Sword of Hemlock (Lords of Syon Saga Book 1) (35 page)

“My lord, she was only struck with the cough yesternight;
she came in this morning with a mild soreness in her bones, and it was not
until her first scream, as you heard within, that her flesh began to fall
away.”  He turned away, tapping his fingers together.  “I’ve not seen any fall
so fast, not since the first days of the plague.  Since we worked—” he dropped
his voice.  “Since we worked those cures, I’ve kept several alive for ten and
twelve days at a time, and Nara and the others the same.  We were fighting it
back, and then...!  Ah, my lord, I’ve not lost one so fast since the first, and
with this one,” he fairly sobbed, “I could do nothing against it.”

The sheriff frowned.  “What are you saying?”

“I am not entirely sure,” breathed Arnard at last, rubbing
his forehead.  “This plague has been like no other since it began.  The other
priests, Nara and I, we all feel it the same.  This plague, you cannot see it
as each person’s own battle with a mindless disease.  You must see it as we do,
as a single enemy to be battled at each front, at each bedside, and then you
begin to understand.  We have not lost one of these battles so quickly, not in
the last tenday at least.”

“So you would say this plague gains strength against us once
more?”  Renda looked between the two men.  “But how?  What has changed?”

Arnard looked up at her.  “It is my thought, however absurd,
that we do not face the worst of the battle here, in this hospice.  What we do
here has some bearing, certainly, but the main of it lies elsewhere.  And it
appears that we lose ground on that front.”

The sickness is only a very small part of what you fight; it’s
meant to keep you from the real battle.

Renda shivered and drew her mantle close about her
shoulders.  Those were Pegrine’s words, so very long ago.  Real battle, but
where?  How?  She still did not know her enemy.

A priest pushed open the door and spoke a few hurried words
to Arnard, and Arnard nodded to him.  “Just praise B’radik that the cardinal
has arrived,” he said before he opened the door to go inside.  “Without him,
no, without his full complement of priests, we cannot stand against it now.”

The cardinal.  Once the door fell closed, Renda blew out a
hard, bitter breath.

The sheriff touched her shoulder.  “He was overwhelmed,
Renda.”  He nodded up toward the castle.  “Look you, the sun still shines
without, and he has already retired to prepare for tomorrow’s healings, and for
Pegrine’s—”

“Tomorrow, is it?”  She shook her head bitterly.  “I had
thought they might begin tonight.”

Lord Daerwin’s eye narrowed.  “The plague is much worse than
he had thought.  It requires special preparation.”

“Of course it does.”

“Renda, they have just come a tenday’s ride through
Bremondine territory—Hadrians, mark, riding through Bremondine lands—I’ve no
doubt they’re exhausted, frightened—and the cardinal?  Renda, he’s more
politician than priest, for all his power, and I doubt he’s been through
anything like this in fifty or a hundred years.  For him to be confronted right
away with so terrible a circumstance...”

“Do you think I don’t know about exhaustion and fear?”  Her
voice was ragged with anger when she looked up at him.  “I’ve seen men panic
before.  But Father, once I carried Patrise away, once the shock of her death
had waned, did he heal a single soul?  Heal, no,” she corrected, seeing the
expression on her father’s face, “for that would tax his strength, as you say. 
Let me say rather, did he ease the suffering of a single man, woman or child
within?”

The sheriff looked down.  “He has come to help us, and upon
his own authority, he brought ten priests with him, Renda.  You of all people
should be grateful.”

“Grateful, yes!  I am grateful unto the four winds!”  She
sat on the splitting post outside the garrison.  “But would it be so very
ungrateful of me to wish that he might have worked the least bit of healing, to
ease the pain of one that the others might take heart?”  She nodded toward the
garrison door.  “How many within might have drawn courage enough from that to
survive one more night in hopes of a full healing on the morrow?”

Her words hung in the silence of the bailey, as shrill and
desperate as the cries of the woman on the road outside.

“Renda,” her father said at last, “he cannot bring Patrise
back from the dead, and he might not have had the strength to save her, had he
tried.  What then of their courage and hope?”  Without waiting for her answer,
he turned on his heel and strode toward the castle door.  “What would you have
me do,” he demanded. “Drag him down and press my sword at his back until he
worked a healing?  Drag them all down and set them to work?”

Renda stared back at him, radiating pain and anger. 

“Best you see to your armor,” he called to her before he
went inside, “if you would attend the consecration tomorrow.”

