C. Dale Brittain (30 page)

“This is fascinating,” said the queen, leaning her elbows on the table to look at them, “a princess running away with her true love, but you are not sure who that true love might be.”
 
For a second, Kardan thought she knew more than she had said, but it was too late to try to learn it from her.
 
“And even a sense in it of the lords of voima!
 
This is the sort of tale I love to hear.”

“It’s not a tale,” said Hadros brusquely.
 
“This is real.”

“
Everything
becomes a tale once it has happened,” said Queen Arane, still smiling.
 
She looked from one to the other with a calculating expression.
 
“You are both widowers, and have been for some time.
 
My request therefore may sound the slightest bit scandalous, but with the two of you there to watch each other, scandal should not be a concern.”

“What do you mean?” asked Kardan dubiously, fearing he knew.

She smiled even more widely.
 
“When you cross the channel again to search for the Princess Karin, I shall accompany you.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

1

“Lie,” said Roric roughly.
 
“Tell them some plausible story.
 
Are not women better at manipulation than men?”

“But if this manor had a message from Hadros to intercept us—”

“They will never have heard of Hadros or Gizor, much less of us.
 
I don’t even know whose kingdom we are in now.
 
Hadros cannot realize where we are going, and he will not have sent ravens to every manor and farm in every direction!”

“But the Mirror-seer may have told my father we were headed north to the Hot-River Mountains.”

“Just do it,” said Roric irritably.
 
“I don’t know about you, but after three days of hard riding, with nothing to eat but berries and that one rabbit, I intend to take food by force if they do not give it to us.
 
I had thought you wanted fewer people dead.”

Karin gave one final glance at his face and slipped off Goldmane’s back.
 
The stallion was breathing hard, his nostrils pink, but overall he seemed to be bearing up well under the burden of two riders.
 
Roric however had said in disgust that the horse had run far faster in the Wanderers’ realm.

For one moment, Karin found herself wondering what it would be like to be fleeing with Valmar instead of with Roric.
 
But she dismissed the thought.
 
If she were with Valmar, if he had not left with the Wanderer, if Roric had not crossed the channel to find her, she would still be in her father’s castle.

She straightened her shoulders and walked firmly up the rise toward the manor.
 
They had come into a country where high fells loomed over slopes striped by meandering stone walls, a country of unexpected valleys and of very few people.
 
In the blue distance were a line of mountains that might be the Hot-River Mountains, though Karin tried not to calculate the discouragingly large number of days before even Goldmane’s speed could take them there.
 
The buildings here were on a bare hilltop, open to the wind, though in the dip below the trees grew thick and green.

As in Hadros’s castle the hall was stone and the outbuildings were of weathered oak, but the outbuildings were roofed with green turfs, and the manor was surrounded not by a stone wall but by a palisade.
 
The gate to the courtyard was open, and dogs swarmed around her, barking, as she crossed it toward the main hall.
 
Two tow-headed children peeked at her from the hall’s doorway then darted away again.

A housecarl, slouched against a building, leered at her.
 
She glanced down at herself, at her once elegant dress now ripped and filthy.
 
At least she must look slightly better than Roric, with his unshaven beard and a look in his eye that had become progressively fiercer the last three days.

A woman with a milk pail hurried out to meet her and drive off the dogs.
 
“Could you please help me?” began Karin, in a note of weariness and pleading that was not feigned.
 
She was hungry and thirsty enough to snatch the milk from the woman’s hand, but she restrained herself.
 
“I have been driven from my home and am fleeing for my life.”

The woman looked at her steadily a moment.
 
Her eyes were a pale blue, sky-colored, disconcerting in the unblinking intensity of their gaze.
 
But she nodded then and spoke calmly.
 
“Help me carry the rest of the pails into the dairy and tell me what has happened.”

Karin shook off the strange sense that this woman might already know who she was, and followed her.
 
Roric was right; they could not possibly have received a message from Hadros or Gizor One-hand at this isolated manor.

The two women took the pails of warm milk into one of the out-buildings, where they poured them into the pans for the cream to rise.
 
Karin had done the same thing so many times, so many mornings and evenings in summer, that she had to catch back an unexpected gasp of homesickness.
 
It was far too late, she told herself, to yearn for the days when she had been mistress of Hadros’s household.

“I live—or used to live—on a royal manor down on the channel,” she improvised, “in King Hadros’s kingdom.”

If the name meant anything to the woman, she gave no sign.

“Three—no, I mean five—days ago, raiders came and attacked us, firing our house and driving off our flocks.”
 
No use drawing attention to how fast Goldmane could run.
 
“All the men were killed, and both my parents.”
 
She let her homesickness come out as a small sob.
 
“I barely escaped with my life, accompanied by one warrior.
 
This is the first time we have dared stop.”

