have that poor widow woman, Micha Am Firn, shut up in Ledler. They will find out this place soon enough.”

“I am ready,” she said.

Nazran led her down the length of the hall; it was just daylight.

“Here is your guide, Dan Aidris,” said Nazran formally.

She had seen Nazran's two elderly esquires; the third man was much younger, well-built with a short brown beard. His face was familiar.

“It is Master Ric Loeke, the son of the master huntsman. He will bring you safely into Athron.”

Ric Loeke strode forward, solemn-faced, and knelt before Aidris.

“Ever the faithful servant of your house, Princess!”

The formality was not so reassuring to her as it was to Nazran. It did not suit the man; she thought his face must have another expression, but could not picture what it might be. She gave him her thanks; he sprang up again, brisk and businesslike; she thought all might be well.

“It is a simple journey for anyone who rides well,” said Ric Loeke. “We will come into Athron in eight days at the most.”

Maren beckoned to her; she had a saddlebag and the new fur cloak.

“It is cold in the forest.”

She drew Aidris aside and made a business of swathing her in the cloak.

“Take care, dearest child,” she said in a low voice. “You are going into a strange household, in Varda. You are a young girl. Guard your chaste treasure, Aidris.”

Aidris embraced the old woman fiercely.

“I will take care.”

Ric Loeke came up with Nazran giving him instructions. He handed the guide one of the locked and sealed state pouches that were used for carrying jewels, coin and state papers. He handed a scrap of paper to Aidris.

“Contents of the pouch,” he said. “The few jewels may be kept or sold, as you wish.”

“Lord Nazran,” said Ric Loeke, “I had promised to take other travellers into Athron by this way.”

“Other travellers?” snapped Nazran.

“I am yours to command,” said the guide, “but it would do no harm if these ladies came along. I know they are ready to ride at once. The widow of a fellow guide and her daughter. It would lend us some disguise, and it is more fitting that Dan Aidris travels with attendants.”

Nazran had received a nod of assent from Lady Maren.

“Agreed!” he said. “But remember the oath of secrecy. We have put all our trust in you.”

They went directly to the stableyard; Telavel stood ready. Aidris embraced the two kedran, Maith and Kira. The spring sun was rising over the forest; fresh green shone out among the dark conifers. Nazran came and stuffed a small package into her saddlebag.

“A New Year gift,” he said. “It belonged to your mother. A servant brought it to me in Achamar.”

She waved once and did not look back, but followed Ric Loeke's tall black gelding along the outskirts of the forest to the road.

He turned his head and said, “We'll go some way towards Vigrund then move into the South Ride. You had better wait while I go into the town.”

He was unsmiling but not awkward.

“What will you say to the ladies?” she asked.

He shrugged and rode on. They crossed the road into the South Ride, a wide grassy bay in the sea of forest trees. She hated to be left alone; when Ric Loeke had galloped away, she rode further in and stood behind a tumbledown brushwood shelter, in a place where she had a clear view of the road.

She did not have long to wait, although it was long enough to awaken her old fear, running over the back of her neck like a cold breeze from the depths of the forest. Loeke's black horse came pounding down the road with one companion, a woman in an enveloping green cloak beside him, mounted sidesaddle on a broad-rumped brown mare. Aidris came out of hiding expecting introductions, but Loeke spurred past her, shouting for her to follow. He whipped the horse of his companion, and the three of them went thundering down the South Ride. Then the guide turned off to the right, and they went more slowly but still at a good pace down a well-trodden path. He drew rein suddenly; the woman began to speak, but Loeke held up a hand for silence. They heard the sounds of the forest.

“Were you followed?” asked Aidris.

Loeke rode on without answering, and she repeated the question, thinking he had not heard. He gave her a single glance over his shoulder, frowning, then seemed to recollect himself.

“Horse troopers,” he said. “Questioning travellers.”

There was a burst of laughter at her side.

“You made the bird talk!” said a sweet voice.

Aidris looked and was amazed. The third member of the party was a young girl not much older than herself. She was pretty, more than pretty, a beautiful girl with loose red-gold curls escaping from her green hood, a beauty even by comparison with Hedris and Aravel and the ladies who had served them, Riane and Fariel and the rest. Her elaborate gown, her slender hands in their green gloves, all told a tale that Aidris thought had ended. This was unmistakeably another lady of Lien.

“Don't gape, little kedran,” said the girl. “I know I look a fright.”

Aidris looked away; she felt herself blushing. Loeke rode on, surly and unperturbed, and they followed. They had to follow, thought Aidris; he was their guide.

“You come out of Lien, I think,” she said to the girl.

“From the capital of Lien, from Balufir,” said the girl proudly. “I have been presented at the court of the Markgraf Kelen, and I have walked in the rose gardens with his Markgrafin, Zaramund. You may call me Sabeth—”

“But that is . . . a royal name,” said Aidris. She almost said, “. . . one of my names.”

“Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies,” said Sabeth smiling. “I was expecting a battlemaid, hard as wood. But you are not yet trained, I suppose. What shall I call you?”

“Aidris.”

The name, she saw, had no associations for this strange girl.

“I was expecting to travel with a widow and her daughter,” she said.

Sabeth cast a sidelong glance; her eyes were blue as cornflowers.

“My lady mother is unfit to travel,” she said. “I must journey alone into the magic kingdom of Athron. There is a destiny waiting, I am sure. A place will be kept for me. Perhaps the Prince—Prince Terril, the elder Prince Flor is married—will catch sight of me one day, playing a stringed instrument, harp or lute, at an open casement. . . .”

“Sabeth,” growled Ric Loeke, “stop your blethering.”

Sabeth, checked in the midst of her romance, gave Aidris a quick, shy, knowing smile. They rode on in silence. The path was broad and level, carpeted with pine needles. The majestic trees rose on either side in thick, dark ranks, like giant warriors. The wind sang a constant song in the upper branches.

They made a brief halt at midday, then rode on steadily until sunset. The going was easy, but Aidris was tired; Sabeth drooped in her uncomfortable saddle, cramped and exhausted. When Aidris came to help her dismount, she waved her aside and waited for Ric Loeke. She slid into his arms with a tired, melting smile, and he carried her and set her down in the bracken. Their camping place had been used by many travelers; it had a clump of stones for a fireplace and a spring nearby. They had come up the side of a low bluff and could look down to a forest pool, fed by the spring.

Aidris went about helping Loeke to put up the two ingenious tents that he carried; she gathered kindling for the fire. When Sabeth revived, she set out the food, some from each of their saddlebags. The guide, dour and quiet as ever, grilled a trussed fowl from Aidris's store of provisions. He drank apple brandy, and it made him suddenly more cheerful. Sabeth peeled an apple with a little silver knife and fed pieces of it to Loeke with all kinds of teasing looks and pretty gestures.

She produced a tiny Lienish harp of bone and sang songs in a low, sweet voice. Aidris found herself a shade embarrassed by the performance, perhaps because all Sabeth's behavior was a performance. It seemed strange for this lovely creature to perform for the surly forest guide, even if she was his betrothed or his sweetheart. Whenever Loeke slouched off into the bushes, Sabeth left off singing and threw Aidris an exhausted grin. Then after a few more tots of brandy Loeke swore aloud and told her to stop that damned yowling, it was giving him a headache. Sabeth yawned prettily; Aidris crawled off to one of the tents. She lay on her bracken bed hearing the forest all about her and slept, too tired to puzzle over the ill-assorted pair.