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Authors: Andre Norton

BOOK: Three Hands for Scorpio
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His nose was like a sharp-edged knife bridging between dark eyes set overly close together. His mouth he held tight-lipped above a pointed chin. Altogether, it was not a face to awaken trust in another at first glimpse, nor, perhaps, even at tenth viewing.
Starkadder gave a small shrug as the fellow crowded up and glanced at my father. We sensed, and exchanged the thought, that in some way the clan chief was waiting for the Lord Warden of the South to make the first move.
The pause that followed was evidently disapproved of by the ascetic scarecrow, for he pulled his bowstring mouth even more taut, if such a gesture were possible. Then the Gurly chieftain spoke directly to our father.
“His Majesty craves your grace, Lord Verset, for this follower of Chosen Forfind. His name is Udo Chosen.”
My father, in no way seeming to note such an unusual introduction, looked to the stranger.
“As one come guesting, you are welcome.” But he did not expand that grudging greeting to include any introduction of our mother or us.
“Be all here unbelievers?” demanded Udo Chosen.
My father touched the wide brim of his hat, but for only a brief instant, making his recognition tremble on the thinnest border of courtesy—a response far from his usual treatment of any honest man.
“Under this roof,” he returned curtly, “we are followers of the Established Church of which Her Majesty is the Reverend Head.”
The thin grayish face seemed to swell, portending a forthcoming roar. However, the Starkadder now took a hand, or rather a foot, in the matter as, with a stride, he stepped between the seemingly wit-scrambled Chosen and our father.
“Clan greetings, Lord Verset, and also a salutation of goodwill from His Majesty.” Starkadder tapped the hilt of his sword, and we saw it was tightly bound round with the gold, blue, and green plaid ribbons of a declared truce.
Our mother came down the last step into the courtyard. Once more she curtseyed. Father extended his arm a little, and she curtseyed again and laid her fingers on his wrist.
“May this house shelter you well, my lord. Let us show you to the chambers prepared for you and your kinsmen.”
Thus, the proper ritual being reestablished, she and our father led the Gurlys within. Privately, we three remained astounded at the lack of manners shown by this Udo Chosen, who was said to be a representative of the king.
His horse now being taken in charge by a guard, Lord Starkadder and his son followed our parents. Several others of those dressed like noblemen moved forward as though to come next, but the priest slid from his pony and cut in ahead of them. Nor, to our surprise, did they deny him, though anger was plain to see on a number of faces.
As he clumped by us, he halted and stared, his face drawn up in a scowl. Clasping the metal-bound book Rogher had spoken of tightly to his breast with his left hand, he extended the right, folded into a fist, save the first and second fingers. Then he pointed directly at us.
“Take shame how you show your bodies to tempt the believers. Whores you are, for all your draggle of silks!” Having hurled that verbal gauntlet at our feet, the Chosen was quick to make up the gap that had opened between him and the Starkadder before him.
“No!”
Cilla's thought was quick.
“We must make nothing of this. The creature is truly mad!”
Agreeing with her assessment, we schooled our faces so that any watching beyond earshot might think he had delivered a compliment.
Though we all desired some instruction from our mother as to how to handle such outright insult, that we could not get, for she, having done hostess duty, was now chambered with our father for a private talk of their own. We knew that it would be foolish to invite more trouble with any of the Gurly party. Yet we would have done well to remember the old adage that a serpent has more than one dose of vicious poison. Only too soon came the summons to the feast.
We had reached the second course of the banquet before the adder struck. A forest of candles and lamps gave us good sight of all persons present in the large chamber. Our full state use of plate made a treasure display on the table in honor of the guests. After the fashion of our own country,
those of noble blood sat at midboard, the company descending in rank at either side of them. We also followed court custom in that we were seated woman and man, woman and man.
At the far side of our assembly, a table had been hastily prepared for one diner alone, and the disruptive stranger had been seated there. One of the household squires was busy gathering plate and food from the floor, Udo Chosen having swept all away as he had seated himself, declaiming loudly that the richness of both was an insult, for a believer ate not from silver, nor took more than hard bread and broth.
Our parents evidently meant to take the course of refusing to answer any of his slurs, allowing the serving lads to bring him what he wanted. But we knew that this shameful conduct must be angering both Father and Mother. We shared scathing thoughts, even though we kept a smile on our collective face and pretended not to hear.
