The Swans' War 1 - The One Kingdom (48 page)

A dragon with eight pairs of legs snaked its way through the parade, snapping its massive jaws and snarling hideously. A fool scurried past, bells ajingle, juggling balls of colored glass. And everywhere minstrels played and sang songs of the characters they encountered.

"The giant hid within a tree To snatch the travelers, all three.""I had not in all my years imagined such a thing," Fynnol said suddenly. He looked around, eyes dancing.” It seems that everyone has spent a year of thought and effort on their costumes.""A highwayman!" several Knights of the Vow shouted upon seeing Fynnol, and Baore was forced to come to his cousin's aid, for the Knights would have trussed him up and gone looking for a marshal to judge him.

"The highwaymen, the highwaymen What would be awaiting them? A Knight upon a pure white steed, A rope upon a withered tree."Despite the true nature of their endeavor, the Valemen were astonished to find themselves in such a procession and gawked like the people lining the lane. One would have thought they were not on their way to the ball themselves.

Tarn thought that even Baore moved with a more relaxed gait that night. Several times he ran, roaring and waving his staff, toward people standing on the road's edge, and they scattered, laughing. Baore laughed as well, much to Tarn's amazement: a sound he'd not heard in so long he hardly recognized it.

And then, all at once, they were at the castle gate and passing inside. Into the keep of the notorious Renné .

White horses were found for them, Elyse and Mwynfawr. And in their elaborate dress they looked, indeed, like a king and queen of ancient times, though young and fair. But Prince Michael did not feel like a king, or even like a father of kings. He was apprehensive in spite of himself. Elise rode beside him, trying hard to keep her head up, though it seemed a struggle.” Lady Elise?" he whispered.” Are you well?" She didn't answer but only nodded, straightening her back. They rode in procession: his father and several important lords in the fore, followed by a company of his father's men-at-arms. Around them minstrels dressed in white played and sang songs of Elyse and Mwynfawr. Behind came Hafydd and his own dark knights, and where they passed all the cheering and laughter stopped. Everyone recognized the purple livery of the men-at-arms as that of the Prince of Innes. They also recognized the costumes that Prince Michael and Elise wore, and understood the meaning.” Peace breaker!" someone shouted, and it took Prince Michael a second to realize this insult was hurled at Hafydd. Hafydd, however, did not seem to care or even notice. He rode in the center of his men upon his usual horse, his dark robe arranged about him, head high. The Prince thought Hafydd looked rejuvenated this night—this night when he would begin his revenge upon the Renné . What did he care what the rabble thought? Will he always be so haughty? Prince Michael wondered. Is there no one who might bring him down? There was only this man Hafydd named the whist, and the Prince was not confident that even he would elude Hafydd forever. The knight was dogged when pursuing his fixations. Even the whist must land one day. But would it be tonight, or would he surprise Hafydd and switch Elise with some other?

The Prince's horse threw up its head suddenly as something was tossed from the roadside.

"It was not directed toward you," Elise whispered.

And again the cry "peace breaker" was heard. The Prince was not accustomed to such hostility from the common people.

This is what comes of allowing Hafydd sway in our lives, he thought. How different this reception from the people's reaction to Toren Renn<§. When the lord had insisted upon sharing the prize at the joust the crowd had surged down onto the field, crying his name. How easily he could have made an army right there and then, and how willingly they would fight for such a man. Hafydd didn't understand that. He considered Toren Renné weak and foolish.

And honorable, the Prince thought. Hafydd has taken our honor away. My honor.

And he did not know how honor, once lost, could ever be retrieved.

Dease was limping and thought a crippled sorcerer particularly difficult to believe in. But there he was, nursing his hurt from the joust and cursing under his breath. He descended a stair toward the main hall where the ball would be held, or at least where the dancing would take place. There were any number of rooms involved, and guests would wander freely through them and out onto the terrace, for the night was fine and all the doors would be open.

