Elder Isles 2: The Green Pearl (7 page)

BOOK: Elder Isles 2: The Green Pearl
8.86Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

“Despite the Christian churches which are now appearing everywhere, the druids still hold power.”

“Very well!” said Aillas. “You have told me enough of Godelia. To gain influence I must either ride down from the sky on a white bull holding the disk of Lug, or catch the largest salmon of the season. What next?”

“I crossed the Skyre by ferry and entered Xounges. This is the only access, since the Ska control the approaches by land. Gax lives in a monstrous stone palace named Jehaundel, under ceilings lost in the high shadows. The halls are like caverns, and afford little comfort to visitors, courtiers or Gax himself.”

“But you were able to meet with Gax?”

“Only with difficulty. Gax is now something of an invalid, and his nephew, a certain Sir Kreim, apparently tries to insulate Gax from visitors, claiming that Gax’s health can not suffer excitement. I paid a gold crown to ensure that Gax knew of my presence, and was called to an audience despite the disapproval of Sir Kreim.

“Gax in his prime must have been a most impressive man. Even now he overlooks me by two inches. He is lean and spare, and talks in a voice like the north wind. His sons and daughters are dead; he does not know his own age but reckons it to exceed seventy years. No one brings him news; he thought that Oriante still reigned in South Ulfland. I assured him that Aillas, the new king of South Ulfland, was a sworn enemy of the Ska, and already had sunk their ships and barred them from South Ulfland.

“At this news King Gax clapped his hands in joy. Sir Kreim, who stood at Gax’s elbow, declared that Aillas’ rule was transitory, and why? The reason, according to Sir Kreim, was well-known: Aillas’ sexual perversions had made him sickly and limp. This caused Gax to spit on the floor. I declared this ‘well-known fact’ to be a slanderous lie, untrue in every detail. I stated that whoever had imparted such news to Sir Kreim was a debased and dastardly liar, and I advised Kreim never to repeat the allegation lest he be accused of perpetuating the lie.

“I pointed out that Sir Kreim was otherwise mistaken: that Aillas even now energetically worked to curb the highland barons, and would soon rebuff the Ska.”

Aillas gave a sour chuckle. “Why did you not also promise that I would reverse the course of the rivers and cause the sun to rise in the west?”

Sir Tristano shrugged. “You have not previously so much as hinted of these ambitions.”

“All in good time,” said Aillas. “First I have fleas of my own to scratch. But tell me more of King Gax and the sinister Sir Kreim.”

“Kreim is somewhat older than myself, with a purple mouth and a black beard. He is surly and suspicious, and almost certainly a creature of the Ska.

“I mentioned other events of the last year and King Gax had known none of them. The old rascal seems well aware of Kreim’s ambitions, and apparently from sheer mischief kept turning to him and crying out: ‘Kreim, fancy that!’ And: ‘Kreim, these are the men we must count on if ever we are to escape the toils of the Ska!’ And: ‘Kreim, were I once again young, I would do as Aillas does!’

“Finally King Gax sent Sir Kreim away on one pretext or another. Sir Kreim went reluctantly, looking back over his shoulder all the way. King Gax then told me: ‘As you see, my life and my reign together are dwindling into oblivion.’

“Here King Gax looked all around, as if to assure himself against eavesdroppers. ‘I have made many mistakes in my life. There is one last mistake I wish not to make.’

“And that is”

“Gax only waved a finger at me. ‘You are a subtle young man, despite your easy mask. Can you not guess?’

“I can guess of a dozen mistakes you might make. You hope to avoid dying before your time, and so perhaps you walk a narrow line.”

“That is one of the right guesses. I am dying, but only in the sense that every man of my age is dying. The Ska are patient; they will wait. But I must be prudent, because I fear poison or a knife in the dark, and it would be a cold death here in Jehaundel, with no son to avenge my murder.’

“Let me ask this, from simple curiosity. How do the laws of North Ulfland regulate the succession of kings?”

“By the ordinary lines of descent, if I die and am dead, which means Kreim. But see this circlet on my head? Were you fool enough to accept it, I could transfer the kingship to you at this moment, and then, like mine, your life would be in pawn to the Ska and you would wonder at every mouthful of food.”

“Keep your kingship,” I told him. “My ambitions fly much lower.”

“At thus moment Sir Kreim returned, and I took my leave of King Gax.”

