The Sacred Hunt Duology (85 page)

But the robes were not the usual pale colors that Stephen saw everywhere; they were instead a deep and royal green, and they were edged in brown and gold—for the gold had been the rank achieved by her late husband, and it was hers forever should she choose it. A wide gold net was pulled around her waist like a belt, and her hair was pulled simply and securely from her face.

He had thought her old when he was eight or nine, but now he thought her simply strong and in that time of life where age and power in a woman mix to great advantage. His bow was immediate; it was low and extremely formal, as was his dress. He did her the homage not only due a Lady of her station, but also due one whose husband the Hunt had taken. Then, chagrined, he nudged Gilliam into doing the same.

It made her smile.

“Lady Faergif,” Stephen said, rising slowly. “It is an honor to meet you here.”

“And, I imagine, a bit of a relief?”

He almost blushed, but he nodded. “There aren't any—”

“Pages? Yes and no. They do not, however, announce their guests in these rooms. These halls are the Queen's halls, and for her guests and chosen friends; she does not entertain those who petition her for royal business here. As you can see,” she added, nodding to the empty throne, “she is not present at the moment.
There is the day's business to attend to, although it is not heavy by Breodanir standards.”

“But we—”

“Stephen of Elseth,” Lady Faergif said, in a tone of voice which he much remembered, “do you think you would have walked that hall were you not expected? Come, think before you speak.”

This was much more the Lady Faergif of his childhood. But he was not a child, and the nervousness of hours past began to fade. She was a Lady, and one who spoke strongly and sharply, but she carried the heart of all Ladies who lose to the Hunter God the things they love best, and like those Ladies, she endured it for the good of the lands.

“Come, if you will. Lady Morganson is waiting by the fountains.” So saying, Lady Faergif turned—but Stephen stepped up beside her and carefully held out his forearm. She almost missed a beat in the next step she chose, and then she smiled, yet it was with that strange mixture of happiness and a deep and abiding sorrow that Stephen had seen many times in his life but did not fully understand. She placed her arm delicately over his, folding her fingers over his knuckles. And she allowed him to escort her, as she was once escorted in the court of the land by her Lord's huntbrother.

“I've been long away from home,” she said, as if to explain her slight misstep, “and there are niceties of custom that the Essalieyanese do not preserve. But you will find them a canny people, although there are far too many merchants to make one want to relax one's guard.” She looked up. “Ah, there she is. Helene, look who's arrived.”

Lady Morganson looked up from her seat by the edge of a very grand yet very quiet fountain. She was, charitably, a short woman, with hair the color of iron but eyes the color of cornflowers; she was rounded by the years, and perhaps even softened by them, although it was hard to tell—she was not in her native setting.

Stephen escorted Lady Faergif to her, and then looked at the fountain itself. There were fish in it—not large enough to be eaten well, but not small enough to be used as bait should it be necessary—and anyway, these were not fish to be so used. They were brilliantly colored; he thought they must be mage-changed, somehow.

All around the fountain were rocks, and the rocks themselves were not carved; there were plants and shrubs and oddly shaped trees that crept up between them. There was no look of planning to the garden, but no look of wildness either; it was strange, but in the strangeness oddly peaceful.

Or perhaps that was due to the two Ladies who sat within it, waiting. He turned and bowed very formally to Lady Morganson, and she nodded.

“We received word,” she said, “from Lady Elseth. She thought you might be in need of our assistance, and asked that, should we come across you, we offer it.”

“I assure you, Lady Morganson and Lady Faergif, that we have—”

“Already been attacked within the Annagarian guest halls,” Lady Faergif said sharply. Her eyes were narrowed. “Don't assume that because we are no longer in Breodanir, we are in an august, witless dotage.”

This
was the Lady Faergif of his youth. He took a step back, bumped into Gilliam, and bowed his head, more to placate her sudden temper than to hide the reddening of his cheeks.

