Guardians of the Keep: Book Two of the Bridge of D'Arnath (26 page)

Kellea wasn’t outside either. The only tracks in the snow were the sun-melted muddle of our foot-and

hoof-prints from the previous night.

The Dulcé followed me out of the cave.

“I didn’t even feel it change,” I said in wonder, pulling the pink stone from my tunic and clasping it in

my hand to savor its lingering warmth. “We had a difficult evening.”

“So it would appear.” The bearded man’s eyes glinted with good humor. “And, in our great hurry, we

most rudely gave you little warning.”

Recovering some measure of politeness, I said, “You seem to know me, but I’ve not had the

pleasure. . . .”

“My name is Bareil,” he said, bowing in the way of the Dulcé, with one arm extended and one behind

his back. “Dulcé, as you see. Guide to Master Dassine for thirty years and now privileged to perform that

service for Prince D’Natheil.”

“Where is Dassine? I’ve news of such urgency . . .”

His smile dimmed. “Master Dassine is dead, my lady. Two days ago at the hand of unknown

assassins.”

“No! But what of the Prince ... his recovery ... his future . . . ?”

“I’ll tell you all that I may, but if you please, a question first. What’s happened here? The boy inside .

. . who is he?”

“His name is Paulo. He was leading us down the mountain last night. Lost his footing and fell. We

didn’t know—”

“The peasant boy who accompanied you and the Prince to the Bridge last summer.” The certain

eagerness that had sparked Bareil’s question sagged into disappointment. It put my hackles up.

“A brave and honorable boy, who was as responsible for saving the Bridge as anyone. If you know

his name, then you know—”

“Please, madam”—Bareil flushed and held out his hands in an eloquent apology—“I am quite familiar

with the merits of the boy Paulo and honor him as I do all who aided us in that great victory. But I will

confess that I was hoping— Ah, the Prince must explain.”

Biting my tongue, I stepped away from the cave mouth to the edge of the path. Pink and orange

harbingers of the sun spilled over the peaks we had crossed, tinting the snow-blanketed landscape all the

colors of flame. Below us, much closer than the forever distance of my night’s imaginings, were the

trees—pine and fir of deep green, nocked on this morning in snow, colored rose and coral. But my heart

was behind me in the cave, and I could not keep silent, no matter the moment’s irritation. “How does he

manage with Dassine dead?”

Bareil stepped up beside me, his arms folded under his cloak. His low voice bore everything of

kindness. “You must understand, my lady, that a madrissé may not discuss his madrisson or his

madrisson’s business with anyone, no matter how close. It is a violation of the absolute trust that must

exist between them.”

“I understand that.” Of course, understanding did nothing to heal resentment.

“Master Dassine had a unique confidence in you, Lady Seriana. Because I must enlist your aid in

carrying out his last wishes, I will stretch my oath so far as to say this: if you question the state of the

Prince’s heart, then he grieves sorely; if you question his will and courage, they are undiminished. But if

you question the state of his recovery, it is not complete, and so I must ask you— The Preceptor Dassine

entrusted me with the knowledge of his purposes and his plan for D’Natheil, so I must beg you to abide

by all that he required of you.”

“If it is necessary.”

“Quite necessary. To look closely into the unresolved contradictions of his past or to strain too hard

to understand those things still hidden is very difficult for the Prince.”

“Yes. I saw it.”

“Master Dassine believed that, even if he failed to pursue his course with the Prince, eventually the

memories of the Prince’s life as the man born in this world would return. They might be in differing order,

however, or, due to the influence of present-day events or D’Natheil’s life that is also his, they might spur

different emotions and interpretations. Such was not my master’s desire. He tried to submerge the Prince

in his past by isolating him from everything, anything, that could distract him or burden his senses. And he

gave my lord little time to analyze or react to his recovered memories. Master Dassine believed it

imperative that nothing prevent the Prince from becoming the person that he was ... as you knew him.

