The Swans' War 1 - The One Kingdom (20 page)

The man he spoke to moved so that she could see him a little. He was dressed in the long overrobe traditionally worn by knights and he was tall—as tall as Michael, but broader. The man shifted again and came into view. He was old, she thought immediately, though she was not sure why, for he was clearly strongly built—not bent or feeble. He stood before Michael with his great arms crossed over his chest, and he lectured the young Prince. Elise was sure of it. Lectured him sternly.

The man caught sight of her just then and turned his head her way, giving her a withering look. In the candlelight his eyes were dark, set in a hard, square face. The Prince turned to see what the other looked at, then they both turned away. The conversation lasted only a moment more and then Michael turned and came directly toward her.

He crossed the room, his shoulders hunched, his whole manner changed. She could not read it. Could not tell what had transpired that had changed him so.” My lady," he said formally as he came up.” Who was that you just spoke with?" she asked. The Prince glanced back over his shoulder, but the old man was gone.” That was Eremon," he said, his voice flat, devoid of all expression.” My father's counselor." He reached out suddenly and snatched up her hand, almost pushing her behind the column.

The Prince looked directly into her eyes, his manner desperate, all of his charm fallen away.” Do not agree to marry me," he said suddenly, his voice quavering a little.” You cannot know what it will mean. They have no care for you orme, but only for the son they dream they will place on the throne. The son that will be taken from you. Do not let your family press you into this union, Lady Elise. It will be your ruin." With that he let go her hand and swept off through the crowd toward the far doors.

She was left shaking, her hand hurting where he had squeezed it, her heart aching for this young man trapped in the designs of his father, any vision of a life of his own stolen from him. Stolen as her own family conspired to steal hers.

CARRAL COULD NOT QUITE BELIEVE WHAT HE WAS DOING, AS- cending to the tower hoping to have a conversation with a man who claimed to be a ghost. A stranger who professed to have knowledge about the intrigues of the noble families. Had I allies, real allies, Carral thought, I would not be driven to this. It was the beginning of the fortnight, and servants would have brought food and drink to the tower to placate the uneasy spirits who were believed to wander the old castle— were even seen to do so at times, or so people claimed. Carral was no believer in such things, but there had been times over the years when a strange chill had crept over him and he had felt as though another were in the room—but no one answered when he spoke, nor did a door open letting anyone leave. But the feeling passed. This ghost, however, spoke in the warm tones of a living man. His footsteps could be heard, his breathing. Carral had tried to find out who he was, but to no avail. So many came ___ oean Kussell to Braidon Castle, some, like the Prince of Innes and his family, to plot with Menwyn, but most came to sit at the feet of Lord Carral Wills and hear him play. Too many came, lately, Carral thought, and it was impossible to find his ghost among them.

Minstrels ranged far across the land, and learned a great deal. Many were wellborn and not poor. They did not lower themselves to play for money but only for the adulation, the recognition of their skills. When they traveled they mingled with nobles at the highest level, even among the families that plotted with the allies of the Renné and Wills. His ghost would be one of these, but how he had avoided Carral's detection within the castle, Carral did not know.

The final tread creaked beneath his foot, and he opened the door to the tower room. The aroma of food and wine mixed with burning elm wood wafted out. For a moment he paused, listening, oddly apprehensive. But then he went in, not asking if any other were there, as he was tempted to do. He found the chair by the fire, and as he reached out toward the table there was the sound of someone clearing his throat.” Is that my ghost?""I belong to no one, sir," a familiar voice said. Carral almost sighed with relief. He was not sure why.” You will not tell me who you are?""Who I was is of little interest now," the ghost said, not without a smile in his voice.

Carral heard the soft splash of liquid into a glass.” Hold out your hand," the other said, and a wineglass was passed into his waiting fingers. Was that the heat of another's hand that he felt?

"You have met the Prince of Innes?" "Yes, though it was not the first time." "And his counselor?" The ghost eased up from its chair and crossed the room. The staccato of rain beating on slate came to him. Then, far off, a rumor of thunder.