“Leof,” Lady Morganson said softly. As Lady Faergif fell silent—or rather, did not continue her tirade—Lady Morganson began. “We do not know what brought you to Averalaan—what, indeed, forced you to cross the Breodanir border. We are curious, but Lady Elseth was most emphatic, and therefore, in deference to her wishes, we will not ask you to speak more than you will.

“But word of the incident in the halls has passed from servant to servant and noble to noble; although very few now know who the targets of that attack were, we can safely guess that it was you. Do you know why you were so attacked?”

Stephen shook his head.

“Very well. Our sources here are not as good as we might hope.” She rose, leaving the stone ledge that overlooked the fountain and the fish swimming in its rippling basin. “We have been able to gain an answer that satisfies neither of us. You are currently under the protection of Terafin. Are you aware of this?”

Gilliam said no and Stephen said yes; the Ladies exchanged wry glances.

“Are you in the service of Terafin?”

Gilliam said no again, and this time, Stephen remained silent, unsure of how to best answer the question.

Lady Faergif's brow rose a fraction, but that was all; she lifted a hand, forestalling her companion, and began to speak in her stead. “Terafin has many enemies among The Ten, and few friends—it is the most powerful of the seated Houses, and it has, in the person of The Terafin, the Kings' ears. Morriset, the second House, disputes much of the current merchanting holdings of Terafin, but more besides; the current Morriset is sly and crafty and not to be trusted. He is an older man, with the cunning and experience that that implies—but his House is divided. The other House that will openly take sides against Terafin, and bitterly so, is Darias.

“Neither of the Lords spend much time at court, and it is unlikely that you will meet them unless you are here at the first and half-month. We counsel you to avoid those who are ADarias or AMorriset, for we believe—although there is no certainty in this belief—that one or the other of these Houses is involved in the attempt.”

“Why?”

“Because it is through the auspices of The Ten that the assassins, dressed as servants, gained entrance into the grounds.” Her eyes narrowed as she started to
speak, and then she shook her head. “I forget that you do not understand Averalaan and its customs. Lord Elseth barely understands Breodanir.”

Lord Elseth refrained from comment, but only because he was trying, with what dignity he could force, to stop Espere from jumping into the small fish pond.

“The Ten are part of Averalaan and its history; if not for The Ten, the Twin Kings would never have taken the rulership of the land. The Hall of The Ten is a part of the palace, a court unto itself in many ways. There are rooms and meeting halls within which The Ten and their members may meet; there are libraries of documents pertaining to The Ten, and there is a special court, at which crimes involving The Ten—and there are very, very few—are tried.

“There are servants provided by The Ten to man and staff the halls; guards, however, are provided from the ranks of the Kings' Swords, for reasons which I should think obvious.

“It has become clear—don't fuss, Helene, this is not a court and we are not the arguers; we don't have to have solid evidence to present—that the two who made their way to the Arannan Halls came through the Hall of The Ten. We believe that someone either AMorriset or ADarias let them in.”

Lady Morganson was slightly uneasy, but she nodded as Lady Faergif finished. “What we don't understand, Stephen, is the
why
of it. You've been in the capital for four or five days, which is certainly not enough time to gain the confidence of The Terafin—and we would know,” she added, with a rueful grimace, “but you've gained the enmity of another House, which certainly implies that you
are
important. Why?”

“If I knew the answer,” Stephen replied, “I would most certainly say it.” But he hesitated over what he did know, seeing before him the practical Ladies who were the backbone of the kingdom that he loved. Finally, he bowed, and the bow was low and long. “There are mages involved, Lady Faergif. More than that, I do not understand.” Without meaning to, he glanced at Espere; she was fidgeting in a way that suggested her clothing was not long for the world. “But let me introduce Espere.”

Espere, hearing her name, scampered forward, just as any dog might have. Her eyes were sharp and clear, but they also had that peculiar vacancy that the dogs did not possess. Her hair, wild, was already breaking free of the combs with which Stephen had—barely—managed to bind it. He felt Gilliam's annoyance, and saw the girl tense before falling into a sullen stillness.

