The Marquis looked back at me, his face tense and tired, his
eyes dark with an intensity that sent a complexity of emotions
chasing through me like darting starlings.
"How did you get ahead of me so fast?" I said. "I don't
understand."
His eyes widened in surprise, as if he'd expected to hear
anything but that. "How," he asked slowly, "did you know I was
here? We told no one when I was leaving, or my route, outside
of two servants."
"I
didn't
know you were here," I said. "I sent
Azmus to you. With the news. About the Merindars. You mean you
already
knew?"
"Let us backtrack a little," he said, "if you will bear with
my lamentable slowness. I take it, then, that you were not
riding thus speedily to join me?" With his old sardonic tone he
added, "Because if you were, your retreat just now is somewhat
puzzling, you'll have to admit."
I said indignantly, "I peeked in because I thought you might
be one of the Merindars, and if so, I'd send a warning back to
you. I mean, you if you were there. Does that make sense?" I
frowned, shook my head, then gulped down the rest of the
coffee.
He smiled just slightly, but the intensity had not left his
eyes.
The serving maid came in, carrying a bowl of food and some
fresh bread. "Will you have some as well?" she said to me.
"Please," Shevraeth said before I could speak. "And more
coffee." He waited until she went out, then said, "Now, begin
again, please. What is it you're trying to tell me, and where
are you going?"
"I'm going to Orbanith," I said, and forced myself to look
away from the steam curling up from the stew at his elbow. My
mouth watered. I swallowed and turned my attention to pulling
off my sodden gloves. "I guess I am trying to tell you what you
already seem to know—that the Merindars are going on the
attack, with hired mercenaries from Denlieff. But—why do
you want me to tell you when you
do
already know all
this?" I looked up from wringing out my gloves.
"I am trying," he said with great care, "to ascertain what
your place is in the events about to transpire, and to act
accordingly. From whom did you get your information?"
The world seemed to lurch again, but this time it was not my
vision. A terrible sense of certainty pulled at my heart and
mind as I realized what he was striving so heroically not to
say—nevertheless, what he meant.
He thought I was on the other side.
Seen from an objective perspective, it was entirely possible
that
I
was the phantom messenger from the Merindars.
After all, last year I'd made a try for the crown. Since then,
on the surface I'd been an implacable enemy to
Shevraeth—and even though that had changed, I had not
given any sign of those changes. Meanwhile I seemed to have
suddenly acquired information that no one else in Athanarel
had. Except for him.
And, probably, Flauvic.
I saw it now, the real reason why Flauvic had made the
public gestures of friendship with me. What an easy way to
foster Shevraeth's distrust, to force him to divide his
attentions! The most recent gesture having been just measures
ago at my ball.
The maid came in with another bowl and bread, then, and set
them at my elbow, but I scarcely heeded the food. Now I
couldn't eat. I couldn't even explain, because anything I
gabbled out would seem mere contrivance. The fact was, I had
refused all along any kind of straightforward communication
with the man now sitting across from me, and too many lives
were at stake for him to risk being wrong.
The real tragedy was that there were too many lives at stake
in both races. And so even though I could comprehend why I
might end up as a prisoner, just like last year, I also knew
that I would fight, as hard as I was capable, to remain
free.
I looked at him, sick and miserable.
"Tell me where you got your information," he said.
"Azmus. Our old spy." My lips were numb, and I started to
shiver. Hugging my arms against my stomach, I said, "My reasons
were partly stupid and partly well-meaning, but I sent him to
find out what the Marquise was after. She wrote me during
winter—but you knew about that."
He nodded.
"And you even tried to warn me, though at the time I saw it
as a threat, because—well, because." I felt too sick
inside to go on about that. Drawing a shaky breath, I said,
"And again. At her party, when she took me into the
conservatory. She tried again to get me to join her. Said I
hadn't kept my vows to Papa. So I summoned Azmus to help me
find out what to do. The right thing. I know I can't prove it,"
I finished lamely.
He pulled absently at the fingers of one glove, then looked
down at it, and straightened it again. Unnecessary movements
from him were so rare, I wondered if he too was fighting for
clear thought.
