The Swans' War 1 - The One Kingdom (47 page)

"Now you see, Tarn," Fynnol said, "when a man saves your life you must not abandon him and place your hopes with another. Alaan's messenger will carry the day. You will regret your choice.""But what kind of wager would it have been had we both placed our hopes on the same rider?" Tam laughed.

"A thin excuse for disloyalty, Cousin. A very thin excuse.""I think the Renné was betrayed by bad wood," Baore said.” His equerry should read the grain of his lances more carefully."Tam and Fynnol glanced at each other. Baore had spoken so little these last weeks that showing an interest in anything at all encouraged them.

There was an odd hush among the onlookers, and Tam could feel their tension. Could their champion lose to an upstart? Toren Renné had carried victory with him everywhere this season. Many said he was the most skilled tourneyer in half a century.

The horns were sounded for the second pass, and the marshal raised his flag. It dropped, and the sound of hooves pounding over sand was all the noise to be heard.

The knights pressed their horses forward even more quickly this time, and it seemed certain that such speed would see one of them hurled from the saddle. But when they met there was only the sharp crack of breaking wood, and the horsemen passed each other by.

This time the mark went to the Renné , who splintered his lance on the other's shield. Pwyll Stagshanks had managed only a glancing blow. And the crowd roared its approval. Flowers rained from the stands, and the crowd on the hill took up Toren's name as a chant.” I don't think either of these riders can unhorse the other," Cynddl said over the noise.” They're too strong and sit upon their mounts as though they had grown there." "Can there be no winner?" Fynnol asked.” No. If both were to shatter their lances on the next pass they would run three more, and then three more again until a winner was declared. It is uncommon for any contest to exceed three passes, and almost unheard-of for one to require more than six—though there was a famous contest, here at Westbrook fifty-some years ago, where the knights rode nine passes before a winner could be named. Nine passes!" "Then I think these knights might ride twelve," Tam said, "for I believe we're watching a passage of arms that will be celebrated in song for years to come." The knights took their places again, their horses prancing with excitement. The crowd fell silent, and Tam could feel them all leaning forward in anticipation. Again the flag was raised—and fell like a standard in battle. The knights appeared to have lost none of their eagerness, for they rode again as fast as they had. The collision was like a hammer splitting stone, and in the rush of the horses passing, someone was hurled from his saddle. Everyone jumped to his feet.” It is both riders!" Cynddl cried, pointing. And he was right, for the horses went on riderless, equerries running out to catch them and others racing toward their masters. Silence again descended, but everyone remained standing.” Who will not rise?" Fynnol said. But both knights rose, lifting up a gauntleted hand to indicate they would continue.” Well, I have never seen that before," Cynddl said.” It is more uncommon than riding nine passes, I think. Especially among knights of such prowess."The two men-at-arms stopped at the tilt fence and spoke for a moment and then saluted before returning to their places.

"Do you see, there?" a broad-faced old farmer who sat near them said.” These be nobles as nobles once were. Upon this morn, Lord Beldor Renné cursed his own cousin and foretold his doom upon the field. But it were the gracious Lord Toren who triumphed, and the foulmouthed cousin who rode a saddle of sand. But these men speak fairly and salute when they part. They be not rabble, but courteous, fair-spoken men, each deserving of the prize."Tam looked down at the scene spread before him and tried to fix it in his mind so that he might recall it when he was as old as their neighbor: the canopied stands where the nobility sat in all their finery, the tilt running along the center of the strip of sand like a strange fence. At either end of the field were pitched the pavilions of the knights who came from far and wide; and before each pavilion banners flew: golden lions and eagles, and hunting hawks, flowers common and imaginary. And over all, the double swan of the Renné upon a sky of blue. And there, toward the end of the stands, the same double swan but on a dark field: the emblem of the Wills family, who would not relinquish their claim to the throne of a nonexistent kingdom.

