The Briar King (55 page)

“You shouldn't say things like that,” Anne mumbled, feeling a sudden empty pain.
I can't even remember his face.
Nonetheless she loved Roderick. She knew that.

“How long since you've seen him?” Cazio asked.

“Almost two months.”

“Are you sure you're still betrothed?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean a man who would let his love be carried off to a coven a thousand leagues away might be less sturdy in his affections than some.”

“That … You take that back!” Anne rose to her feet in fury, almost forgetting that her “betrothal” was a lie. Roderick had mentioned nothing of marriage. She'd brought that up only to deflect Cazio's attentions.

“I did not mean to offend,” Cazio said quickly. “If I've gone too far, I apologize. As you say, I can be an ass. Please, have some more wine.”

The wine was already having considerable effect on Anne, but she nevertheless knelt back down and accepted the newly filled glass. Still, she regarded him with something resembling a cold stare.

“I have an idea,” Cazio said, after a moment.

“What a lonely creature it must be.”

“I
have
apologized,” he reminded her.

“Very well. What is your idea?”

“I presume your lover has not written you because you are not allowed correspondence in the coven?”

“He doesn't know where I am. But even if he did, a letter of mine would never reach him, I fear.”

“You know his hand?”

“Like my own.”

“Very well,” Cazio said, leaning back on one elbow and holding his wineglass up. “You write and seal a letter, and I shall see it delivered to this Roderick person. I shall receive any reply and bring it to you, at a place of your liking.”

“You would do that? Why?”

“If he is, as you say, fond of you, he will write you back. If he is in love with you, he will ride here to see you. If he has forgotten you, he will do neither. In that case, I hope to gain.”

Anne paused, stunned at the offer, though she quickly saw the flaw in it. “But if I trust
you
with his correspondence,” she pointed out, “you might easily libel him as faithless by never sending the letter.”

“And I give you my word I will deliver any letter he sends to you. I swear it on my father's name and on the blade of my good sword, Caspator.”

“I could still never accept the absence of correspondence as proof.”

“Nonetheless, my offer still stands,” Cazio replied easily.

“Again, why?”

“If nothing more is to exist between us,” Cazio said, “I want you to at least know I'm honest. Besides, it costs me little to do this. A trip to a nearby village, a handful of coins to a
cuveitur
. I need only know where your Roderick might be found.”

“It might be difficult for us to meet after today,” Anne said. “And I have nothing to write with.”

“Surely we can think of something.”

Anne considered that for a moment, and it struck her that she could send not only Roderick a message, but also one to her father, warning him of her visions and the threat they foretold to Crotheny. “You have seen the coven?” she asked.

“Not yet. It is around the hill, yes?”

“Yes. My room is in the highest room of the highest tower. I will write the letter, weight it with a stone, and drop it down. Perhaps we can contrive something with string for you to send his return letters up. Or perhaps I can meet you here again. If so, I will drop further notes to you.” She looked up at him. “Does this require too much of you?”

“Not in the least,” Cazio replied.

“You aren't going to wander on?”

“I am comfortable in this region for the moment,” he said.

“Then I thank you again,” Anne replied. “Your offer is
more than I dreamed to hope for. I will find some way to reward you.”

For an instant, it almost looked as if Cazio was blushing. Then he shrugged again. “It is nothing. If there is a reward, it shall be our friendship.” He raised his glass. “To friendship.”

Smiling, Anne matched the toast.

Cazio grinned wryly to himself as he crossed the fields toward Orchaevia's manse. He was well pleased with himself. It might be that there was no one in these parts worthy of his sword, but at least he had found a challenge. Love, no. Orchaevia was a foolish romantic. But the chase, yes, that was worthwhile. It would make the loving all the sweeter when Fiene submitted. She was a project worthy to occupy his time.

And if this Roderick should come looking? Well, then Caspator might teach him a lesson or two, and that would be even better.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
PURSUIT

“I HEAR THEM,” Stephen whispered in as low a voice as he could manage. “That way.” He thrust his finger east, pointing through the trees.

“I don't hear anything,” the holter said.

“Shh. If I can hear them, they may be able to hear us. The faneway blessed my senses, and some of them have marched the same fanes.”

Aspar just nodded and laid his finger to his lip in a gesture of silence.

After a time, the sounds of horses and riders receded.

“They're out of earshot,” Stephen told the holter, when he was sure.

“They took the false trail, then. Good.” The holter stood. His face was still strained and pale, and he moved as if his limbs were half-severed.

“You need rest, and attention,” Stephen said.

“Sceat. I'll live. I'm feeling better.”

Stephen was dubious, but didn't argue. “What now?” he asked instead.

“Tell me exactly what you heard them say.”

Stephen repeated the conversation as he'd heard it. When he came to the part about Fend, the holter stiffened.

“You're sure. You're sure they mentioned Fend?”

“Yes. My memory is better now, too.”

“Fend and a bunch of monks, off to kill the queen. What in the Raver's eye is going on?”