This is still possible. I bear the knowledge, and there are those in Avonar who have the skill, to complete

Master Dassine’s plan. But the terrible events of the past few days and the mission that Master Dassine

laid out for the Prince before he died . . . those must take precedence.”

The sun warmed my face even as a sharp wind gusted off the snow, chilling my back. “I can’t judge

the importance of your mission, but I bring news of such significance that I would believe it was my

willing it so that brought you here. Yet from what you say I shouldn’t tell Karon ... D’Natheil. My news

involves him so deeply and is connected with the most painful part of his past . . . and perhaps with the

future as well.”

Why? Why? Why would the Zhid and their masters, the Lords of Zhev’Na, want Gerick? A possible

answer had come to me in the long night’s journey, forgotten for a time in the horror of Paulo’s injury,

now recaptured in the clarity of the morning.

Bareil’s small face crinkled into a frown. “Would you please consider trusting me with your

information? Though we have just met, I feel as if I know you very well. I’ve been privy to all of Master

Dassine’s work in these past ten years. My only desire is to complete it and serve the Prince as I may.”

I saw no choice. I could not risk harming Karon with what I knew. And beyond that, Bareil had

already impressed me as imminently trustworthy.

“All right, then,” I said, “tell me what would be the result if the Zhid gained possession of a child ... a

child who is the son of your prince?” I had seen it often, my own king taking hostage the children of his

enemies.

“The legitimate son of the Heir of D’Arnath? The eldest living son?”

“Well, yes.” Eldest, youngest ... a hostage was a hostage.

The Dulcé did not turn pale, or cry out, or do any of those things we associate with uttermost dismay.

He just became absolutely still, the pleasant animation of his exotic features wiped out in an instant.

“Madam, if the boy had not yet come of age, it would be a day of such woe for my world and yours that

there has been no day to compare with it since the day of the Catastrophe itself. Have you reason to

believe such an event has occurred?”

“It’s why you find us in such desperate circumstances,” I said. Then I told him everything.

“The Third lives and has obtained the prize he has always wanted. ...” he murmured to himself.

“Would I had died with my late master before I heard such ill news. A child alive beyond all

understanding, the reprieve of a life we mourned, a tale that should bring only rejoicing. And yet— The

circumstances are so extraordinary, the father’s soul now living in the Prince’s flesh. But if the Prince and

the boy were to pass the test of parentage . . .”

“No ‘test of parentage’ is needed. I’m certain Gerick is Karon’s child. He can work sorcer—”

“No, no, my lady. I do not doubt you. Don’t you see? Matters are far worse than you believe. If the

boy is proven before the Preceptors of Gondai as the legitimate eldest son of the Heir, child of his flesh

and spirit—no matter what circumstances have caused it to be true—then that boy will become the

Heir’s legitimate successor—the next Heir of D’Arnath.”

Gerick the next Heir . . .

Bareil shook his head. “You have seen truly. We dare not tell the Prince. Master Dassine’s strictures

were clear. Your husband must not know this child is his own until he has relived the path to his own

death.”

“Then tell me how I am to convince the Prince that this rescue is of paramount importance, if I can’t

tell him the victim is his own son?”

“That will perhaps be easier than you think. Ah”—he glanced up, shaking his head and raising one

hand as if to refuse temptation—“I speak too freely. I’m truly sorry that I’m unable to discuss the matter

with you further. You must speak with the Prince and decide for yourself what to tell him of the child.

Master Dassine had great faith in your judgment.”

“I feel as if I don’t know anything any more.”

When Bareil smiled, it was with all of himself. Master Dassine had a knack of leaving people in

impossible situations. “But only because the universe itself is in an impossible situation. He enjoyed doing

battle with the universe— the only opponent he ever found challenging. And in you, madam, he was

convinced he had found his worthiest ally.”