Westbrook had once been far from the center of the old kingdom of Ayr, but now they lived in a world with no great center but many lesser cities, some hardly more than villages, and the culture was spread and thin.

Tam thought only the minstrels retained some of the culture of the old kingdom, for they knew all the stories: the names of the kings and their ladies, the celebrated knights and the great lords of ages past. It was as though each minstrel carried some part of the old world, and one day, perhaps, they would gather together and sing every song they knew, and by some strange magic, it would all be made real again. The heralds announced that three more passes would be run after the knights refreshed themselves. The Valemen sat watching the scene below, talking among themselves. They bought cups of ale from a father and son carrying buckets on yokes across their shoulders, and none of them mentioned the deed that Alaan would try that night, though all thought of little else.” Do you see?" Cynddl said suddenly, pointing.” There in the box near the western end. Is that not Elise Wills?" They all strained to see at the distance, but the old farmer turned toward them again.” Aye. That be her. Sitting with the Prince of Innes and his son, who is her intended." "And the knight dressed all in black... ?" Tam said, nodding toward the stands.” The Prince's counselor, whose name I misremember." "Sir Eremon," someone else offered. The companions all shared guarded looks, and Tam felt them all draw their limbs closer as though they could make themselves small and go unnoticed.” Are you from far?" the broad-faced man asked.” Beyond the Wold of Kerns," Fynnol said, and Tam gave him a withering look. Better not to tell anyone about themselves—not even a kindly old farmer.” Well, guard your purses," the old man said.” The Westbrook Fair draws pickpockets and thieves from every nick and crenny throughout the land between the mountains. It be said that during the Westbrook Fair, all the surrounding lands enjoy a few days when one might safely leave one's most valued property on the doorstep without fear of loss." Tam turned his attention back to the Prince of Innes's box. Beneath the banners Tam could see the knight in his dark robe, two of his guard standing behind. Gray-headed, the man appeared, and haughty in his bearing. There were also several men-at-arms in the purple trimmed in black of the Prince of Innes: the other men who had waylaid Alaan and then pursued them down the River Wynnd. Tam ducked his head a litde.

The horns sounded for the contest to begin again, and the rumbling of the crowd subsided as the two riders took the field.

"Will the fourth pass decide it?" Fynnol wondered, though he did not really seem to expect anyone to answer.

The flag sent the riders on, and they hurtled toward each other with renewed energy. Both knights shattered their lances and a point was recorded for each.

"They are too evenly matched," Cynddl said.” How can there be a winner between such men?"The fifth pass saw the stranger make a point and the Renné lord miss his mark, which set the crowd to muttering. Did he tire? Would the next pass see their champion fall?

But the last point was Toren Renné 's, and there was still no decision. The knights signaled their willingness to continue, and the marshals announced that three more passes would be run.

The caparisons of the horses were wet with sweat now, and the horses' great chests heaved from their efforts. Six times they had charged at speed, bearing their riders in full armor. And now a seventh would be asked of them, and then two times more.

Tam saw the equerries pass lances to their masters and tighten saddle girths. The day was wearing on, though the heat had not yet begun to abate. A crowning cloud cast a shadow upon the field, shading the fluttering banners and giving relief to the crowd and the two riders at the tilt.

The seventh pass was sounded by the heralds and the knights took their places. Lances were lowered, and the signal flashed. The horses raced along the fence, running true, both confident of their business. And then the splintering crash. For a moment it seemed the stranger would lose his seat, for he was flung back and bounced half out of his saddle, but he found the pommel and pulled himself upright.

