The Mad One snorted and shied at a stone; Rami bent a
scornful ear at them both. She had no time to spare for nonsense. Piqued but
subdued, the stallion settled into a swinging walk.
His rider stroked his neck in wry sympathy. “Poor king.
Neither of us has seen a sky without walls about it in an eon and an age.”
“You’re not a prisoner, you know,” Vadin said.
“Aren’t I?”
“Only if you think you are. Yon old vultures of your council
would have you locked in a single room, with servants to wipe your nose for
you, and no sharp edges to threaten your priceless hide.”
“And no common labor to sully my royal hands.”
Vadin tried not to grin. “Went to fetch the seneldi
yourself, did you?”
“I did,” said Mirain, sharp with annoyance. “You’d have
thought I was proposing to turn Avaryan’s temple into a brothel. What, his
majesty of Ianon in the muck of the stable, touching brush and bridle with his
sacred fingers?”
“Appalling.” Vadin breathed deep, letting his head fall
back, opening his eyes to the tumbled sky. A gust of laughter escaped him, not
at Mirain, simply for gladness that he was alive and whole and riding in the
wind.
Rami halted and dropped her head to graze. After a moment
the Mad One followed suit. “When your beauty comes into season,” Mirain said,
“I should like to see a mating. Would you be willing?”
“With the Mad One?” Vadin had been going to ask. To beg if
need be. But he kept his voice cool and his eye critical. “He’s close to
perfect to look at, if a little smaller than he should be; but she’s got height
to spare. And the bloodlines on both sides are good. But aren’t you concerned
that he’ll pass on his madness?”
“He is not mad. He is a king who demands his due.”
“Same thing,” Vadin said.
“So then, we pray the gods for a foal with Rami’s good
sense. And a little fire, Vadin. Surely you’ll allow that.”
Vadin met Mirain’s mockery with a long stony stare; then he
loosed a grin. “A little fire, my lord,” he conceded. “Meanwhile you’d better
settle your kingdom before winter.”
Mirain’s brow went up.
“Because,” Vadin explained, “I won’t ride Rami once she’s in
foal, and she’ll die before she’ll let anybody else carry me into battle.”
“For Rami’s sake, then, we must surely move soon.” Mirain
was not laughing, not entirely. “This morning I sent out the hornsmen. I’m
calling up my levies.”
“You’re joking.” Mirain’s gaze was unwavering. Vadin drew
his breath in sharply. “All of them?”
“All within three days’ ride.”
“Your vul—Your elders will have a thing or two to say.”
“Indeed.”
Somewhere behind the royal mask was a wide and wicked smile.
Vadin snorted at it. “When is the weapontake?”
“When Brightmoon comes to the full.”
Vadin whooped, startling Rami into raising her head.
Mirain’s smile broke free, bloomed into a grin. The Mad One
bucked and spun and danced, tossing his head like a half-broken colt.
Rami observed him in queenly disdain; gathered herself
together; bound him in a circle of flawless curvets and caracoles, and leaped
from the last into flight, swift and weightless and breathless-beautiful as
none but a seneldi mare could be. With a cry half of joy and half of royal
outrage, the Mad One sprang in pursuit.
oOo
They came in late and wet with rain, their bellies full of a
farmwife’s good solid provender. She had been generous with it, and bursting
with pride that the king himself had chosen her house to shelter in.
Mirain left the farmstead even lighter of heart than he had
entered it. Yet as he drew near to the castle his mood darkened. His face grew
still, the youth frozen out of it, his eyes filling with strangeness. Vadin did
not try to meet them.
The rain had driven the market under cover and confined the
less hardy souls of the court to the hall. There should have been wine and
dicing and a smuggled girl or two, and from behind the ladies’ screens a
whisper of harpsong.
In its place was a low and steady murmur. People gathered in
clusters in the corners of the hall as under the market awnings; the ladies’
music was silent, their voices rippling high over the rumble of the men.
Under Mirain’s darkly brilliant gaze the murmur faltered.
Eyes dropped or shifted toward the door behind the throne.
He strode past them, swift enough to swirl his sodden cloak
behind him. No one ventured to stand in his way.
In the small solar behind the hall, the Council of Elders
sat or stood in a rough circle. Vultures indeed, Vadin thought, hunched in
their black robes, surrounding their prey: a thin and ragged figure spattered
with mud, its hair a wild tangle. With a small shock Vadin realized that,
although it wore armor and bore an empty scabbard at its side, the shape was a
woman’s.
