“We’ve still more than half a league to go,” Javan called to them before Xaver could answer. “I’d like to make the nearest gate before the prior’s bells.”
The duke spurred his mount forward without waiting for a response and the rest of the company followed. But Xaver could not stop thinking about what Fotir had said. He was right, of course. It made perfect sense, though he could not imagine what it would be like to worship the god of death. He was called the Deceiver, because it was said that he seduced Elined, goddess of the earth, by taking the guise of Amon, her mate, and so begot the dark sisters: Orlagh, goddess of war, Zillah, goddess of famine, and Murnia, goddess of the pestilence. The mere sight of Bian’s Sanctuary forced Xaver to consider once more the fears his father had expressed to Javan before their departure. The duke had dismissed them with a joke and a smile, and Xaver had forgotten them almost as soon as they rode out of Curgh. But he realized now that they were riding straight toward the Tarbin. If war broke out with Aneira, which was always a possibility regardless of the time of year, they would fight the first battle. Xaver did not slow his mount, but he found that he was suddenly aware of the dagger he wore on his belt and, almost without thinking, he reached back to make certain his sword, wrapped in its oilcloth, was still strapped to his saddle.
The road to the city and castle wound gently past open fields and scattered farms. At one point they passed a small boy standing
by the road with a large herd of sheep. He stared openmouthed at the company as it rode past, before turning and running back to his small house, screaming to his mother that the castle was under attack.
When they had covered roughly half the distance remaining to the castle, Javan had them stop so that he could summon two of his guards to the front of the company. He positioned the two men on either side of him and had them unfurl the colors of Eibithar and a banner bearing the crest of Curgh.
“Tavis will ride with these men and me the rest of the way,” the duke said, looking back at Fotir. “You and Xaver will ride behind us, followed by the rest of the guard and then the servants.”
“Yes, my lord,” the Qirsi said. “I’ll see to it immediately.” He wheeled his mount and started riding back through the company, shouting commands.
Javan turned to Tavis and then Xaver. “Say nothing unless you’re addressed directly. Keep your bearing dignified, but remember to smile. We’re guests here. Everything we do reflects upon the House of Curgh.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Of course, my lord.”
They spoke at the same time, then glanced at each other and shared a grin. Xaver’s pulse had quickened and he realized that he was far more excited about reaching Kentigern than he had imagined he would be. Given the expression on Tavis’s face, it appeared that the young lord felt the same way.
Fotir rejoined them a short time later.
“All is ready, my lord,” he said.
“Good. Let’s ride.”
Once more the company resumed its advance on the castle. Xaver could see the gate clearly now, as well as the guards standing on either side of it. As they drew nearer, two men joined these guards, both of them carrying golden horns that shone in the sun. Raising the horns to their lips, the men played “The Deeds of Binthar,” Eibithar’s war anthem, the notes ringing out across the open plain like the meeting of sword blades. Ending that, they moved right into “Roldan’s Fleet,” a ballad honoring Roldan the Second of the House of Curgh, who led Eibithar to a naval victory over Wethyrn in the early days of the kingdom. All the while as the men played, Xaver and the company of riders from Curgh continued
their approach to the city gate. Just as they slowed their mounts, covering the last stretch of road to the city, the musicians ended this second piece and began another. Xaver did not know what this one was called, though he knew that it honored Grig, the hero from Kentigern of whom the duke had spoken earlier in the day. And as the first notes of this ballad soared into the warm air, the timing of it all so perfect that Xaver could not help but be moved, Aindreas, duke of Kentigern, rode out through the gate to meet his guests.
Xaver had never seen the duke before, though he had heard tales of him for years. The Tor Atop the Tor, they called him, and Xaver could see why. He was enormous, a mountain of a man, both tall and wide of girth. His hair and beard were the color of rusted iron, unmarked by grey or white, though he was said to be at least as old as Javan. His pale grey eyes were almost a perfect match for the color of Kentigern Castle, and his skin was ruddy, as if he had been standing for hours in a cold wind. He had an overlarge nose and his eyes were set a bit too close together, but his was a kind face nonetheless.