"In the distance I see lightning," the other said.” A storm sweeping north from the old kingdom." "My daughter says that thunder is the precise aural equivalent of lightning. Do you think that's true?" "Your daughter is a perceptive young woman. They mean to send her to live with the Prince of Innes—'to complete her education.' Once in that house I don't think even her strong will can last long. You don't know Hafydd. I shouldn't like to be left to match wills with him." "Was that a jest—to match 'wills' with him?" The ghost shifted by the window, but did not move away. A deep stutter of thunder shuddered the glass.” But then, you are a ghost, what care you for the threats of men?" "Hafydd has learned more than he should. I'm not certain even I am safe from him now. Be wary; he has not begun to work his knavery yet. He bides his time, hoping to keep his knowledge secret. Better it were not known until the last. Until his army—the army of Lord Menwyn and the Prince of Innes—has flushed the Renné out into the open." The ghost pivoted where he stood and suddenly his voice was very clear—he faced Carral now.” Do not let your daughter go with the Prince." "But what can I do?" Carral said.” I can forbid it certainly, but Menwyn has overruled me before and will do so again. I am powerless----My only daughter, and I can do nothing to protect her." "Then we must whisk her away," the ghost said. Carral slumped back in his chair.” Unless you know some secret chamber within the castle . . . They would have her back in a day." What foolishness was this man speaking? "There are several secret chambers, but that's not what I have in mind." The ghost turned back to the window—Carral heard him move—and stood silently for a long moment.” We can spirit her away. I've thought it through. We'll need the aid of several of the minstrels who are guests of Braidon Castle, but that shouldn't be difficult. Just the right people are here. One would think that someone had planned it."

CARRAL COULD NOT QUITE BELIEVE WHAT HE WAS DOING, AScending to the tower hoping to have a conversation with a man who claimed to be a ghost. A stranger who professed to have knowledge about the intrigues of the noble families. Had I allies, real allies, Carral thought, I would not be driven to this. It was the beginning of the fortnight, and servants would have brought food and drink to the tower to placate the uneasy spirits who were believed to wander the old castle— were even seen to do so at times, or so people claimed. Carral was no believer in such things, but there had been times over the years when a strange chill had crept over him and he had felt as though another were in the room—but no one answered when he spoke, nor did a door open letting anyone leave. But the feeling passed. This ghost, however, spoke in the warm tones of a living man. His footsteps could be heard, his breathing. Carral had tried to find out who he was, but to no avail. So many came ___ oean Kussell to Braidon Castle, some, like the Prince of Innes and his family, to plot with Menwyn, but most came to sit at the feet of Lord Carral Wills and hear him play. Too many came, lately, Carral thought, and it was impossible to find his ghost among them.

Minstrels ranged far across the land, and learned a great deal. Many were wellborn and not poor. They did not lower themselves to play for money but only for the adulation, the recognition of their skills. When they traveled they mingled with nobles at the highest level, even among the families that plotted with the allies of the Renné and Wills. His ghost would be one of these, but how he had avoided Carral's detection within the castle, Carral did not know.

The final tread creaked beneath his foot, and he opened the door to the tower room. The aroma of food and wine mixed with burning elm wood wafted out. For a moment he paused, listening, oddly apprehensive. But then he went in, not asking if any other were there, as he was tempted to do. He found the chair by the fire, and as he reached out toward the table there was the sound of someone clearing his throat.” Is that my ghost?""I belong to no one, sir," a familiar voice said. Carral almost sighed with relief. He was not sure why.” You will not tell me who you are?""Who I was is of little interest now," the ghost said, not without a smile in his voice.

Carral heard the soft splash of liquid into a glass.” Hold out your hand," the other said, and a wineglass was passed into his waiting fingers. Was that the heat of another's hand that he felt?

"You have met the Prince of Innes?" "Yes, though it was not the first time." "And his counselor?" The ghost eased up from its chair and crossed the room. The staccato of rain beating on slate came to him. Then, far off, a rumor of thunder.

"In the distance I see lightning," the other said.” A storm sweeping north from the old kingdom." "My daughter says that thunder is the precise aural equivalent of lightning. Do you think that's true?" "Your daughter is a perceptive young woman. They mean to send her to live with the Prince of Innes—'to complete her education.' Once in that house I don't think even her strong will can last long. You don't know Hafydd. I shouldn't like to be left to match wills with him." "Was that a jest—to match 'wills' with him?" The ghost shifted by the window, but did not move away. A deep stutter of thunder shuddered the glass.” But then, you are a ghost, what care you for the threats of men?" "Hafydd has learned more than he should. I'm not certain even I am safe from him now. Be wary; he has not begun to work his knavery yet. He bides his time, hoping to keep his knowledge secret. Better it were not known until the last. Until his army—the army of Lord Menwyn and the Prince of Innes—has flushed the Renné out into the open." The ghost pivoted where he stood and suddenly his voice was very clear—he faced Carral now.” Do not let your daughter go with the Prince." "But what can I do?" Carral said.” I can forbid it certainly, but Menwyn has overruled me before and will do so again. I am powerless----My only daughter, and I can do nothing to protect her." "Then we must whisk her away," the ghost said. Carral slumped back in his chair.” Unless you know some secret chamber within the castle . . . They would have her back in a day." What foolishness was this man speaking? "There are several secret chambers, but that's not what I have in mind." The ghost turned back to the window—Carral heard him move—and stood silently for a long moment.” We can spirit her away. I've thought it through. We'll need the aid of several of the minstrels who are guests of Braidon Castle, but that shouldn't be difficult. Just the right people are here. One would think that someone had planned it."19

TAM AND THE OTHERS BENT OVER THE MAP, THE BOAT FINDING her own way on a stretch of broad river.

