Duty (Book 2) (38 page)

“Neither road will be easy. The northwestern passage—since it is our most probable route—is the most likely to be blocked by the Uyumaak that followed us and whatever reinforcements they managed. We no longer have any force large enough to confront them, and they will no doubt be thick enough to trap us if we try to slip through unnoticed. I would recommend going northeast into the hills.”

Mirelle nodded. “Whatever he decides, we will need to follow and try not to upset him. Criticizing him or flouting his commands will only bring us misery. I had hoped Chertanne would have enough intelligence to leave Gen as the Chalaine’s Protector since he is the best fighter we have, but after the confrontation in the courtyard, I think the Blessed One will see Gen dead at the first opportunity. Gen undermines his authority and turns people against him, and if I were in Chertanne’s place, I would want him gone. I, however, want Gen to live for my own reasons, and he must hide outside of Chertanne’s reach to do so.”

“I agree,” Maewen said.

“As do I,” put in Jaron.

“What can we do?” Fenna asked, face worried. “I think Gen suspected he would be dismissed from service, but not killed. He thought all the Dark Guard would be relieved of duty.”

“Before the Uyumaak attack, I think that might have been true,” Mirelle argued, “but Chertanne’s guard was decimated, leaving him only Captain Drockley and six others. He needs what’s left of the Dark Guard now. But as I said, Chertanne will see Gen as expendable. I am sorry, Fenna. He must leave us.”

Fenna’s face was steady and calm. “I feared it would come to this. I am ready,” she stated resolutely. “But he won’t leave the Chalaine’s side without being forced to. Will anyone go with him?”

“No.” Mirelle answered flatly. “We cannot spare anyone. He will do fine on his own. Both Maewen and the Chalaine can attest to his skill in the wild, but we must all work to convince him to go. Maewen and I have worked out a plan. We will keep Gen asleep through the wedding and tell Chertanne that he is too sick to attend or watch over the Chalaine tonight. While Chertanne and the Chalaine are . . . well . . . during the night, all of us save the Chalaine will ride Gen to the end of the bridge. I will wake him, and we must all do our best to force him see reason. If he disagrees, I’m not sure what we’ll do. You will be the most important, Fenna. Prepare your arguments well.”

“I will, Milady. I think we will succeed. He expects this, as I said.”

“Very well. The most important thing is to keep him away from Chertanne and those loyal to him until we can get him away. Chertanne will find out what we’ve done, but at that point it will no longer matter. Now I must go. If you talk to anyone, just mention that Gen isn’t well and that he is being attended to. I will return in the evening to prepare you for the wedding, Chalaine.”

The day passed slowly for the Chalaine as she sat nearly unmoving at Gen’s side. Fenna went to another room to nap after midday, leaving the Chalaine alone to fret over the wedding and over her sick Protector. The thought of Gen leaving upset her deeply, compounding her sadness. She wondered if the Millim Eri would find and aid him, as they said. Their reactions to what she felt for him had surprised them in a way they did not expect or like.

As the room grew warmer, the Chalaine found she could no longer keep her eyes open, and, despite her mounting anxiety, she dozed off. She dreamed that she was back in the canyon, falling asleep to Gen’s voice as they talked of plants, animals, and politics. She dreamed of waking with him standing so his shadow kept the sun off her face. She dreamed of a crude cabin between the river and the canyon wall, Gen returning in the evening with freshly caught fish clutched in one hand. She smiled at his return and he reached out to touch her unveiled face.

“Chalaine.”

She opened her eyes, finding her head on Gen’s shoulder. Her mother stood at the curtain regarding her softly and sadly. The Chalaine righted herself and reached under her veil to rub her eyes.

“Is it time?” the Chalaine asked.

“Nearly. How is he?”

“Not well. I must heal him frequently. The sickness returns upon him if I don’t. I think there is some evil influence working upon him, perhaps from the cave. It started after that.”

The Chalaine was relieved that her mother appeared satisfied with the explanation. “We’ll wake Fenna to watch over him while you’re away. I want you to see if you can do anything for the Pontiff. He has no injury that Padra Athan can detect, but he is not well. After that, it will be time to prepare you for the wedding, though without a brush or your wedding dress, I suppose there won’t be much to do.”

“I have the dress,” the Chalaine said. “Gen fashioned a makeshift backpack and I put the wedding dress in it. It will be wrinkled.”

“Still, it is something.”