Aillas went to look out the window, across the harbour where the wind blew up white-caps. “How do you judge his health?”

“For a man of seventy, he seems sound, though his eyes are not so keen as before. His mind is agile and his voice is steady.”

“And after you left Xounges?”

“I had a most curious adventure involving an evil green pearl, which I joyfully relinquished to a robber, then proceeded across Dahaut to Avallon.”

“I had an audience with King Audry in his palace. He is pompous and foolish and vain, but he shows a sense of humor, which is a trifle ponderous; still it exists.

“I warned him that spies infested his household, and he laughed in my face. Since he had no secrets of any kind, Casmir wasted his money, which suited Audry perfectly well. There is nothing much more to tell, except that Audry is willing that you should marry his pregnant daughter Thaubin.”

“This I am not ready for.”

A footman entered and muttered into Aillas’ ear. Aillas screwed up his face and turned to Tristano. “Wait for me in the yard; for this business I am committed to privacy.”

Tristano departed and a moment later Yane came into the room, so quietly that the air seemed not to stir behind him.

Aillas jumped to his feet. “Once more you are back and once more I can breathe again!”

“You over-estimate the danger,” said Yane.

“If you were taken, you would sing a different song.”

“No doubt. Sing I would, loudly and quickly, and hope to avoid Casmir’s persuasions. There are few men I fear. He is one of them.”

Aillas again went to look out the window. “He must have other spies beside yourself.”

“He does indeed, and one of them is a traitor among your close advisors. Casmir almost named me his name, then thought better of it. But this man sits in a high place.”

Aillas pondered. “I wonder how close and how high.”

“Very high and very close.”

Aillas shook his head pensively. “I find it hard to believe.”

“You confer often with your ministers?”

“Every week, at least.”

“These ministers are the same, from week to week?”

“There is no great change.”

“What are their names?”

“They are six, all lords of the realm: Maloof. Pirmence. Foirry. Sion-Tansifer. Langlark. Witherwood. None could gain by Casmir’s victory.”

“Which have cause for resentment?”

Aillas shrugged. “Perhaps I am reckoned too young or too reckless or too headstrong. The South Ulfland expedition is not everywhere popular.”

“Which of the six is the most zealous?”

“Probably Maloof, who is Chancellor of the Exchequer. All are apt to their work. Langlark at times seems listless, but I have reason to exempt him from suspicion.”

“What reason is this?”

“I have tried to put the event out of my mind… now, it seems, wrongly. In Blaloc, as you know, shipyards build fishing boats and coastal traders. Recently a certain Duke Geronius of Armorica contracted for the construction of four heavy war-galleasses, of a class which could easily give us trouble on a calm day. Upon inquiry I discovered that Duke Geronius of Armorica is non-existent. He is Casmir, trying to create a navy on the sly. As soon as the ships are launched and Casmir has paid over his gold, I will send a force and burn them to the waterline, and there will be a great gnashing of teeth in Haidion Palace.”

“So then?”

“During a conference, with four ministers present, I mentioned rumors of ship-building at Port Posedel in Blaloc. I mentioned that I had asked a merchant dealing in glass bottles, now on his way to Port Posedel, to look into the matter.

“The merchant never returned. I made inquiries at his factory and discovered that he had been murdered in Blaloc.”

Yane nodded in slow rumination. “And the ministers who listened to your remarks?”

“Maloof, Sion-Tansifer, Pirmence and Foirry. Langlark and Witherwood were not present.”

“The incident would seem significant.”

“Exactly so. But enough for now. I am off to Watershade with Tristano and Shimrod, where, if you will believe it, there is a vexing problem to be solved. With Shimrod’s help, the problem may dissolve and we will have a few days of simple peace. Would you care to join the company?”

Yane excused himself. “I must go to my place Skave, and make sure of kegs for the new wine. What troubles the placid ways of Watershade?”

“The druids. They have settled the island Inisfadhe, where they put a fine fright into Glyneth, and I must set things to rights.”

“Send Shimrod out to throw a gloom on them, or, better, transform them all into crayfish.”

Aillas looked over his shoulder as if to make sure that Shimrod was not within earshot. “Shimrod already wonders at my sudden invitation. When dealing with druids, magic is a comforting convenience. I will let Glyneth tell her story; she can twist Shimrod around her finger, and any other man she chooses to wheedle.”

“Including a certain Aillas, so I have noticed.”