"There is no island of Speaking Stone," Tam said, "nor any of the other islands we passed, let alone a lake of stone trees." He looked around him at the low limestone banks and the hills rising up out of forest.” We could be anywhere on this map or not on it at all."Fynnol leaned forward awkwardly and gazed at the creased paper. He hunched over his wound, protecting it. His stint at the oars had set the injury aflame again. At night he had difficulty sleeping, and he didn't take up the oars now or draw a bowstring. Tam often saw him stiffen and shut his eyes hard, remaining still for a moment or two. Then he would take a slow tentative breath and sigh as the spasm passed.

Baore sat whittling a tholepin to replace one that had been broken. His big hands moved with a sureness and grace, the astonishingly sharp knife deftly paring away what wasn't needed.

"Do you remember what Eber said?" Cynddl asked.” That Speaking Stone was not easily found? He also said that Alaan had found him, as we did, 'And few who travel the river have managed that.' I did not mark this as odd at the time, but it's taken on a different meaning now. Eber's island is on the secret river—maybe one of the 'many branches.'" Cynddl looked at the map again, his dark eyebrows knitting together.

He tapped the paper with a fine-boned finger.” Somewhere in the darkness, below the ford at Willowwand, we left the River Wynnd." "But where are we now?" Fynnol cried.” I don't know, Fynnol. There seemed to have been signs that indicated we were on the secret river: trees I'd never seen before, animals either unheard of or long thought dead and gone. I've seen no signs of these today. But there really are no landmarks on the river now until we find the north bridge. Five days it should be from the ford at Willowwand. Four days hence." "Or three or nine," Fynnol said sharply, "or perhaps we won't see it at all. Can we miss sections of the Wynnd when we're on this other river? The Wyrr, I think it should be called, as the Wynnd once was." No one spoke for a moment, the silence burdened with unspoken worries and fears.” I did not like the way that man-at-arms talked about the 'black guards,' and Alaan said something similar. I fear it's almost certain we'll find some waiting for us at the north bridge, and fearsome, murderous men they appear to be." "Blackguards ..." Fynnol said, forcing the jest out with a grimmace. He touched his side gingerly.” We'd best prepare. These others were intent on killing us... and showed no interest in discussing the merits of this scheme. Get out your whetstone, Baore—we've weapons to edge." Baore didn't smile. He stopped his whittling, knife held loosely in hand.” I'd hoped I wouldn't have to fight another man for whom I've neither name nor anger. I came to buy horses and have a bit of adventure, Fynnol. I didn't come to kill strangers... or to be killed by them either." He looked down at the knife in his hand, and Tam thought Baore caught sight of his own reflection in the blade. Suddenly the big Valeman turned away and busied himself fitting the tholepin in its place.

But the bridge did not appear on the fourth day or on the fifth or the sixth. Cynddl, Baore, and Tarn took turns at the oars, and when not rowing kept their bows to hand. They watched the banks and river ahead with an intensity that only fear could breed.

Fog appeared at times, especially in the evenings and early mornings, and the occupants of the boat would fall silent and watchful. Nothing strange appeared out of the gloom this time, though a heron on a log caused them all to jump when it croaked almost in Fynnol's ear. It took noisily to flight, beating its wings along the gunwale, and the occupants of the boat laughed for the first time in days.

On the seventh evening Cynddl stood, gazing at the shore.” Now here is land that looks familiar! The bridge can't be far now—a day's journey at most. Let's put ashore here in case we're closer than I think."A low bank and narrow beach allowed them to land the boat and make a camp. Baore, self-appointed fire starter, kindled a small blaze while Tam and Fynnol set out to find fish. Cynddl unrolled his map and examined it closely by the failing light. But something about Baore tugged at his attention and he turned to find the big Valeman staring unhappily into the flames.