Lady Faergif raised a brow and looked down her nose. “And she?”

“She is the daughter of the Hunter God.”

Silence, long and loud; a flickered meeting of eyes, the hint of raised brows. Then, “I see.”

“And the assassins were hunting not only Lord Elseth and me, but Espere.”

But Lady Morganson and Lady Faergif were no longer listening; instead, they were staring at Espere intently, a look of curiosity, fear, and an unexplained pity upon their faces. “Is this well known?” Lady Morganson asked at last.

“No. But by someone, possibly a mage. We found her while she was being hunted, and in some ways that hunt has never stopped.”

“Does she speak?” Lady Faergif asked abruptly.

You could not hide a thing from the noblewomen of Breodanir. Not one thing. And a wise man, Stephen reflected rather ruefully, did not try. “No, Lady. Although we know that, in the right circumstance, she is able.”

“I don't suppose, during that ‘right circumstance' you thought to ask her why she was being, hunted?”

He reddened at the sting in her words. “We did not have the time.”

“No, of course not. Helene?”

Lady Morganson shook her head, looking rather dour. “Hunter's business,” she said at length, “and it's probably best left to Hunter Lords.”

Lady Faergif's sour expression made it clear what she thought of that, but she held her silence for all of a minute before she began again. “Well, there you have it then. Hunter's business.” She took one last look at Espere and then shook her head as if to rid herself of that glance. “There are other rumors in court, much harder to come by, and much less substantial.

“One of those is that there was an attack upon The Terafin, a nearly successful one. Do you know anything of it?”

“Not really. We—”

“Because it's said that Darias hired a mage, through the auspices of one of his linked lords, and that mage attempted to assassinate her. The name of that member of the patriciate is not, unfortunately, in circulation.”

“Lady, we've spoken only once with The Terafin. We know very little about her affairs, and—”

“You've spoken
with
The Terafin?”

Stephen took a seat by the fountain, drew a deep breath, and then nodded. He expected a rapid barrage of questions but was disappointed; there was silence again, and it was almost as long, and contained almost as much surprise, as their first silence. But this was
not
Hunter's business; not as they understood it.

Lady Morganson's eyes were clear and sharp as she took a seat beside Stephen and turned to face him.

Before she could speak, however, someone came into the small clearing in the quiet stone garden. Although he did not talk, he did not come in silence; the song of his strings stirred the air and announced him more effectively than mere words would have.

“I hope,” he said, with a perfect smile and an equally perfect bow, “that I have not interrupted anything of import?”

Stephen looked up and saw a face that he recognized, although eight years lay between the man that he was and the youth that he had been the last time he'd seen the bard. Kallandras. He wore a pale blue and lavender jacket, rather than the loose-fitting robes that many of the men wore as a matter of course, and his boots were of the variety that were used for traveling. He wore no hat, and carried no obvious weapon; he seemed gaudy, for all that the only unnecessary item he wore was a complicated ring with a diamond that seemed entirely made of light. It didn't matter; Kallandras was still youthful, still beautiful, and still slightly haunted.

“Kallandras,” Stephen said, rising and bowing in a single smooth motion. He was grateful for the interruption; a Lady on a quest for information that she believed to be her province was not unlike a Hunter on the trail of his quarry. “You do not interrupt but, rather, honor.”

“And that is very well,” the bard said, smiling broadly. “Lady Morganson. Lady Faergif. It has been far too long since I've had the pleasure of your company.” So saying, he bowed again, and golden curls fell from his shoulders without once touching and muting the song that he continued to play in the background.

Lady Faergif looked singularly unimpressed, but Lady Morganson returned the bow with a good-natured smile. “Kallandras, you are always welcome at the Queen's court, and know it well. What are you in search of this time?”

“You wound me, Lady,” he replied, “but as you expect some motivation, I shall endeavor not to disappoint. The truth is that I had heard a rumor that Lord Elseth and his huntbrother had come to Averalaan.”