“Yes. A certain Aillas very much so.”

Chapter 3

WATERSHADE HAD BEEN BUILT during a long-past time of troubles, to guard the traffic on Janglin Water and to overawe the warrior knights of the Ceald, and never had it so much as come under assault.

The castle stood at the very edge of the lake, with part of the barrel-shaped keep rising from the water itself. Low conical roofs capped both the keep and the four squat towers adjoining. Trees overshadowed both towers and keep, and softened the castle’s mass, while the quaint conical roofs seemed almost comically inadequate to the task of sheltering the heavy structures below.

Aillas’ father Ospero had built a terrace around the base of the keep, where it shouldered into the lake. On many a summer evening, while sunset faded into dusk, Aillas and Ospero, perhaps with guests, took supper on the terrace, and often, if the company was good, sat long over nuts and wine and watched the stars come out.

On the shore grew several large fig trees, which during the heat of summer exhaled a pervasive sweetness attracting countless droning insects; the boy Aillas was not infrequently stung as he clambered among the smooth gray boughs after fruit.

The keep encompassed a great round hall containing a dining table in the shape of a C thirty feet in diameter at which fifty persons could sit in comfort, or sixty with somewhat less elbow-room. Ospero’s library occupied the floor above, along with a gallery, several parlours and retiring rooms. The towers housed airy bedchambers and pleasant sitting-rooms for the lord of the castle, his family and guests.

When the court moved to Domreis the moat was neglected and at last became a quagmire choked with reeds, blackberry thicket and scrub willow. Fetid odors rose from the slime and at last Aillas ordained restoration. Work-gangs were employed three months; then finally the gates were opened and fresh water rushed once again into the channel, though the moat now served only domestic purposes. During storms boats were brought in from the lake and moored in the moat. Ducks and geese paddled among the reeds, and the calm waters were fished for carp, eels and pike.

For Aillas, Watershade was the scene of his most pleasant memories, and across the years changes were few. Weare and Flora now used the titles ‘Seneschal’ and ‘Chatelaine of the House’. Cern, once a stable-boy and Aillas’ playmate, had become ‘Under-Master of the Royal Stable’. Tauncy, the one-time bailiff, had gone lame. As ‘Master Vintner to the Royal Estates’, he controlled the work of Aillas’ winery.

After long delay, and only at the behest of Weare, Aillas agreed to move into his father’s old chambers, while Dhrun took over those rooms once used by Aillas.

“So it must be,” Weare told Aillas. “There is no stopping the fall of the autumn leaves, nor the coming of new leaves in the spring. As I have often remarked to Dame Flora, you are perhaps over-inclined to sentimentality. Now, all has changed! How can you hope to rule a kingdom if you are too timid to venture from your childhood nursery?”

“Weare, dear fellow, you have put a hard question! If truth be known, I am not anxious to rule a kingdom, much less three. When I am here at Watershade, it all seems a joke!”

“Nevertheless, things are as they are, and I have heard good reports of you. Now it is only proper that you occupy the High Chambers.”

Aillas gave an uncomfortable grimace. “No doubt but what you are right, and you shall have your way. Still I feel my father’s presence everywhere! If you must have the truth, sometimes I think to see his ghost standing on the balcony, or looking into the embers when the fire burns low.”

Weare made a scornful sound. “What of that? I see good Sir Ospero often. On moonlight nights, should I step into the library, he will be sitting in his chair. He turns to look at me, and his face is placid. I suspect that he loved Watershade so dearly that even in death he can not bear to depart.”

“Very well,” said Aillas. “I hope that Sir Ospero. will forgive my intrusion. I will change none of his arrangements.”

Again Weare found cause for protest. “Now then, lad! That is not as he would want it, since he loved you as well! The chambers are now yours and you must arrange them to your own taste, not to those of a ghost.”

“So it shall be! Well then, what would you suggest?”

“First, a good scraping, scouring and re-waxing of the woodwork. Then a careful over-wash of the plaster. The green, so I have noticed, tends to go dingy with time; why not try a nice pale blue with yellow for the moldings?”

“Perfect! Exactly what is needed! Weare, you have a rare talent for such matters!”

Other books

Fiancee for One Night by Trish Morey
Exit by Thomas Davidson
His Love by Jennifer Gracen
Elizabeth Elliott by Betrothed
The Fuck Up by Arthur Nersesian
Riding Red by Nadia Aidan