But his horse limped terribly and the equerries ran out to take hold of its head.” Ah," Cynddl said, slapping his thigh, "he's lost his great horse. Certainly he can't have another as good. Perhaps you'll win your bet, Tam." The word passed up the hill like a breeze: the charger had a lance splinter driven into its foot. He would not run again that day. And then a second breeze, more urgent than the first: the stranger had no other horse. Toren Renné would be declared the winner! But the Renné lord had rounded the tilt and stopped his horse before the marshals of the fair. Waves of cheering rose, then died away as the crowd expected their champion to be proclaimed the victor. Toren removed his helm, which produced a cheer from the onlookers, but then they saw that he shook his head repeatedly as he spoke with the judges, and then suddenly he rode away—not staying to receive the adulation and prizes he was due. Finally the heralds were sent out to their places around the field, where they blew their horns and proclaimed: "Lord Toren Renné refuses to be named victor in this contest." Nothing more was said, which caused waves of muttering and murmuring. The marshals huddled together, conferring, for knights did not often refuse their spoils.” Well, here is a joust that won't soon be forgotten," Cynddl said.” Seven passes and then the victor refuses to be proclaimed. You'll have stories to tell back in the Vale, that is sure." But then it could be seen that Lady Beatrice Renné beckoned the marshals and they made their way up to her. Everyone hushed as though they might hear what was said. For a moment the field was utterly silent, and then the marshals returned to their places. Heralds were sent out again and horns sounded. The crowd fell silent, listening. A small breeze swept the heralds' words away, but the report passed up the hill, followed closely by cheering: both knights would be named champions and the prize split between them.

The crowd roared approval, coming to their feet. Then the onlookers began to shout wildly as Toren Renné appeared on his gray, leading a second horse. This he took to the stranger so that they might both come before the marshals on horseback, as was the custom.

Lady Beatrice descended to the rail and on each of their raised lances she dropped a ribbon of red to show her favor and a wreath of flowers, also. The proclamation of the heralds was lost in the wild hooray, and the two champions rode slowly about the field, side by side, the people from the hill rushing out to surround them. The shading cloud passed and the sun slanted into the field, casting long shadows and gilding everything with the warm light of late afternoon.

The tourney at Westbrook was over, and Tarn's eye was drawn away from the scene of triumph to the box of the Prince of Innes. The man Alaan called Hafydd stood in his place still, unaffected by the celebration. His head turned slowly as though he surveyed the crowd. A strange wave of fear passed through Tarn again and he had a strong desire to get away, a feeling that they were in terrible danger.

LLYN SPREAD THE COSTUME ON HER BED AND GAZED AT IT, A strange storm of feelings whirling inside her. She felt she might burst into tears of sadness and joy and confusion. It was a very beautiful gown, pure white with a swan headdress of white and gold, and should not have reduced anyone fortunate enough to wear it to tears. But it did.” What a cruel trick has been played on me!" Llyn said with feeling, though even she was not quite sure what this meant. Lady Elise Wills, it appeared, would attend the ball as the mythical Elyse, mother of the kings of men. And no doubt she possessed the kind of beauty that such a part required. Llyn turned her eyes away from the gown. Carral Wills had given his daughter the name Elise, and now the Wills would make their claim before everyone: they would put Elise's child upon the throne. With the very considerable aid of the Prince of Innes, who would be the child's grandfather. A child, she thought, and closed her eyes. A long, calming breath helped.” And we shall stand idly by and let them make this proclamation at our own ball." She shook her head sadly. How could war be avoided now? Her eye lit upon a note pinned to the collar of the gown. You must wear the cape over the gown and hide your hair beneath the headdress. I will find you at the ball. You are more courageous than any man-at-arms. There was no signature. She found the cape, carefully wrapped. It was dark blue and embroidered with silver moons and stars: the cape of a sorceress. Holding it up she could see that the hood would enclose the headdress so that only the mask could be seen. She could go into the ball thus and not be seen to wear the same costume as Lady Elise—or Elyse.” Well," she said aloud, "first I shall be a sorceress and then I shall transform myself into another. It is not often a disfigured woman is asked to play the mother of the kings of men." She felt a pang of anxiety and looked out the window. The sun had set rather hastily that evening. The ball would begin in about two hours. She looked back at the costume and felt again the strange desire to cry. A soft knock intruded upon her thoughts, but it was from the door to her garden. Why would one of her servants be in the garden? And then she realized. She went near the door.