He lifted his gaze to me. "And now? You were riding to the
border?"
"No," I said. "To Orbanith."
Again he showed surprise.
"It's the other thing that Azmus found out," I said quickly.
"I sent him to tell you as soon as I learned—but there's
no way for you to know that's true. I realize it. Still, I
did. I
have to go because I know how to reach the Hill
Folk."
"The Hill Folk?"
"Yes," I said, leaning forward. "The kinthus. The Merindars
have it stowed in wagons, and they're going to burn it
up-slope. Carried on the winds, it can kill Hill Folk over a
full day's ride, all at once. That's how they're paying
Denlieff, with our woods, not with money at all. They're
breaking our Covenant! I
have
to warn the Hill
Folk!"
"Orbanith. Why there, why this road?"
"Mora and the servants told me this was the fastest way to
Orbanith."
"Why did you not go north to Tlanth where you know the Hill
Folk?"
I shook my head impatiently. "You don't
know
them.
You can't know them. They don't have names, or if they do, they
don't tell them to us. They seem to be aware of each other's
concerns, for if you see one, then suddenly others will appear,
all silent. And if they act, it's at once. Some of the old
songs say that they walk in one another's dreams, which I think
is a poetic way of saying they can speak mind to mind. I don't
know. I
must
get to the mountains to warn them, and
the mountains that source the Piaum River are the closest to
Remalna-city."
"And no one else knows of this?" he asked gently.
I shook my head slowly, unable to remove my gaze from his
face. "Azmus discovered it by accident. Rode two days to reach
me. I did send him ..."
There was no point in saying it again. Either he believed
me, and—I swallowed painfully—I'd given him no
particular reason to, or he didn't. Begging, pleading, arguing,
ranting—none of them would make any difference, except to
make a horrible situation worse.
I should have made amends from the beginning, and now it was
too late.
He took a deep breath. I couldn't breathe, I just stared at
him, waiting, feeling sweat trickle beneath my already soggy
clothing.
Then he smiled a little. "Brace up. We're not about to
embark on a duel to the death over the dishes." He paused, then
said lightly, "Though most of our encounters until very
recently have been unenviable exchanges, you have never lied to
me. Eat. We'll leave before the next time-change, and part ways
at the crossroads."
No "You've never lied
before."
No
"If
I
can trust you." No warnings or hedgings. He took all the
responsibility—and the risk—himself. I didn't know
why, and to thank him for believing me would just embarrass us
both. So I said nothing, but my eyes prickled. I looked down at
my lap and busied myself with smoothing out my mud-gritty, wet
gloves.
"Why don't you set aside that cloak and eat something?"
His voice was flat. I realized he probably felt even nastier
about the situation than I did. I heard the scrape of a bowl on
the table and the clink of a spoon. The ordinary sounds
restored me somehow, and I untied my cloak and shrugged it off.
At once a weight that seemed greater than my own left me. I
made a surreptitious swipe at my eyes, straightened my
shoulders, and did my best to assume nonchalance as I picked up
my spoon.
After a short time, he said, "Don't you have any questions
for me?"
I glanced up, my spoon poised midway between my bowl and my
mouth. "Of course," I said. "But I thought—" I started to
wave my hand, realizing too late it still held the spoon, and
winced as stew spattered down the table. Somehow the
ridiculousness of it released some of the tension. As I mopped
at the mess with a corner of my cloak, I said, "Well, it
doesn't matter what I thought. So you knew about the plot all
along?"
"Pretty much from the beginning, though the timing is new. I
surmised they would make their move in the fall, but something
seems to have precipitated action. My first warning was from
Elenet, who had found out a great deal from the Duke's
servants. That was her real reason for coming to Court, to tell
me herself."
"What about Flauvic?"
"It would appear," he said carefully, "that he disassociated
with this plan of his mother's."
"Was that the argument he alluded to?"
He did not ask when. "Perhaps. Though that might have been
for effect. I can believe it only because it is
uncharacteristic for him to lend himself to so stupid and
clumsy a plan."