They left their smaller dome and made their way around the dais. Chertanne was nowhere to be seen. The soldiers present bowed to her as she passed nearby. The room inspired such reverence that those inside talked in subdued tones, and the Chalaine thought it a perfect place to marry, even if she must marry Chertanne.

The Pontiff lay on a bed similar to Gen’s and appeared as sickly as her Protector. Padra Athan stood nearby, attending his every need. The Pontiff’s staff of office stood propped in the corner.

“I rejoiced to hear of your arrival. God indeed favors us,” the Pontiff said weakly, managing a smile. “I know you’ve come to heal me, but I am old and the rigors of the journey have weakened me. If I live to do but this one act, then I will count myself most blessed.”

The Chalaine took his hand, healing what she could, but finding his words were true—she could not cure old age, and his time neared. He regarded her affectionately and worshipfully, wrinkled face and wispy gray hair lending him a grandfatherly look.

“Is everything prepared, First Mother? What arrangements have been made?” the Pontiff asked.

“All is in readiness, Holiness,” she answered. “We will make the wedding as traditional and festive as we can in our circumstances.”

“And the marriage bed?”

“We have prepared one of the outbuildings for that purpose. The Child will be conceived under the first light of Trys, if the moon cooperates.”

The Chalaine tried to blank out the thought of her marriage bed and was determined not to think of it even when in it.

The Pontiff relaxed, his voice tired. “It will, Mirelle. It will. We have come to it now. The moon will herald the most blessed of events and the most troubled of times.”

“And have you given thought to who will succeed you when you die, Holiness?” Mirelle inquired. “I had not heard as yet that you had chosen.”

“I will announce it tonight after the ceremony.”

Mirelle kissed his hand. “Very well. We must prepare.” The Chalaine followed suit before leaving, the Pontiff favoring her with a smile.

Upon returning to Gen’s room, they found him resting uneasily, Fenna dabbing his face with a cool cloth. The Chalaine retrieved her dress, finding it a little dirty and very wrinkled.

“Come help us, dear,” Mirelle said to Fenna. “I will have the Chalaine see to him again before the wedding.”

During the next half hour, the Chalaine stood numb and unmoving as her mother and Fenna pulled, straightened, and dusted her dress into its best possible condition. Without a brush, they settled on running fingers through her hair, letting it hang loose about her shoulders. The dress held an earthy scent of the roots and leaves she had eaten in the canyon, and the Chalaine found her thoughts wandering back to her dream that afternoon.

At last they declared her ready, and the Chalaine returned their embraces stiffly, mentally bracing herself. Duty finally came to collect its due, and she steeled herself to the purpose. She was the mother of God, given a divine calling, and she would not allow Chertanne to degrade her. She would stand dignified, if unloved, by her husband, and bring God back to the world. While she did not love Chertanne, she loved many besides, and in that love she would find the strength to obey her calling.

As she made a last pretense at healing Gen, she was happy he would be spared watching her wed Chertanne, knowing it would cause him pain. She hoped his exile would not last long, and if bearing Eldaloth back into the world meant nothing else, it would mean Gen might at last find the justice and reward he deserved. That thought steadied her.

They walked into the Great Hall, and Maewen handed her a bouquet of flowers she had gathered for her. To her delight, and the delight of her mother and Fenna, fireflies filled the room, casting their light as they danced about overhead.

“Have you ever seen anything like it!” Fenna exclaimed. “It is beautiful.”

The Chalaine nodded, finding more memories of Gen surfacing in her mind. The bedraggled soldiers formed a line down the center of the hall. Others carried the Pontiff out on a litter and laid him at the base of the dais before the throne while Chertanne waited astride his white horse at the Hall entrance. The men had labored to scatter blossoms on the floor, but it was too immense and the men too few to blanket it well.

The Chalaine stared at Chertanne as she approached him, facing down her fear and loathing with stalwart resolve. He wore his travel clothes, his equipage lost in the Uyumaak attack, though he had managed to comb his short blond hair and shave. He appeared happy and eager despite their poor circumstances.

“You managed to save your dress despite it all. How excellent,” he commented pleasantly. She curtsied to him as he cast his eyes about the room. “But where is Gen? It is his time to watch.”

“I’m afraid he is still unwell, Milord,” Mirelle explained. “He is unable to watch tonight, so Jaron will take his place.”