The most useful feature of his costume was the sorcerer's staff, upon which he could lean and take some of the weight off his injured knee. He had made some effort to be sure that no one knew what costume he would wear, for discussions with his cousins were the last thing he wanted this night. What he did want was a glass of wine or two, just enough to quiet his nerves but not enough to make his hands unsteady. He found that he had stopped on the stair without ever meaning to. / will do this thing—his words came back to him—for / love him best.” Sir?" A servant ascended toward him, bearing pillows.” Have you slipped?" "No. No, I'm merely resting. Time catches even sorcerers, it seems." The man nodded.” There is nothing I might do?" "I have my staff and the rail. I need nothing more. But someone it seems has need of sleep. Bear your pillows on." The man held up his burden.” The fat man hasn't girth enough, though this should fill his larder." The servant went on. Three young women swept by, giggling and whispering—courtiers from ancient Ayr. A seemingly dejected frog sat upon the bottom step, and when Dease paused to rest his throbbing knee, the frog looked up.” Awaiting a princess's kiss," it said rather forlornly.” As are we all," Dease answered, and hobbled on. He didn't know what costumes his cousins had chosen, though Toren would be unmasked early in the evening when the champions of the fair were celebrated. Arden could be found, for he was easily the best dancer among the young men at Westbrook. Beld could not be mistaken, for his shape and lumbering gait could belong to no one else. Beldor was the only person he knew who could appear sullen and resentful even when hidden behind a mask, his body disguised beneath layers of fabric. It was as though a spirit of spiteful-ness had possessed him and would never let go. Samul he would not find, of course, for Samul had perfected the art of concealing himself within the presence of others. Almost no one knew how much influence Samul had over Renné policy, for he planted his ideas in the minds of others and seldom spoke out in larger gatherings. The perfect costume for Samul would be a shadow—someone else's shadow.

The ballroom was lit by chandeliers bearing countless candles, and beneath the warm light the revelers glittered. It was customary for attendees to make their entrance into the main hall by the south doors and pass over the open floor to the foot of Lady Beatrice's dais, where they would be graciously welcomed. They would also be gently mocked by the gathered fools, for there were always a number of these, vying with one another to be the wit of the fete.

Dease, however, as a resident of the castle, slipped in a side door and avoided this altogether. Two fools had taken up stations by the main entrance and were grandly announcing guests as they arrived.

"An enchanted frog and a stagger—I mean—walking oak tree," one of the fools called out pompously.

The mood of the guests was gay, the room abuzz with excitement and expectation. It always impressed Dease that a mask could be so liberating. At the end of the evening, when the masks were removed, one often found that the most outspoken were those who were commonly silent, and the most flirtatious were known to be shy.

"A dancing bear and a Fael princess of yore," one of the fools called out.

Dease intercepted a servant and rescued a glass of wine from a dangerously overcrowded tray. He had made certain to wear a mask that would allow him to both eat and drink.

"Elyse and Mwynfawr," the fool announced.

Dease turned to find a couple entering, surrounded by costumed minstrels.

"That is them," a woman nearby whispered to her companion.” The daughter of Lord Carral Wills with Prince Michael of Innes."The news washed quickly the length of the room, a whispering wave that died at the feet of Lady Beatrice Renné . She raised her eyes to view this affront, though her face showed no indication of her feelings.” Let us slip down the room and witness Lady Beatrice's greeting," Dease's neighbor said to her companion, and they hurried off. Dease continued to stare at the couple in the entrance. Behind them came two men, one in costume and the second wearing a knight's robe of black with a skull mask.” The Prince of—" The fool coughed theatrically.” I mean, a humble woodsman and a knight." The man in the black robe, obviously Eremon, the Prince's counselor, opened his robe and to everyone's horror, beneath wore a surcoat of Renné blue, though torn and stained. He leaned toward the fool and whispered.” The ghost of Sir Hafydd," the fool announced, his voice trembling a little. Dease felt his shoulders bunch into knots and he gripped his staff until his hand hurt. They should be cut down here, before everyone, for their effrontery, he thought. This is what Toren's policies had brought about. The Prince of Innes believed he could walk into the home of the Renné and announce his plan to put his grandson upon the throne and know that he would suffer nothing. That Toren Renné would protect him. Dease half expected to see the hunched figure of Beldor leap out of the crowd, sword in hand, to cut down this upstart prince. But all that greeted them was stunned silence. An old man near Dease cleared his throat and said softly, "Never before have I seen war declared in such a manner." And Dease nodded. Did everyone realize that is what this was? A declaration of war. The party passed the length of the hall, stopping before Lady Beatrice to bow and curtsey. Dease had never known such a silence at the Renné ball before.” Welcome, Elyse and Mwynfawr," Beatrice said in her most gracious and regal voice.” And you, woodsman, and Sir Hafydd, come to haunt us, I see." She actually smiled.” Since you begat the kings of men," she went on, "much has happened, for the kings have been dethroned and many of their descendants are but coarse warriors without honor. I regret to inform you of this, for it is so difficult to see one's children amount to nothing. But no matter; you have descended here to be among us and we welcome you all. Be merry this night, for one cannot be sure of the days ahead, and too often events do not turn out as we expect." She smiled and bowed her head, turning her attention to those next to enter.