“
Y
our
pardon, Eminence?”  The sheriff looked up from his breakfast in surprise.

“I shall go alone, of course,” the cardinal continued over
him.  He smiled patiently and stirred his knife lazily through what remained of
his food.  “The rest will remain here.  To prepare.”

“To help Arnard in hospice,” murmured Renda without meeting
her father’s glare.

The cardinal turned a drawn and haggard face to look at her,
the same weary look she had seen in her own glass.  He he had not slept well,
either.  Dismissing her remark without a word, he turned back to the sheriff. 
“I must see him, look you, if for no other reason than to assure myself that
his household is not likewise afflicted.  To lose his Grace now, with no
heir…”  He shook his head gravely.

“Lose his Grace?”  The sheriff chuckled softly.  “The duke
is in no danger, Eminence.  I received a letter from him not two days ago, and
I assure you, he is well.”  The sheriff turned back to his meal.  “You must
understand.  My nephew is very unlike his father; he is generally indisposed to
entertaining guests.”

“I would see this letter,” Valmerous snapped irritably
without looking up, as if he addressed his own servants.

“I beg your pardon,” gasped Renda.

The sheriff slowly shook his head, his gaze ever on the
cardinal.  “Surely my word is enough; it needs no evidence to bear it up.”

At this, the cardinal raised an eyebrow.  They stared at
each other until Valmerous at last lowered his gaze.  He chuckled humbly and
dabbed at his mouth with his napkin.  “I meant no insult, Lord Daerwin. 
My…request was improperly phrased.  I mean to say that, if I might be
allowed—after all, his letter might—”

Lord Daerwin shook his head.  “His letter speaks to many
concerns, Eminence, and is in my confidence.”  Then, his point made, he smiled
hospitably.  “I assure you, he is well.  You needn’t trouble yourself.”

“Nevertheless,” the Hadrian bellowed, “I am a cardinal of
Vilkadnazor the Unshod!  His Grace cannot refuse to see me.”

Ah, so the gloves were off, then.  Renda watched the sweat
bead on the cardinal’s brow, watched the angry tremor in his fingers.  Curious,
that as seasoned a politician as the cardinal must be to take up such an
extreme posture in so trivial a matter, especially given her father’s
assurances of the duke’s well-being.

The cardinal had to know that the duke could refuse to see
anyone if he so chose, and that Daerwin had but meager influence on Trocu’s
likelihood of holding audience with the cardinal, but even so, if Trocu refused
him, the cardinal’s implied threat was clear: he would leave them to their
plague.  At last, Lord Daerwin bowed his head, deciding not to call the cardinal’s
bluff.  “As you say, Eminence.”

Renda felt her mother’s hand in hers, worried and tense, and
she squeezed it gently.

Satisfied that he had won, the cardinal sat back and
attended to his breakfast, seemingly oblivious to the veiled looks that passed
between the sheriff and his daughter.  But presently, he swallowed a large hunk
of meat and snorted.  “Lord Daerwin, ladies, I owe you an apology.  It was not
my intention to threaten you.  Oh, how I must have sounded just now!”  He
paused a moment, looking between their distrustful eyes, and his shoulders
sagged with weariness.  “You have seen through me, and it was less than
courteous for me to try to deceive you.  I apologize.  How I had hoped to keep
it from you,” he began with a sigh.  He shook his head, carefully setting down
his knife.  “The truth, then, and the reason for my seeming anger and
distraction,” he said, turning to Renda, “is that I come to you a beggar.”

The sheriff settled back in his chair.  “You came at our
invitation.”

“Your invitation gave me hope that I could earn some of the
charity I would otherwise have had to beg.”  The cardinal shook his head
sadly.  “You must understand.  At the war’s end, so many of our villages and
towns were burned.  Mines all over the Hodrache Range were collapsed, wells
were fouled, and not by accident.”  The cardinal shrugged.  “Whether the anger
on the part of the Syonese and Bremondines was justified, who can say?  That
part is over.  But with so much rebuilding to do and so little means, many,
many of my people found themselves asking for Vilkadnazor’s grace while few
could make offering.  So now, it is two years later, and my order finds itself
bankrupt.  Not just one parish or a few temples, mind you, but the entire
recivalesche of Vilkadnazor.”  He chuckled ruefully.  “Thus our need for
charity is greater than you might think.”