Chertanne shook his head. “Oh no, he will watch tonight of all nights. By God, he will! Wake him and get him out here!”

“Please, Chertanne,” the Chalaine pleaded. “Let him be. I cannot heal exhaustion. Only rest will help him, and we need him strong for the return journey.”

Chertanne’s accommodating demeanor changed back to its natural, petulant state.

“This wedding will not continue until I see Gen at his post. I insist and will not give way. Get him. Now!”

“I will fetch him, Milord,” Mirelle acquiesced, and the Chalaine saw her mother’s face drain of blood as she turned away and hurried back into the lesser dome. Cadaen walked at her side, whispering furiously to her. Jaron fingered his hilt, and Fenna bit her lip, face worried. Maewen stood calmly just outside, though the Chalaine could sense her tension. The wedding hadn’t started yet, and already their plan was falling apart.

“Of course, you, Chalaine, understand why we must have Gen, don’t you?” Chertanne teased in the interim. “If the Ilch is to level a blow at us, then surely he would strike at our wedding and our marriage bed, would he not? Best we have our most skilled man close by tonight. Surely you can’t blame me for fearing the Ilch’s treachery tonight of all nights?”

“Truly, Milord, I cannot.”

Gen opened his eyes, summoned from sleep by Mirelle’s spell. At once the splitting pain in his skull returned, and he fought hard to open his eyes at all. Even the weak light of the fireflies swirling in a globe above Mirelle’s head hurt to look at, and his stomach balked queasily at the movement.

“I am sorry, Gen,” Mirelle apologized, straightening his hair. “We’d hoped to let you sleep and let Jaron take your place. But Chertanne insisted that you watch.”

“She put me to sleep again, didn’t she?” Gen growled angrily, coming to his feet and fighting the dizziness and disorientation.

“Again?”

“Yes,” Gen said, mentally chastising himself for saying too much. “Yes. She did it once while we were in the canyon because she thought I was too exhausted. Well, let’s get to it. It is my place to watch.”

“You are not well,” Mirelle stated firmly, she and Cadaen trailing behind as Gen walked slowly forward, buttoning his black coat.

“Be that as it may. Tonight is the fulfillment of prophecy. I want to see it, and I want to be there to ensure that Chertanne behaves himself.”

“You must have care, Gen,” Mirelle whispered pleadingly as they entered the Hall. “I fear he will seek your life.”

“Chertanne can do nothing to me.”

“Not yet, but remember he will be endowed with power, and I believe before this night is over. For pity’s sake, Gen, you are needed too much to be wasted. My daughter will handle Chertanne.”

“No,” Gen disagreed. “She will not handle him, for she does not have the feel of the rein for one as wild as he. She will endure him. She will suffer at his hand. And whatever she suffers, I swear I will visit on his head tenfold!”

Their proximity to Chertanne ended the conversation. Gen called up every last shred of control he could manage. The pain and the fever in his body urged him to leave, to flee Elde Luri Mora, and he knew why. But he would not abandon the Chalaine in her moment of triumph and misery.

“Chalaine,” Gen bowed. “It is my honor to serve. Jaron, you are dismissed.” Jaron nodded and stepped away to join the rest of the assembly.

“My, you do look rather sickly, I must say,” Chartanne commented. “Of course, the ladies are too easy on you. A little exhaustion couldn’t keep you from such a momentous event as this! At last I will be out from under your little challenge and be your King.” Chertanne looked at Gen expectantly, but Gen just stood at attention behind the Chalaine. “Well?” Chertanne said.

“Did you ask a question, Milord?”

“Do I need to? You’re usually so full of comment that I can scarce wait for you to shut up. You truly must not feel well. Well, let’s be at it. Really, I must admit that I am anxious for the pleasure of seeing what no man has seen! Thanks to you, this is one of the few pleasures I’ve ever had to wait for, and I must admit that the waiting has only whetted my appetite! The road has been a lonely and long one, and the end holds the best refreshment I no doubt have ever tasted!”

Gen ignored the bait with effort, and at last Chertanne helped the Chalaine up onto his horse and started riding forward down the line. Gen walked to the right of the animal while the First Mother, Fenna, and the Dark Guard formed a circle around it. At once the familiarity of the scene struck Gen. Two years ago he had watched a beautiful woman he cared for and a buffoon astride a horse starting their journey toward betrothal while he stood by powerless to stop it. That marriage was a mismatch of intellect while this one was a mismatch of morals.