"And who could be so presumptuous as to come to my garden door?" she said. "I fear you know the answer," a voice beyond the door said. "Alaan?" "Yes. I've come to disturb your contemplation once again." "And what would you have me do this time? I fear to ask." "I have merely brought you your gown for the ball." "But I have a costume, and a rather beautiful one at that." "Yes, but Hafydd knows of that one and of the cloak that goes over it. He will be watching for you." "But how is that—" She stopped abruptly.” You have arranged it so he would know." "Let us say I did little to hinder his finding out, but you should know that Hafydd has spies within your house." "Not my servants surely!" "No, though one of them is not so discreet as you formerly believed. You might caution them all, for they love you dearly and wouldn't do you harm knowingly." She heard his feet shifting on the stone outside.” Here is a second costume and different cloak to cover it. You say you have a maid who is just your size? Call her in and dress her in the swan costume and have her wear the cloak over it. She will accompany you to—"But this man you speak of will think she is me!" "That is why she'll be in no danger. Hafydd must think you are there and that we plan to switch you with Elise somehow. That at least he doesn't know: how we will switch the two of you.""But what shall I do?"

"Be on the floor for the last dance and get near Elise Wills. Tell your maid to keep a distance from you. Hafydd's minions will stay near to her. The room will suddenly go dark." "That room will be lit by a thousand candles!" "Nonetheless it will grow suddenly dark. At that moment you must throw your cloak over Elise Wills. Both she and Prince Michael will help you arrange it. Then you and your maid must disappear with all speed, back up to your rooms." She was silent for a moment.” And that is all?" "Yes, that is all." "Then I shall not be a princess this night?" she said, her voice coming out small.” No, you shall be something else." The door creaked open a crack, and a man's hand came through holding a package. She hesitated a second and then reached out and took it. Alaan's hand found hers, and pressed it once before withdrawing—his skin warm and rough. The door creaked shut but she reached out and grabbed the handle before it closed.” The six Knights of the Vow," she said in a rush, "fought to the death in an old keep near Telanon Bridge. Their bodies were buried beneath a mound, but everything they possessed was carried south to Aschen Renné ." "Not everything, I think," Alaan said softly, and she heard him turn to go.” Thank you, Lady Llyn." "Will you ever visit me again?" she said, though her common sense told her to keep silent.” If I can." He said this with such lack of conviction that Llyn had a sudden flash of fear. Alaan was going into danger this night. He didn't really believe he would survive. At dusk Pwyll arrived bearing costumes. He was dressed as Tam had first seen him, leather vest over a well-worn shirt, a band of cloth binding back his hair. A woodsman he seemed, not a champion of the Westbrook Fair.

"I hope this meeting ends more pleasantly than our last," he said. He didn't look particularly elated or proud at having been declared a champion of the fair alongside Lord Toren Renné .

"Congratulations on your victory," Cynddl said.

Pwyll only shrugged his great shoulders.” It was a way to gain us all entrance to the ball. I hope these costumes fit. Alaan had to guess your heights and weights."To each of them he passed a neatly wrapped package. Tarn took his, but made no move to open it. The others hesitated also.

Pwyll looked up.” Alaan said you had decided to aid him... ?""We seem to have little choice," Fynnol said, "but we don't really know our part. What is it we're expected to do exactly?"Pwyll stood—taller than all but Baore.” You will attend the Renné ball, bearing arms. Near the end of the evening we'll gather by a door—I'll point it out after you arrive. When Alaan is ready he will alert me. It is up to him to lure Hafydd out into the garden .. . and beyond." He shrugged.” Alaan will deal with Hafydd. That will not be up to you,but Hafydd must be separated from his men-at-arms, who guard him with their lives.""But they are trained men-at-arms and we are farmers and craftsmen from the Vale," Fynnol protested.