The Dulcé excused himself, saying he would go in to check on D’Natheil’s progress with the “most

excellent boy.” Restless, shaken, I climbed up on a rock that promised a good vantage. Still no sign of

Kellea. The crumpled ridges of the Cerran Brae ran southward, their faces still shadowed, a contrast to

the bright plains that stretched to the western horizon. The northern prospect was dominated by a single

peak, its massive, forested shoulders topped by a snowy crest. Nestled at its feet was a frost-shrouded

valley, plumes of pink-tinged mist rising from it as if the fires of the netherworld burned below its veil.

Out of my chaotic thoughts emerged one dreadful comfort. The Lords would want Gerick alive.

After perhaps three quarters of an hour the Dulcé popped out of the cave. “The healing is done.

Perhaps we should eat while you speak with the Prince. He will need sustenance, and my guess is that

you and your companions would not be averse to a hot meal.” He offered me a hand down from my

perch.

“Are you a cook, too, then?” I asked, remembering the first Dulcé I’d met—a charming, pitiful

betrayer who thought murder and an ancient sword could have his city.

A shadow crossed his face, quickly smiled away. “Alas, no. Poor foolish Baglos was a chef without

peer, even in Avonar where there are many fine cooks. This company will have no such pleasure from

me, though I am not immodest to say that the brandy I lay down is considered to be a unique pleasure.

We have a bit with us, if you should have need of a drop. . . .”

“Not now. Last night I might have traded my horse for it.” I followed him into the cave.

Paulo slept peacefully next to the snapping fire. His chest rose and fell, slow and deep, and the color

in his thin face was a healthy brown. Most incredibly, he had rolled over on one side, his fist tucked

under his chin, and his legs— both legs—curled up under his blankets. The bloody rags and splints lay in

a pile near his feet.

Karon sat on the ground beside the boy, his arms about his knees and his chin dropped to his chest

as if he were sleeping. But he looked up as Bareil and I walked in, and the marvelous smile that had

always been the sign of Karon’s true nature illuminated his tired face. “You invited me back to visit you,

my lady, but you didn’t say you would find an even colder spot to meet and provide a challenge such as

I’ve not seen in a very long time.”

“How’s that, my lord?” said the Dulcé. “I thought the saving of my own life had been your fairest

challenge!”

“Ah, Dulcé, a few pinpricks such as you had cannot begin to compare.”

“I thought you timed your return visit extremely well, sir,” I said, trying not to stare. “But I cannot

quite shake the conviction that you are only a convenient fantasy.”

“I’m sure that if I were your fantasy, I would be able to leap up from this frigid floor and greet a lady

properly, and then work some marvelous feat of sorcery to transport us all to southern Iskeran where it’s

warm.” He rubbed his head vigorously with his fingertips, tousling the hair that had come loose from its tie

at the back of his neck. “I make a most inadequate fantasy, my lady. You should conjure another.”

“How is Paulo?” I asked, offering him a waterskin.

“Once we fill his stomach, he should be able to resume your journey with no difficulty,” said Karon,

accepting the water gratefully. He drank deeply and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

“You’ve saved his life or at least his limb, which is much the same. I—all his friends—are grateful

beyond words.”

“I believe I’ve only begun to repay him.” After a quick glance at me and an almost imperceptible

shake of his head, all pleasantry vanished from his face. “My debts are innumerable. Bareil told you of

Dassine?”

“A grievous loss,” I said.

He nodded. “Did he also tell you of the task Dassine set us?”

“He said only that you have business with me beyond bringing this dreadful news.” I held patience and

let him speak first.

“We’re searching for news of an abducted child. . . .” He told me his story, then, of Dassine’s

murder, of the note, and the Healer’s dying words of a child that must be rescued from the Zhid. “. . . so

you see, even though it makes no sense, I must discover what I can. Bareil tells me that Dassine trusted

you beyond any other, and so I begin with you.”

This could be no coincidence. My mind raced. What should I tell him? Instinct insisted I claim that

Gerick was a descendant of D’Arnath’s line who had been placed in my world for his own protection.

Or perhaps that he was simply a Dar’Nethi child who had shown immense power. Anything to convince