Our escorts in the seating arrangement were the younger Starkadder and two kinsmen near his age. They did not appear to wish to carry on any conversation, even though we attempted to find a subject to interest them. Moreover, their table manners were so boorish as to set Bina mentally repeating excerpts from Duty's instructions when we were still in guidereins, until we had to stifle our laughter. She had just finished repeating the suggestion that one should use the napkins provided instead of wiping fingers on the tablecloth when far more coarse behavior turned our amused communication into quite another mood and message.
The Starkadder heir leaned a little closer to me, by chance assigned as his partner.
“Your lord knows well how to bedeck his hall with fair flowers, sweetling. Give a kiss to my glass, now.” He held out his goblet.
“You are ready to be welcoming, are you not?” he continued wheedlingly, leering at my low-cut bodice. “Such a toothsome bedwarmer! Yes, indeed, your lord knows how to make a guest truly at home.”
He got no further with his insults. I rose, pushing back my chair to face him more directly. Sudden silence fell along the feast table, except for the sound of two more chairs in motion. All three of us were standing now.
The Starkadder scion stared, a flush rising beneath his veil of freckles.
I still fronted the Gurly, but I turned my head first toward our father and then in the direction of our mother, bowing it a fraction as I made my explanations to each. “Since this one, welcomed in friendship, gives great insult to
your daughter, Lord Verset—Lady Altha—I must ask permission to withdraw. I am no lightskirt, such as I have just been named, but a Scorpy by blood and birth, and it is not meet that I draw steel in this place to bring blood in exchange.”
My hand had gone to my breast while I spoke. Now I drew into plain sight the scissor-knife that a gentlewoman always wore.
The chief's son was already on his feet, breathing rapidly, plainly angered to the edge of control. His hands were curled into fists as if he readied himself to aim a blow.
“I do not call you beast,” I continued in the same calm voice, “for most beasts act cleanly among the females of their kind; in field or fold none talk of ‘bedwarmers.' But I advise you to watch that tongue of yours, Northling. It is a weapon that may turn on you in the end.”
Now I pushed past my chair and started toward the door, Bina and Cilla following. Thus the three of us left the feast in silence; and in us such a white fury was fired that we had to summon our combined strength to contain our wrath.
S
et faced, our hands curled into fists, we ascended the curved tower stair. Grosper seemed deserted; we met no one until the door of our chamber closed behind us. Loosy and Hanna, beholding our unexpected return by the light of the two lamps that had been left burning, scrambled from their truckle beds to curtsey in open surprise.
I waved them back to their comfort, and we went to our three stools beneath the window which, when unshuttered during daylight hours, looked out upon our world.
“We have done exactly what our mother warned against.” Bina smoothed the fine silk across her knees. “We have, perhaps, put an end to all our father is seeking to do.”
Each was occupied with her own thoughts for a time. By the custom of our own land, a challenge should have been given the Gurly lout; and it was but paradoxical comfort that that had not been done.
“I do not think”—Cilla mind-spoke—“that our mother herself would have sat silent to such insult. For a Gurly to speak so freely—!”
“Remember,” Bina spoke aloud as if to give her words double import, “what Rogher reported of the teachings of the new religion, and also the actions of that so-called emissary of King Arvor. It might be that these Starkadders and he who travels with them are deliberately seeking to make trouble.”
“If so,” I said ruefully, “they have succeeded, and it is the three of us who have provided them with cause and means.”
We offered no denial to that. Anger still warmed us, but it had cooled enough that we now also felt the prick of guilt. Too well we knew that no apology could cover this incident, the Gurlys being ever quick to take offense for far less than had just occurred.
Our door opened to reveal Duty. Our erstwhile nurse advanced only a little way into the room and regarded us with the shut face that could still bring us to order.
“Well, a pretty tangle we have before us now,” she observed.
I made answer. “And you will say it is of our doing!”
“Put no words into my mouth, my lady Tamara.”
We stared at each other for a long moment; then Duty continued. “Your lady mother—perhaps my lord also—will have words for you. If you are wise, you will do some careful thinking before they come. The feast is near over—as it would be after the offense given by that sty-minded clansman and your offense taken. You all are to remain here and await the coming of my lady.”
Await her we did, speaking no more for other ears to hear. Loosy and Hanna, on their beds at the far side of the room behind a tapestry-covered screen, made no sound.
“Think of this,”
I mind-spoke.