"Finesse," I drawled in a parody of a courtier's voice.
"He'd want finesse, and to make everyone else look
foolish."
Shevraeth smiled slightly. "Am I to understand you were not
favorably impressed with Lord Flauvic?"
"As far as I'm concerned, he and Fialma are both thorns," I
said, "though admittedly he is very pretty to look at. More so
than his sour pickle of a sister. Anyway, I hope you aren't
trusting him as far as you can lift a mountain, because I
wouldn't."
"His house is being watched. He can't stir a step outside
without half a riding being within earshot."
"And he probably knows it," I said, grinning. "Last
question, why are you riding alone? Wouldn't things be more
effective with your army?"
"I move fastest alone," he said. "And my own people are in
place, and have been for some time."
I thought of Nessaren—and the fact that I hadn't seen
her around Athanarel for weeks.
"When I want them," he said, reaching into the pouch at his
belt, "I will summon them with this." And he held up something
that glowed blue briefly: the summons-stone I had seen so long
ago. "Each riding has one. At the appropriate moment, we will
converge and, ah,
convince
the Marquise and her allies
to accompany us back to Athanarel. It is the best way of
avoiding bloodshed."
In the distance the time-change rang. "What about those
Denlieff warriors?" I asked.
"If their leaders are unable to give them orders, they will
have to take orders from me."
I thought about the implied threat, then shook my head. "I'm
glad I have the easy job," I said. "Speaking of which ..."
He smiled. "There's a room adjacent. I suggest you change
your clothes and ride dry for a time." Before I could say
anything, he rose, stepped to the tapestry, and summoned the
maid.
Very soon I was in the little bedroom, struggling out of my
soggy clothing. It felt good to get into dry things, though I
knew I wouldn't be dry long. There was no hope for my cloak,
except to wring it out and put it back on. But when I left the
room, I found my cloak gone, and in its place a long, black,
waterproof one that I recognized at once.
With very mixed feelings I pulled it on, gathering it up in
my arms so it wouldn't drag on the ground behind me. Then I
settled my hat on my head, and very soon I was on the road to
the west.
TWENTY-ONE
I WAS VERY GRATEFUL FOR THAT CLOAK BEFORE MY journey's
end.
The weather steadily turned worse. I forbore hiring horses
in favor of sturdy mountain ponies, on whose broad backs I
could doze a little.
For I did not dare to stop. The driving rain and the deep
mud made a swift pace impossible. Halting only to change mounts
and stuff some hasty bites of food into my mouth, I kept going,
even in the dark, and hired a glowglobe to carry with me as I
neared the mountains.
The third morning I reached the foothills below Mount Toar.
My road rounded a high cliff from which I could see the road to
the south. On this road I descried a long line of wagons
trundling their way inexorably toward the mountains. They were
probably half a day's journey behind me—and I knew that
they wouldn't have to go as high.
This sight was enough to kindle my tired body into renewed
effort.
At the next inn, I mentioned the wagons to a friendly
stable-hand as I waited for my new mount. "Do you know anything
about them?"
The stablegirl gave me a quick grin. "Sure do," she said
cheerily. "Orders came straight from the Duke of Grumareth
himself, I'm told. Those wagons are full of paving stones for
the castle up-mountain. Halt 'em, get in the way, and you're
dead. Too bad! We wouldn't mind pinching a few. Maybe next time
they'll think of us. Ever seen such a wet summer? Roads are
like soup."
I thanked her and left, my spirits dampening again. So much
for rousing the locals to stop those wagons. Of course they
might be willing to fight for the Covenant despite the orders
given the Duke's forces—but what if these were not the
right wagons? And even if they were, sending unarmed villagers
against warriors would be a slaughter. All I could think was
that I had to solve this myself.
I bought some bread and cheese, and was soon on my way,
eating as I rode. Very soon the rain returned, splashing down
at a slant. I pulled the edge of Shevraeth's cloak up onto my
head and my hat over it, then arranged the rest as a kind of
tent around me, peering through the thin opening to see the
road ahead. Not that I had to look, except for the occasional
low branch, for the pony seemed to know its way.