She raised her head to the newcomers. A deep wound, half
healed, scored her cheek from temple to chin. “More of us?” she muttered
hoarsely. “They come in better state than I.”
“Watch your tongue, woman!” snapped the steward of the
council.
“Be silent,” Mirain said mildly. He knelt in front of the
woman and took her cold hands.
She stared at him, dull-witted with exhaustion. “Give it up,
young sir. Whether the king be god or demon, his council is a pack of mumbling
fools. There is no help here for the likes of us.”
“Have you despaired, then?” he asked her.
She laughed short and harsh. “You are young. You look
highborn. I was both once. A ruling lady, I was, mistress of Asan-Abaidan, that
I held in fief to the Lord Yrian. That was before the old king died. We had a
new one, they told me, no more than a boy but a legend already: half a god or
half a demon, and bred in the south. Well for him, we thought in Abaidan; if he
left us alone, what cared we for his name or his pedigree?
“Abaidan is a small fief, but prosperous enough, close to
the eastern edge of Lord Yrian’s lands but not so close as to tempt his
neighbors, and a hard day’s ride from the Marches. We heard of raiding in the
north and west, a common enough thing, no cause for alarm. For comfort more
than for safety, we armed our farmfolk and doubled the guard on our castle, but
we did not look for undue trouble.
“When last Brightmoon waned, the raiders grew bolder. People
began to appear on the roads, fleeing eastward. We took in such of those as
asked for sanctuary. Our castle is fortunate; its wells are deep and never run
dry, and we had laid in a good store of provisions. We had no need to turn
suppliants away.”
She stopped. She no longer saw Mirain, or anything about
her. After a time she began again, speaking steadily, her tale worn smooth with
much telling. “In the dark of Brightmoon, with Greatmoon three days from the
full, a rider brought me my lord’s summons. There was word that the raiding had
ended. Many of our guests were glad, and made ready to return to their houses.
But my lord Yrian was uneasy. He suspected that this was only a lull. He bade
all his vassals gather to him, armed for battle.
“That was in the morning. By evening of the next day we were
ready: myself; my son, who would not be left behind; my husband’s old
master-at-arms, and as many men as we could muster without leaving Abaidan
defenseless.
“The eastward trickle had slowed. Yet as we marched toward
the setting sun we met a great mass of folk, all in flight, all too wild with
terror to heed us. Even as our lord’s messengers set forth to summon the
levies, an army had crossed the border. It was immense: all the tribes of the
Marches had come together, laying aside their feuds and their quarrels. The
border lords who ventured to resist had been overrun, yet those were
terrifyingly few. The rest—all of them—had come to the enemy’s heel.
“Some of my people would have turned back then and run with
the tide. I lashed them forward with my tongue, and when that failed, with my
scabbarded sword. Now more than ever our lord had need of us. Should we turn
craven and betray him?”
Vadin set a cup in her hand. She drank blindly, without
thought, tasting none of the honeyed wine. “We marched,” she said. “Even after
dark, with Greatmoon like a great swollen eye above us, we marched. I lost nine
men out of my thirty. Maybe one or two of them indeed were too weak to keep the
pace I set. By midnight five more were gone, lost in the dark, and we were
close to the husting field. The roads had emptied. We were alone.
“And yet when we came in sight of the field we raised a
shout. It was aglow with the fires of the army, and in its center they had
raised our lord’s standard. Surely all of Yrian’s liege men had rallied to
their lord.
“The closer we came, the greater grew our joy. For we saw
other banners beside that of our lord. Lord Cassin was there, and Prince
Kirlian, and more others than I could count. Looking to join a small but
valiant company, we had come into a mighty army. Surely, I said to myself,
however many the enemy might be, they could not hope to defeat such a force as
this.
“Weary though I was, I held my head high. Perhaps even the
king would come now and sweep his enemies away.” She bent her head over the cup
that lay half forgotten in her hand. “I instructed my sergeant to find a
camping place for our men, and taking my son set off at once for my lord’s
tent. Late though it was, I knew he would wish to know that I had come. Lord
Yrian pays heed to small things.
“As I had expected, he was awake still, and his tent was
full to bursting with my fellow vassals. I saw Lord Cassin, and Prince Kirlian
in his famous golden armor. And—” Her throat closed. She wrestled it open. “I
saw the Prince Moranden.”