“Perhaps what has happened was a planned ploy. King Arvor has but little power—the noble clans keep him on a tight rein. It could be that he is about to use this Chosen Forfind and what he teaches, to stir up his own form of trouble. He might wish to kindle anger between Starkadder and our father, and this Udo could have been especially selected for his nasty tongue and sent with our Gurly guests for that purpose.”
“Yes!”
Bina nodded at her own impatient thought.
“Someone does seem to have a need to make trouble between Starkadder and the High Warden of Alsonia.”
Once set into words, the possibility seemed very clear to us. Cilla added a thought which at first appeared far from our musings over court intrigue until we realized that her suggestion gave a deeper and more sinister turn to the case.
“My dream—” she said aloud, very softly.
Yes—that dream which had led her to design a pattern we now knew to have been of the Dark.
“Yet King Arvor is not known to meddle with Inner Matters.” Bina said slowly. “If his court holds one with Talent, it has never been reported.”
Suddenly we heard a sound at the door that meant someone outside was turning a key. The scrape of it startled us to our feet. Were we being locked in?
However, the key was being used for unlocking (had Duty's visit, was our joint thought, been made to assure that we would be present?), and a moment later our mother swept in bearing her guise of great lady, seldom used when we were alone. Upon occasion she could summon such an aura of power as daunted most persons involved in her dealings.
We curtseyed as she came into the full light of the lamps and seated herself in the chair Cilla had hurriedly placed to face us. We did not dare to reseat ourselves until she pointed with her closed fan to the chest by the bed. There we settled, one squeezed against the other, like three errant children awaiting a knuckle-rapping for shared mischief.
“You know what you have done,” she began. “Your father's plans are now in such a snarl-up as he may not be able to untangle. These Gurlys are hotheads, either by temperament or choice, to further matters of intrigue. So far, at least, Starkadder has not summoned his men and ridden forth, vowing dire retribution for insult, but who can say what will chance in the next days—even hours?”
It was Bina, usually the most prudent of us, who replied: “My lady Mother, would you have a Scorpy so insolently bespoken and make no proper answer?”
Surprisingly, Mother shook her head. “Yes, that brutish boy should take the first blame. I must be honest with you: he is fit meat for steel. And”—she paused—“our blood never takes kindly to insolence.”
“Was he”—I leaned forward a little to center our mother's attention—“perhaps ordered to do what he did?”
To our amazement, we were favored with a slight smile. “You show well your training, Tamara. Am I right in believing that you also, Drucilla, Sabina, share this astute guess?”
We nodded, daring to feel slight relief. Surely we had been summoned for punishment, as we had gone directly against her orders. However, the
tone in which she addressed her last question was the one she had always used at lesson time when she was pleased with how well a particular subject of instruction had been absorbed. But before she spoke again, our father was with us. Once more we rose to pay him full honor.
He bowed slightly in return and pulled up another chair to join our mother. Perhaps he had been appointed to be our judge in this matter.
“Tamara,” our mother ordered, “give us again this suspicion you hold.”
I repeated my words as Father listened.
“So,” he commented when I had finished, “you have concerned yourselves with peering behind outward action to find causes. Indeed, it well becomes Scorpy minds to interest themselves with strange ways that may lead into the Dark.”
“First,” he held up his right hand, turning the fingers under and using only the thumb to keep record, “Lord Starkadder remains under this roof. Two or three of his major kin have argued with him, and he told them to ride out if they wished, but he was not calling for his mount.”
“Second”—forefinger arose beside thumb—“that graceless son of his sought out the king's man, Udo, but the Chosen did not appear to welcome him with either trumpet or drum. It was also plain that Starkadder himself did not find his whelp's action acceptable. One of his lesser retainers was sent with an order which, like a hound's leash, brought the cub back to his sire fast enough.”
“Third”—Father's middle finger added to the tally—“such musing as you have just voiced, my daughters, is given greater strength by what I have heard during the past months of my striving to arrange a Border court. Rumors are flying, some of them outside belief, but others easily latched to the actions here.”
“Fourth,” and his ring finger straightened, “Starkadder has continued to agree to the court. I voiced a way to save face—I suggested that his son had perhaps been overcome by our potent Southern wines and forgot where he was, and the chief accepted that calmly. Never believe, daughters, that these clan leaders are slow-wits. Their underlings and close kin may sometimes be judged so, but one such as Starkadder, who has led the largest clan in Gurlyon for near thirty years, is as wily and shrewd as our Chancellor Yan of Kork. I therefore gravely doubt that this play was of his planning; it was too crude and ill-timed. No, I believe he was left ignorant of it by some courtier, or”—Father paused for a moment, enabling us all to fill the gap
with the name of another type of hanger-on with equal reasons for starting an intrigue—“someone who did not understand how clever his countryman really is.”