The sky-colored eyes watched her as she spoke, and Karin feared she was about to be denounced as a liar, but the woman only shook her head sadly.
 
“They say there have been fewer warriors raiding the last ten or twenty years, more peace among the Fifty Kingdoms, but I fear that time has come to an end with the change so imminent now.
 
I knew that war and raiding had started up again in the north this spring, but I did not realize it had yet reached so far south.”

She covered the milk pans, and the two came out of the dairy together.
 
“Is that your warrior?” the woman asked thoughtfully, turning her intense blue gaze down the hill toward Roric.
 
He still sat on Goldmane, the muscles standing out on his arms and his sword swung rather obviously at his side.

“Yes,” said Karin, quickly and with assurance.
 
If she had not known him she would have been frightened by him.
 
From this angle his profile looked like a hawk’s, and he appeared to be looking into a rather ferocious distance.
 
“I trust him completely.”

Surprisingly, the woman was willing to be reassured.
 
“I shall talk to my husband when he comes back with the sheep,” she said, leading the way into the hall.
 
The same housecarl was still leering at Karin, but the woman sent him away with a sharp word.
 
“But I think we will let you stay here tonight.”

They were given the loft room over a storehouse adjoining the hall, a bed for Karin and a pile of straw at the door for her warrior.
 
“I cannot even remember the last time before tonight I had a good meal,” said Karin sleepily as Roric slid under the blanket beside her.

“And it has been even longer for me.”

“Shall we take up their offer to stay here tomorrow?”

“Goldmane could use the rest,” said Roric.
 
“And we must have lost Gizor’s pursuit by now.”

She thought that he was more concerned about his stallion than about her, but she was too tired, too glad to be back in a bed after sleeping rough with one ear always cocked for pursuit, to become irritated.

Roric put an arm around her and nuzzled her hair.
 
“Remind me where we are going,” he said, sounding much more awake than she felt.
 
“We have been running
from
Gizor and Hadros for three days.
 
After a certain point, I either have to be going
toward
something, or I shall stop running and fight.”

She shifted around to face him, though the loft room was too dark to see anything; the window at the far end was no more than a rectangle of gray.
 
“We are going to rescue Valmar, of course.
 
We cannot let the Wanderers kill him, send him to Hel for their own purposes.
 
With him safe, we at least have a chance to reestablish peace between you and Hadros.
 
And you were the one who wanted to win a kingdom up there.”

He kissed her on the throat and shoulders.
 
He really is still awake, she thought with a small sigh, sliding her arms around his neck.

“Maybe this time,” he said, lifting his lips from hers, “I shall meet the real Wanderers in their realm, and then I
shall
make my story something glorious.”

Karin ran a finger along his jaw, now freshly-shaved, starting to wake up again herself.
 
“Do you want to kiss me or talk about the Wanderers?” she asked with a hint of laughter in her voice.
 
“Because I can tell you, Roric, I do not believe in them any more.”

“I do,” he said slowly, rolling back and pulling her head onto his shoulder.
 
“But then I was in their realm.”

“Well, I do not intend to deny their existence.
 
After all I spoke with one twice, even if I have not been where you have gone.
 
But I cannot believe they have any power ultimately, or that we mortals should do anything to serve them.”

“Valmar has gone to serve them from what you tell me.
 
Why should we be so determined to save him, if he is doing exactly what he wants?
 
Especially,” kissing her forehead, “since his being gone means no one can possibly try to persuade you to marry him.”

She shook her head, the hair sliding across his face.
 
“No, Roric.
 
If I return to my father’s kingdom, handfast to you and with Valmar gone forever, the war between my father and Hadros will break out again.”

“And we will win it this time,” he said agreeably.
 
“Hadros is an old man now.
 
For that matter so is Gizor—chasing us should finish breaking his strength.
 
And Dag and Nole will be but little help to Hadros.
 
I saw your father’s castle; I would be able to defend it nearly single-handed.”

“You were not there when Hadros took our castle,” Karin said quietly.
 
“I was.
 
Even as a little girl I understood why my father had to surrender.
 
It was either that or starve in a few weeks anyway—after seeing our fields burned and our tenants killed.”

“This time I will bring the tenants inside the walls,” he said, still in a voice that was almost light—but not quite.

“So that is your plan?” she asked in alarm, “double back, find a way to cross the channel, fight Hadros in open battle?”

“It is you, not me, who is so concerned about seeing your father again, about behaving as a future queen should behave.
 
Or else you can stay up in the north country with me as
my
queen after I win a kingdom single-handed, as Hadros seems to think I can.”
 
She could not tell if he was merely joking or again fighting deep bitterness.
 
“If the Wanderers prefer a king’s son to a man without a father—leaving
him
instead for the trolls—then I shall have to win my fortune in mortal realms.”