“I wish I knew,” Stephen said.

“Cal Azroth,” Aspar mused. “It's in Loiyes. It's where the royals go when they need extraordinary protection. I don't see how a handful of assassins plan to get in there.”

“They have the greffyn.”

“I'm not so sure about that,” Aspar said. “They were following it, yes, and it didn't attack them, but I don't think they control it.”

“But the Briar King controls it,” Stephen replied. “And the Briar King seems to be behind all this. And who knows what powers Spendlove has gained from the dark faneways?”

“Yah,” Aspar grunted. “Doesn't matter. We'll follow 'em and kill 'em.”

“You're not in any shape to kill anyone,” Stephen said. “Can't we contact the king? Get him to send knights?”

“By the time we could do that, they'll be at Cal Azroth.”

“What about Sir Symen?”

“Too far out of the way.”

“So it's just us?”

“Yah.”

Stephen took a deep breath. “Well, then. I guess we'll do that.” He cast a glance at the holter. “Thank you, by the way.”

“What for? Was you saved my hide. Again.”

“For believing me. Trusting me. If you'd paused to question—”

“Listen,” the holter said. “You're green and naïve and annoying, but you're not a liar, and if
you
see danger, it must be pretty damned obvious.”

“I almost didn't see it in time,” Stephen said.

“But you saw it. Must be those new eyes of yours.”

“I didn't see it in time to save the fratrex,” Stephen said, feeling the dig of that fact in his belly.

“Yes, well, the fratrex was there longer than you. He should have known, himself,” Aspar said, moving toward Ogre. “Anyway, this is a waste of time, all this back-patting and bemoaning. Let's pick up their trail before it cools.”

Stephen nodded, and they mounted and set out. Around them, the forest sang of death coming.

PART IV
THE BLOOD OF REGALS

THE YEAR 2,223 OF EVERON
THE MONTH OF SEFTMEN

O mother I am wounded sore
And I shall die today
But I must tell you what I've seen
Before I've gone away

A purple scythe shall reap the stars
An unknown horn shall blow
Where regal blood spills on the ground
The blackbriar vines shall grow

—FROM Riciar ya sa Alvqin, A FOLK BALLAD OF EASTERN CROTHENY.

CHAPTER ONE
AN EXCURSION

NEIL MEQVREN CAST HIS GAZE around the hillside, searching for murder. He clucked under his breath to Hurricane, urging him to catch up with the queen and Lady Erren, riding sidesaddle just ahead of him on the raised track of road.

“Majesty,” he said, for the third time, “this is not a good idea.”

“Agreed,” Erren said.

“I'm aware of your opinions,” the queen replied, waving off their protests. “Indeed, I have heard them at least two times too many.”

“We came to Cal Azroth for its protection,” Erren noted.

“So we did,” the queen replied.

“But if we are not
in
Cal Azroth, what protection can it afford?” She motioned toward the keep, which was still visible behind them. It wasn't large, but it did have three defensive walls, a garrison, and a good position on the hill, further surrounded by broad canals. Ten men had once held Cal Azroth against two thousand.

“I am not convinced we are any safer in the fortress than out here,” the queen replied. “It is protected against an army, I'll give you that. But do you think anyone will send an army to kill my daughters or me? I do not. More and more I come to share Sir Neil's opinion.”

“What opinion is that, if I may ask?” Erren asked mildly, giving Neil a glance so sharp it could have cut steel.

“That William was maneuvered into sending us here by
someone—Robert or Lady Gramme perhaps—who wants us away from the court for a time.”

Erren's eyes narrowed. “Not that I don't suspect that myself,” she said, “but I would like to know why Sir Neil did not mention this opinion to me.”

I am just the sword, remember?
Neil thought. “I was certain my lady had a more informed opinion than mine.”

“You were right in that, if nothing else,” Erren replied. “But did it occur to you that if someone maneuvered Her Majesty and her children here, the goal might be more than to merely remove their influence from court? The intent to do them harm, as well?”

Before Neil could answer, the queen laughed. “If that's the case, then the
last
place we ought to be is in the fortress, where our hypothetical conspirators expect us to be gathered, like lambs awaiting the butcher's hammer.”

“Unless they count on you doing something stupid, like riding out to Glenchest.”

The queen rolled her eyes. “Erren, we've been prisoned in Cal Azroth for near two months. Elyoner's home is less than half a day's ride, and we have twelve armored knights and thirty footmen with us.”

“Yes, we're eminently noticeable,” Erren commented.

“Lady Erren, Sir Neil, surrender!” Fastia advised, riding up from behind. “Once mother has made up her mind, it is set, as at least
you
ought to know, Erren. We're going to see Aunt Elyoner, and that's that.”

“Besides,” Elseny chimed in, “I'm tired of that old castle. There's nothing to
do
there.” She sighed. “I
so
miss the court. Prince Cheiso, Aunt Lesbeth's fiancé, was to have arrived by now, and I wanted to meet him.”