“It is true,” he continued, after a pause, “that King Arvor wishes his throne free of any Merven standing behind it to whisper orders. He had a taste of war when he defeated the Harsorean Fleet two years gone, and he then showed himself capable of the strategy a true leader needs. His victory was followed by the prompt arrival of the Chosen from out of the mountains. I think the timing not lacking in significance.”
As Father raised his little finger, then lowered his whole hand, his Scorpy signet caught the lamplight with a fiery blaze of red-gold.
“I do not,” he said in a quiet voice that sounded even more dangerous than his earlier tone, “like this hint of greater powers somehow controlling us and belaboring men and women for so-called ‘sins.' However, it is said that the king has welcomed this Voice from the mountains, and perhaps he has. If that is so, I foresee war—such conflict as could blast this poor country out of existence. Few of the Gurlys have visited Alsonia—they can only guess at what strength we can summon. That fiasco in the Year of Nar, wherein our army remained here at the Border without invading, might well induce the gullible to believe we cannot summon the wherewithal to defend the South from invasion. The men of the Border on both sides are used to raiding. To force blackrent, by which a landowner must pay two taxes—one rightfully to the Crown and the other, outright theft, to a neighbor stronger than himself—is common practice. The Northerners look South and lick their lips at the feast of our riches. At present, they are unable to raise a force great enough to invade—the memory of Erseway remains too fresh to permit this. But should the king pledge all his own army to such an attempt—” Father pursed his lips.
“War?” asked our mother.
“Who can guess? However, now we know that they would involve us, the House of Scorpio, in their intrigues. Perhaps they even hope to besmirch our name before the queen. Her Majesty is known to loathe war, though she does not hamper plans for the assembling of defense.
“Of this much I am sure: you must
not
allow personal concerns to override the order I now give. You will not accompany us to the Truce—in fact, it will be suggested that this is a punishment given you—” He paused and favored us with a warm smile; thus he had ever been able to charm us out
of the sullens. “A punishment given you,” he repeated, “for your improper forwardness of bearing. I trust you each to don the face of maids who have been well chastised when you appear in public.”
Then he was wholly serious, and again he held each of us in turn, eye to eye, for the space of a breath or two. “Be also aware that you may still be marked as proper prey to incite your family—even Her Majesty, with whom we share a bloodline—into some wrong move. From now on, you must be very careful of speech, thinking twice, even thrice, before you speak anything of moment. I would, if I could, leave Tweder with you, but I must show my Captain of the Guard with me at the Truce. Your mother will also accompany me, for our appearance should be as always. Do not at any time ride out—you cannot do so safely without more guards than I dare leave at Grosper. Lock your chamber at night, and see that your bosom knives and snaplocks, as well, are ever with you.”
He stood up, his hand raised in salute, as if we were men of a squadron he commanded, and—better still—considered crucial to his strategy. We echoed the gesture, warmed by the knowledge that he thought us worthy to be taken so far into his confidence.
So it was that we did not appear in the lower halls of Grosper again while the clansmen were guests. Instead, we were supplied certain books and papers. Those we studied diligently, realizing that, by means of their information, we were being made privy to the tangle of men and motives that required all our father's efforts to bring peace to this ever-troubled, blood-soaked Border country.
I drew from between two thin wooden protectors a map, linen-backed and badly worn by time and usage, to spread it out on the bed, and lay, propped on elbows, my nose nearly touching the faded paper as I studied it.
“The Yakins,” I read. “Look you here—”
Look they did, laying aside their own materials of study. The surface of the map I was examining was so rubbed and dulled that we could scarcely determine anything but age damage.
I sat up, freeing my left hand to tap with a fingernail at three spots set close together.
“What do you see?” I demanded.
Both answered, “Nothing.”
“But that is what matters—there
are
no markings! Look here—and here—and here—” My fingertip moved swiftly to other areas.
Oh, certain features were present, right enough, some indicating trails, one a warn tower. But the area I had first indicated, save for a stain and slight crease or two, held naught but emptiness.

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