"Are you sorry you came, Baore?" Cynddl asked quietly. Baore nodded, not looking up.” Yes." He almost whispered.” Yes. I've killed a man and nearly been killed myself. I'd no choice, I know, but what does that matter? If I'd stayed at home it would never have happened.""But if you'd stayed at home the rest of us would likely have died at the ford. It was you who dragged the boat free and unhorsed the rider. We'd have been caught and murdered."Baore added a few sticks to the fire, and it crackled and flared.” I know, but regrets don't care for reason, Cynddl. I've watched men turn wicked sons from their doors. They'd no choice, but even so, regrets all but devoured them. I've not chosen regret, Cynddl. It's chosen me."Cynddl found himself looking at the big man anew, surprised to find him so thoughtful.” Perhaps that's so. But what will you do now? You can't go back alone—not with these men who hunt you riding the roads." "No, I can't go back, as you say. And I've my cousin and Tam to think of. I can't leave them. We go to the Wold of Kerns as planned. And then home. Home by autumn." He considered a moment.” And then we try to forget." The others returned, bearing their catch of sun trout and silt bass.” Well, here are two men too serious," Fynnol said. His injury was not paining him so and it showed in his spirits.” Come along, now. Cynddl will take us around the bridge by the secret river, and we'll be in the Wold of Kerns by noon. We'll have our pick of the best horses, not to mention the young ladies who'll be desperate to meet anyone so exotic as a Valeman." Neither Cynddl nor Baore smiled, however, and supper became a subdued affair. Darkness fell and a small breeze from the north sprang up after a day of calm. Tam thought he could feel the mountain air in the wind, and it reminded him of the Vale, which seemed very distant suddenly. Not so distant, he reminded himself. A ride that can be measured in days. They settled down to sleep, keeping their usual watches, but sleep eluded Tam and the breathing of the others seemed to say that sleep was not much interested in any of them. Overhead, the stars were winter bright, and Tam lay gazing at the heavens, wondering if they would find the bridge the next day, and if they did, what would happen. There was no going back now. Even pulling against the current to the ford at Wil-lowwand would be almost impossible. They could take to the road and walk north, but it was a long way by foot, and their attackers from the ford were undoubtedly riding south. Cynddl offered their only hope—if he was right about where they were. Tomorrow they would look for the bridge perhaps from the bank, the boat following. There might be a way of slipping quietly by: after all, they had surprised the men at the ford. It was possible the men waiting didn't really believe their quarry would come down the river. Perhaps they thought no one would be so foolish.

The stars wavered and faded, and Tarn slept. He dreamt that a man carrying a sword walked about the edge of their encampment, a dark faceless form in the shadows of the trees. And Tarn couldn't tell if this man was their sentry or if he meant them harm.

Tam woke to a hand on his shoulder. Cynddl leaned close and whispered.” There are men nearby in the wood. Make no sound. Load everything into the boat. Quickly."Tam rolled to his feet, snatching up his sword, staring into the darkness. Their fire was a glowing eye, staring upward, unblinking. He smelled the fragrance of it immediately.

It is like Telanon Bridge, Tam thought, and felt a dread creep over him. Men died that night.

Fynnol and Baore were gathering up their belongings. Though he strained, Tam could hear nothing but the furtive sounds of his companions and the breeze drifting through the wood.

In a moment they were aboard their boat, bobbing out into the night river. A low haze swelled up from the water, curling like vaporous moonlight. Not thick enough to hide us, Tam thought.

The moon waned into the west, but Tam feared they might still be seen. Baore shipped the oars but kept them still, letting the current carry the boat along in the shadow of the trees. The other three nocked arrows and waited, searching the night for movement, hearing a threat in every forest sound.

As silently as he could Baore moved them away from the riverbank, and Tam realized this was necessary—there were often rocks near the shore. The shadows of the trees clung to them a moment, then they were gliding through a patch of moonlight and a shout broke the silence.

Tam heard the arrows in the air but could not begin to guess their source. The boat rocked wildly as they all dropped below the gunwales. Overhead, arrows hissed and buried themselves in the hull with precise thwacks. For a moment the archers had their range and then the arrows were seemingly loosed at some other target. The boat had been lost in a shadow, or a ripple in the water had drawn the archers' eyes. No one made a sound. Cynddl raised his head, searching the dark river. Men shouted from the bank, and in the distance came faint answers.” We're in a patch of fog," Cynddl whispered.” I can see the bridge, I think: there are torches waving. Ready your bows and keep your faces down. They're waiting for us." Tam heard no sound but their quick breathing. The river carried them lazily forward. The smell of their fire was in the air, and Tam realized they'd been much nearer the bridge than they'd realized—just around the bend. He risked a glance and saw the torches guttering in the gloom. The bridge was a black arc curving out of the mist and on it he could see men moving.” Into the water," Tam whispered. He dropped his bow and slipped over the side as silent as an otter.” They'll see the boat." Cynddl came over the stern with barely a ripple. Then Fynnol.” Baore ... ?" Fynnol whispered. The big Valeman appeared at the stern, wavered a second, and then Cynddl and Tam had hold of him, lowering him into the water. Tam felt an arrow protruding from Baore's shoulder, and a wave of nausea and fear swept over him. Baore was wounded! "We have to get away from the boat," Tam heard himself say.” Can you swim, Baore?" "I don't know," he answered. The sound of his voice, so filled with dread, struck Tam. v^an rvusseu "We'll bear you up, Baore," Fynnol whispered "I'll take his head."The four clung together, and treading water slowly, separated themselves from the boat, watching it drift off on the current—their haven slipping away.