Pwyll almost smiled.” How many times have you met Hafydd's men now? Three times? Four? How many of them have been wounded or worse, yet you are all still hale? Your fathers trained you better than you know." "And you?" Fynnol said.” What will you do?" "I will stand with you or aid Alaan, whichever is needed." "And what of Lady Elise?" Baore said.” Are we not there to rescue her?"Pwyll shifted from one foot to the other.” That will not be our part."The three Valemen looked around at one another. All of them were as grave as mourners, their faces rigid, eyes dull and narrowed. So this is what men feel before they go into battle, Tarn realized. He thought of them first at Telanon Bridge, planning a trip to Inniseth to sell a few trinkets they had dug from an old battlefield. How had such an innocent journey come to this? Without a word Baore began unwrapping his costume, and the others did the same. In a few moments masks hid their faces, though Tarn thought the costumes did little to hide their fear. Pwyll, who wore no mask, looked around at them.” Come!" he said.” We are going to the costume ball at the Westbrook Fair, not to your hangings! You are the envy of all of old Ayr! It is the event of the year." "We are not going there to dance and court," Fynnol said. He rearranged a green hood over his face—a highwayman.” Oh but you are. Until such time as Alaan needs us we are to act like all the other guests, and I will tell you, there is something about a mask that liberates people in strange ways. You will see." Tarn pulled the long, sleeveless cloak over his costume. It was embroidered in a thousand colors, apparently.” And what am I? A walking rainbow?" "King Attmal, I should guess," Cynddl said.” Attmal?" "He was a king who wanted every color of nature in his royal cape. He was not merely flamboyant, though, but a great king as well. History has been kind to Attmal and all his endeavors." Cynddl shook his head.” I can never quite believe you know so little of your own history." "Oh, Tarn knows a great deal," Fynnol said.” You should talk to Baore and me if you wish to meet ignorance dressed and walking." This attempt at banter fell flat.” More important," Pwyll said quietly, "Attmal was famed as an archer, so you can carry your bow and quiver as well as a blade."Baore stood up then, taller than they had ever seen him. He was costumed as a mountain giant, but because the shoulders and head were merely stuffed and he looked out through cleverly disguised eye holes in the shirt, he appeared to be enormous.

Despite their mood, Tarn and Fynnol laughed at the sight of their companion.” I think the mask upon the stuffed head a clever touch!" Tarn said.

Cynddl was dressed as a minstrel, but not just any minstrel. He went as Ruadan, the man who had owned a magical pipe with which he'd won the love of a princess.

"I will leave you here," Pwyll said, mounting the horse Toren Renné had lent him.” As a champion of the fair I have other obligations. Alaan or I will find you at the ball." He wheeled his horse and went off along the trail that ran beside the river.

They had found a maidservant to help Elise with her costume, but she was just presentable when two of Hafydd's guards appeared and dragged her summarily away, the maid running along behind bearing her headdress.

It was into Hafydd's tent she was thrust a moment later, and there she found the gray-haired knight awaiting her. He looked up and she could see the cold fire of anger burning there.

"I have begun to think you have lied to me, Lady Elise. And I do not care to be lied to." He stalked out from behind the table.” I sent men north and they found the body of your minstrel lying in a shallow grave. It was not Gartnn the nagar was drawn to, was it?"Elise could feel her heart pounding. Her body leaned back of its own will, out of fear of this man. She went to speak, but Hafydd raised his hand and stopped her.