The silence lasted a beat and then the room erupted into a frenzy of whispering. Any comments by the fools gathered near Beatrice's feet were lost in the din.

Dease realized he had been holding his breath, and drew in a lungful of whispers. More guests arrived, though they were largely ignored, which must have seemed very odd to them, as they had not been witness to the recent events.

A slight man in an executioner's hood and robe stopped a few feet away, watching the spectacle. Dease felt a shiver pass through him, as though he saw himself suddenly. For a moment he could not take his eyes away, and then the man turned and noticed him, as though he had sensed Dease's stare. The executioner gazed at him a moment, blue eyes behind the narrow slits, and then he gave a small bow of acknowledgment to Dease and went off.

Dease closed his eyes a moment and the room seemed to shift beneath him. His eyes sprang open in panic.

Tarn's attention was taken by the sight of the great hall and he didn't hear what the fools said who were announcing the guests. Something witty, though, for a few people standing nearby tittered.

But Fynnol, the highwayman, was never at a loss for a response.” If I were to rob you of your wit," he said to the fools, "I would carry away a wit of such little weight that a sack of feathers should seem a bag of lead when compared. But,even so, you could hardly be more witless than now." He bowed and waved his companions forward to applause from those gathered by the doors.” Go easy on these poor southerners," Cynddl said.” They have not the advantages you enjoy, coming from the cultured and sophisticated north." They went slowly the length of the hall to stand before Lady Beatrice, the Renné matriarch, who greeted them as though they were great lords, for this night no one's station was known.” My good giant, welcome to our little hall. Do mind the chandeliers. I ask only that you keep all trolls from making mischief and from dining upon our guests." Baore bowed.” And you, sir, are a highwayman. Dare I trust you to refrain from your trade this night?" "But I fear I have already committed such crimes as highwaymen do," Fynnol said.” I have robbed two fools of their wit and no one has remarked upon it—not even the fools. But I promise to refrain from such thievery the rest of this night. I shall steal no lady's beauty, no knight's courage. Each man shall retain his erudition, every gossip their prattle. Grace and good manners shall be left in place, and I promise to disturb no one's yearnings. Though I will confess, given the chance to steal a kiss, I might weaken." Lady Beatrice laughed.” You have my permission to steal a kiss, but no more than two or perhaps three." "But is the supply not boundless?" She wagged a finger at Fynnol.” You are a wicked highwayman. Four kisses, and that is my final word. Any more and I shall make you return them one by one." She turned to Tarn.” You, sir, I should know. King— Oh, Llyn would know," she said.” Attmal," Tam said. I "Yes. The cloak bearing every color of his garden, or some such thing. I am your descendant, you realize.""And I am proud of you, Granddaughter."She laughed.” And I am so pleased to meet your approval." She turned to Cynddl.” And here we see another minstrel? But are you not some particular minstrel?""I am called Ruadan, Lady Beatrice.""Then we will hear your magic pipe. Princesses"—she looked around—"be advised to block your ears."Reluctantly Cynddl took out his flute—Alaan's flute. Tarn could see that he hadn't expected this. The tone of the instrument was so haunting that everyone nearby fell silent to listen.

When Cynddl had done Lady Beatrice applauded.” Seldom does a minstrel come disguised as a minstrel." She gazed at him a moment.” But perhaps that is not your calling. Perhaps you are one of our wandering friends? But either way, you are welcome. You are welcome all."The companions passed into the crowd, though not without a few remarks from the gathered fools, though none dared test Fynnol, whose reputation was already made. They found a place at the side to watch the procession and for more than an hour almost forgot why they were there.