Behind him, riding as well, came an attractive woman who was as slight and delicate as Aindreas was large. Her hair was golden and long, her eyes deep brown. This had to be Ioanna, Kentigern’s duchess. Xaver glanced quickly at Tavis, who was staring at the woman as well. If Brienne looked at all like her mother, the young lord was a lucky man indeed.
There was a Qirsi man with the duke, and a legion of soldiers resplendent in silver and blue. Kentigern and Curgh might have been rivals in the past, but it seemed to Xaver that Aindreas had spared no effort in honoring Javan and his company.
The duke of Kentigern sat motionless on his great black mount, regarding his guests coolly as the music played. When the horns fell silent, he raised a gloved hand in greeting.
“Be welcome to Kentigern, my Lord Curgh,” he said. “We are most pleased to have you as our guest.”
“My Lord Kentigern,” Javan answered, “we thank you for this most splendid reception. You honor us with your deeds and kind words.”
The two men swung themselves off their horses and, stepping forward, embraced each other like brothers as cheers went up from both companies.
Javan turned to face the riders from Curgh and made a small gesture that Xaver did not understand. An instant later, however,
Tavis and Fotir dismounted, and he realized that the duke expected him to do the same.
“Aindreas, duke of Kentigern,” Javan said, “please allow me to introduce my son, Lord Tavis of Curgh.”
Tavis took a step forward and bowed. “My Lord Kentigern,” he said. “This is a great honor.”
“It’s good to see you, Lord Tavis. The last time we met you were but a boy. I hear you’ve some skill with a blade, now.”
“A bit, my lord.”
“Perhaps you’ll show us what you’ve learned from old Hagan at our tournament two days hence.”
Tavis grinned. “It would be my pleasure, my lord.”
Javan nodded approvingly before indicating Fotir, with an open hand. “Perhaps you remember my first minister, Fotir jal Salene.”
“Lord Kentigern,” Fotir said, bowing in turn.
Aindreas offered a thin smile and a nod, but he said nothing.
“And this is Xaver MarCullet,” Javan said, “liege man to my son.”
“Hagan’s boy!” the duke of Kentigern said, looking him over with a critical eye.
Xaver bowed, knowing as he did that he was not doing so with as much grace as Fotir, or even Tavis. “My Lord Kentigern.”
“Are you a swordsman as well, boy? Is it in the blood?”
“My father has taught me well, my lord,” he said. “I can’t say if it’s in my blood or not.”
“It is, my lord,” Tavis offered, surprising Xaver. “He’s every bit the swordsman I am. Perhaps more.”
Aindreas raised an eyebrow. “High praise indeed. It looks like we’ll be making room for two more in the tournament.”
Kentigern’s duke placed a large arm around Javan’s shoulders, something Xaver had never seen anyone do before, not even the duchess of Curgh. Together the two men walked back toward the city gate.
“Come, Javan,” he said. “Ioanna’s eager to welcome you. It’s a shame Shonah couldn’t make the journey as well, though I understand. The roads being what they are today, with thieves and knaves around every corner, I wouldn’t take Ioanna or Brienne far from the tor unless I had to.”
At Fotir’s prompting, Tavis and Xaver followed the dukes so that they could go through another round of introductions. The duchess of Kentigern was somewhat reserved in her greetings,
although she smiled kindly when Xaver bowed to her. Javan showed no more warmth in meeting Kentigern’s Qirsi, a man named Shurik, than Aindreas had when presented with Fotir. Nor did the two white-haired men exchange more than a simple nod when they were introduced to each other.
After what seemed a long time and an endless exchange of greetings and names, the two dukes finally began to lead the rest of them through the city of Kentigern toward the castle. The city lanes were lined on both sides with hundreds of people, who cheered for the dukes and stared admiringly at the soldiers.
“They want to see the duke and Lord Tavis.”
Xaver looked to the side and saw Fotir eyeing him closely, the hint of a smile on his lips.