The air rang into stillness as after the striking of a great
bell. That was the tale that had struck to the heart both market and hall.
The woman tossed back her hair. “I saw the Prince Moranden.
He sat as a king, and he wore a king’s crowned helmet, and my lord Yrian bowed
low at his feet.
“My eyes went blind. I had come to do battle with the rebel.
Now, all too clearly, I was to follow him. Had not all the west already laid
itself in his hand?
“I should have effaced myself, collected my men, and slipped
away. But I have never been noted for my prudence. ‘My lord,’ I said to the one
who held my oath, ‘have we lost another king, then?’
“Even then I might have escaped. I was close still to the
opening of the tent. But my son had gone to greet a friend, a very young lord
whose father, as fondly foolish as I, had brought him to the war. Close by them
was an old enemy of mine. As soon as he heard my words, he seized my son and
held him, and thus held me.
“Lord Yrian had turned when I spoke. Strange, I thought, he
did not look like a traitor. ‘Ah, Lady Alidan!’ he called. ‘You come in a good
hour. Behold, the king himself is here to lead us.’
“It struck my heart to hear my words so twisted against me,
little though he knew it who did it. ‘I had heard that the king was a youth and
a stranger,’ I said. ‘Is he dead? Have we a new lord?’
“‘This is your only true king,’ said my lord Yrian as
reverently as if he had never sworn his oath to the boy in Han-Ianon.
“I looked at the one he bowed to. I knew the prince; we all
did. I had even sighed after him once, when I was a new widow and he stood
beside Yrian to hear my oath of fealty. Yet now he was exiled by a king whose
justice had been famous, and he rebelled against the king’s chosen successor;
and there was that in his eyes which I did not like, even though he smiled at
me. ‘The true king,’ I said, to feel it on my tongue. ‘Maybe. I have not seen
the other. Nor has he raised war against his own people.’
“‘Not war,’ he said, still smiling. Oh, he was a handsome
man, and well he knew it. ‘The claiming of my right. You are beautiful, Lady
Alidan. Will you ride beside me to take what is mine?’
“Now, mark you, even at my best, when I was a maid adorned
for my bridal, I was never more than passable to look at. And that night I was
clad as you see me now, and glowering besides. I was anything but beautiful.
“Thinking on this and looking into his face, I knew that he
lied—if in this, then perhaps in everything. ‘I think,’ I said, ‘that I will
pass by your offer. Surely there are handsomer women to be found. Women who do
not object to treason.’ I did not bow. ‘Good night, Lord Yrian, my lords. I
wish you well of what you have chosen.’
“I turned to leave. But my way was barred. Even hemmed in as
I was, I tried to draw my sword. And I saw my enemy—may all the gods damn him
to deepest hell!—I saw him draw his dagger across my son’s throat.
“My blade was out. I think I made a mark or two before it
was wrenched from my hand. A knife slashed my face; even as the blood began to
flow, I grappled for the weapon. Perhaps I would have won it, or perhaps I
would have died, had not the prince’s bellow driven my assailants back. They
were reluctant but obedient, as hounds must always be. ‘Let her go,’ he
commanded them. And when they protested, he sneered at them. ‘Do you fear her
so much? She is but a woman. What can she do? Disarm her and let her go.’
“My sword of course was gone. They took my dagger from me.
They would not let me near my son, nor would they suffer me to find my men or
my mount. Alone and afoot, I turned my face eastward.
“I walked. Sometimes I slept. I drew level with the
fugitives; I kept to their pace; I passed them. I took shelter where I might,
when I must, speaking to no one. My only thought was to find the king.
“Once I found food and a bed in a barn. There was a senel
there, old but sturdy. I stole her. She kept me ahead of pursuit and brought me
here. At Han-Ianon’s gate I remembered how to speak.
“‘Moranden has crossed the borders,’ I said to the guards.
‘All the west has risen to follow him,’ I cried in the market. ‘Soon he will
advance into the east,’ I said in the hall. ‘Arm yourselves and fight, if you
love your king!’” She turned her head from side to side, eyes glittering in the
ruined face. “And here in the king’s own council I hear naught but weaseling
words stained with disbelief. Surely, I am told, my wits have deserted me.
There is no army in the west. The lords have not turned against their king. I
am deluded; I am lying; I am most presumptuous, and a scandal besides: a woman
dressed as a man, riding a stolen senel with no more harness than a bit of
rope. Only let me go and cease my ravings, that are not fit for royal ears to
hear.”