"You have lied to me enough," he said, and turned to the table. Elise could not quite see what it was he did there, but when he turned back he held a goblet. Floating on top of the wine was an oily silver film, like melted metal.” Drink this," Hafydd said. Fear overwhelmed Elise and she spun toward the door, but the guards were quicker and caught her by the arms. Roughly, Hafydd took hold of her hair and forced her face up.” You will drink it," he said, "though you may choose how much pain will precede the drinking." Tears stung her eyes so that she could not see, but a glass was pressed to her lips and liquid tipped into her mouth. She gagged on it: a taste like wine and mercury. It seemed to coat her mouth and tongue with a sickly film. And suddenly breathing was difficult. Hafydd stepped away.” Did you really see a nagar on the river, Lady Elise?" She felt herself lowered into a chair, where she hung her head a moment, unable to catch her breath.” I have never been known for my patience," came Hafydd's harsh voice. The threat in it made her lift her head, but when she tried to speak no words came.” Yes, your mouth is dry, but you cannot have water yet. The nagar, my lady?" She nodded.” We saw it," she said, the words tearing at her throat like shards.” Tell me again who it was drawn to, for it was not Gartnn. He is dead, his body fished from the river and buried in the ground." "I don't know," she croaked, frightened by the sound of her voice. Suddenly, the already shrunken opening through which air passed into her lungs seemed to constrict. She heard her breath coming in terrible little whistling gasps.” Did I neglect to tell you the effect of this libation? With each lie your airway draws tighter. Three lies is usually all anyone can manage before suffocation, though I once saw a minstrel speak five." Hafydd held out a glass.” A sip of this and the spell will be broken. But the answers to my questions first."Elise was being supported by the guards now, and she felt her head swimming. A sudden heat enveloped her, as though she stood too near a blaze. How terribly she labored to get even a little air into her lungs.

"One of the ... northerners," she managed, and thought she could breathe a little more easily.

"Ah, you see what a wonderful thing the truth is. Which of them?""Baore... I think."

"And which is he?"

"The tallest..."

"And has he been injured or ill of late?"She shook her head.

"Lady Elise, suffocation is unpleasant to watch.""I don't know."

Hafydd held the glass toward her, but just as she was about to grasp it he pulled it back.

"Who is it plans to rescue you this night?"She stared at Hafydd, her breath still coming in gasps, little ink-black blobs running down the edge of her vision. "Take your time," Hafydd said.” I am not fond of balls." "Ala—" But she could not say more. "The man who arranged your flight from Braidon Castle?" She nodded. "And Prince Michael is his collaborator?" Elise hung her head again, fighting to pull air into her lungs, but she did not answer. "Can it be that there is actually someone you won't betray? I would have thought you'd sacrifice your beloved father rather than suffer a little discomfort. It does not matter. I know the depths of Prince Michael's treachery." She was lifted up roughly and felt water pouring down her throat. Elise choked and bent double, coughing, but then she could breathe. "Have the maid come in," Hafydd said.

Elise sprawled in the chair, on the edge of unconsciousness. She felt a hand gently patting her cheek, and air moved sweetly against her face. Someone employed a fan.

"Find me this northerner," she heard Hafydd say.” I will know how he can be Sainth's ally and yet draw Sianon."The road leading to the main gate of Castle Renné was lined with several thousand people who were not fortunate enough to have been invited to the ball but who didn't want to miss the pageant. The way was lit by lanterns, though the light of the moon was very bright. Lords and ladies rode by on magnificent horses, their trains following behind. The knights who had acquitted themselves well in the tourney rode their chargers, and the onlookers cheered them and threw flowers in their paths. A few, too old to ride, arrived in carts, or even borne in sedan chairs, but most walked. It was, after all, not far from Westbrook to the castle and the evening was so fair it seemed to call for a parade. The spectacle was not to be missed, for there were several hundred people attending, and no expense had been spared on the costumes, for even here the spirit of competition burned. Jesters, kings, spirits, lions, birds of the air. Sorcerers, warriors, wanderers, giants, and tellers of fortunes. There was no end to the inventiveness of the costumers, Tarn thought. A knight rode upon a stuffed horse that had been cleverly sewn about him. A silveroak tree walked stiffly by, shying from torches.” And what costume is that?" Fynnol said, nodding to a woman in a gown of gold with an elaborate crown upon her head.” She is a princess of the Lost Ones," Cynddl said.” You of all people should know that, Fynnol."A troll lumbered by, eyeing Baore and making rumblings in its throat, for the giants had warred with the trolls, driving them deep into the mountains.