“It’s not often that kings come to Kentigern. Yet here are two men who will sit on Audun’s throne. The people you see here will speak of this day for the rest of their lives.” The Qirsi man spoke quietly, with a look in his pale eyes that made Xaver wonder if there was more to what he was saying than was immediately apparent.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” he said, not knowing quite how the first minister expected him to respond.
“I know. I think all of us forget at times. We must guard against that. They depend on us.”
Xaver considered this for a moment before nodding slowly. Fotir smiled and faced forward again.
Ioanna was explaining that Brienne was in her chambers, preparing for the welcoming banquet that was to begin with the ringing of the twilight bells. There she would be presented formally to Javan and her betrothed.
“That’s how I met Aindreas,” she said. “It’s a custom I thought worthy of being passed on to my daughter.”
“I quite agree,” Javan said. “Don’t you, Tavis?”
“Of course, Father,” the young lord said. “My Lady Ioanna is most wise.”
Once more, Javan nodded his approval, and a moment later he and the duchess and duke of Kentigern returned to their conversation, leaving Xaver free to look around the city.
In many ways, Kentigern resembled Curgh. Both had large marketplaces that were filled with merchant shops, smithies, peddlers’ carts, and inns. From what Xaver could see, Kentigern’s outer lanes, like those in Curgh, served as avenues for shepherds and others
bringing livestock to the markets from the surrounding countryside. The only important difference between this city and Curgh seemed to be the position of the castle. While Javan’s castle was by far the greatest structure in Curgh, it was very much a part of the city. Shops and homes sat just beside it. Kentigern Castle, however, sitting atop its tor, towered above the walled city as if separate from it. The city ended at the base of the rise, giving way to large boulders, low grasses and stunted trees, jagged stone bluffs, and a single winding road that appeared to turn back on itself several times before finally reaching the castle gate. It was as if those who had built the castle sought protection not just from the Aneirans on the far side of the river, but also from their own townsfolk.
“Is it what you expected?” Fotir asked, drawing Xaver’s gaze once more. The first minister had never before shown this much interest in him.
“I’m not sure that I was expecting anything in particular,” he said, keeping his voice low. “It’s a magnificent castle.”
Fotir nodded and looked up at the castle. An instant later, though, he was facing Xaver again. “Lord Tavis seems to have recovered from whatever it was he saw in his Fating.”
“I suppose,” Xaver said, abruptly feeling uncomfortable.
“Do you know what he saw, Xaver?”
“No. And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”
“Even after what he did to you, you still protect him. The duke is right: Lord Tavis is fortunate to have you.”
Xaver kept silent, his eyes fixed on the road.
Fotir, though, had a knack for reading his thoughts. “Or perhaps that’s not it at all. Perhaps you just don’t trust me.”
Xaver looked at him briefly, but still he said nothing.
“Good, Master MarCullet,” the Qirsi said. “Very good. You’re wrong about me. I’m a friend to both you and your lord. But there are far fewer of us than you may think. Trust no one. Better to mistake a friend for an enemy than an enemy for a friend.”
Once more the first minister faced forward, leaving Xaver to ponder what he had just heard. There was a warning in Fotir’s words, as well as an offer of friendship. If only Xaver knew which to believe.
Leaving the Revel had been no easy task. It helped that Jedrek stayed, though Cadel spent the better part of a day convincing his
friend to do this. Had both of them left, it would have drawn the attention not only of the other singers, but quite possibly of Yegor and Aurea as well, and that was a risk he couldn’t take. As it was, he went leagues out of his way to avoid raising suspicions about his departure or giving away his true destination.
The Revel left Curgh seven days before Pitch Night, traveling northeast through the Moorlands toward Galdasten. On the third night out, a full five leagues from Curgh, Cadel and Jedrek feigned a fight over a woman in a country tavern. It was a ruse they had used before. Indeed, several of the singers had been with them long enough that they were no longer surprised when the two of them came to blows. So when Cadel left the Revel, nursing a bloody nose and a cut on his cheek, it barely raised an eyebrow among the other performers.