Renda and her father exchanged glances.  Neither had
forgotten the Hadrian treachery at Kadak’s stronghold.  What remained of the
resistance forces had not looked on the Hadrian traitors with much mercy or
charity after Kadak fell, and even though Duke Brada had expressly forbidden
any open retaliation against them at the war’s end, neither he nor Lord Daerwin
could change the hearts of those who had been betrayed.

On the other hand, a Hadrian cardinal had come to their aid
when no one else would.  Whether or not he would have come if his own straits
had been any less dire was an interesting question, but it was beside the
point.  He was here now, and willing to help them.  “Eminence, we of Brannagh
will contribute generously and most gratefully—”

“Brannagh can contribute, and such contribution would be
most welcome,” he smiled graciously, “but Damerien has the power to forgive our
debt utterly, yes?”  He shut his eyes and shook his head.  “By the gods, I
cringe in disgust at coming to him in this time of crisis to beg his charity. 
It smacks of extortion.  But to my shame and sorrow, I have no choice.”

“Indeed,” murmured the sheriff.

“The others, those who came with me, have no idea.”  He
looked between them for understanding.  “I gathered them as I rode, and as far
as they know, they are here to assist me in cleansing Brannagh.  Naturally, it
would be a disgrace…”

“They will have no word of it from us,” answered Renda.

“In any case,” he said, drawing himself up again, “I should
like to go at once and get this distasteful business over with.”

Lady Glynnis smiled diplomatically.  “Eminence, lest you
spring in upon him unannounced,” she said, shaking her head gravely, “I daresay
you could not set out until early this afternoon at the soonest.”  Her eyes
flickered toward her husband to see his slow nod.  “It will take our messenger
no more than a few hours to return with his Grace’s answer.”

“And upon his word,” Renda added, “I will gladly escort you
there myself.”

The cardinal shook his head.  “That will not be necessary, I
assure you.  I can make my own way.”

“On the contrary,” spoke the sheriff, “this land is not safe
for travel these days, especially for those who would help the House of
Brannagh.”  He nodded with finality, allowing no further argument.  “Renda will
see you there and back; you could ask for no better escort.”

Renda bowed her head graciously at her father’s praise.

“If you insist.”  The old Hadrian rose from his place at the
table with a gentle smile.  “In the meantime, we will apply ourselves to our
prayers.  I’m afraid your granddaughter will have to wait until my return,” he
continued, “as will the cleansing of the woods and,” he said with an apologetic
smile toward Renda, “any sort of proper healing for those in the hospice.  Best
not to show our strength until we’re able to commit fully.”  Then he bowed,
muttering his thanks, and padded away to the chapel.

The journey had already taken an hour longer than it would
have taken her alone, and behind them, a dark and heavy thunderstorm brewed to
the west.  The sun was hidden by the clouds already.  If the cardinal spent any
time with the duke at all, they could despair of returning to Castle Brannagh
before the storm.

She allowed herself a glance toward the cardinal who had
ridden in silence the whole way except for an occasional sigh.  She’d never
learned to trust Hadrians, not during the war and certainly not following the
betrayal at Kadak’s stronghold; cardinal or no, she found it just as difficult
to trust this one.  But even without a word between them, his shame at having
to beg alms from the duke, his devotion to his dying order and even his
heavy-handed ultimatum to her father had given her a grudging respect for him. 
She still had no love for Hadrians on the whole, but this was a man after her
own heart.

At their approach, the stable boy who had been standing
against the great doors of the castle whittling a piece of wood, gave a shout
of joy for Alandro and ran to help them down from their horses.  He drew a
carrot from the pocket of his fine green and gold Damerien livery and fed it to
Alandro while he himself chewed a piece of long meadow grass.  “M’lady.”  He
nodded awkwardly toward her.

“Jath,” she smiled, swinging herself down from her saddle
while the boy knelt to help the cardinal.  “Please see the horses watered, but
mind you don’t let them eat too much, not even your pet Alandro.”  She smirked
at the boy.  “We would have them quick to return to Brannagh ere the storm
comes.”

“Aye, m’lady.”

“Where is everyone?”

Jath looked between Renda and the cardinal and only
shrugged.  “Seeing to his Grace, I reckon.”  Kneeling beside the cardinal’s
horse, he laced his fingers together to make a step and eyed the cardinal’s
horse.  “How do you call him?” he asked, squinting up at the cardinal who
stepped into his clasped hands.

“Whom, the horse?”  He appeared somewhat nonplused by the
boy’s question.  “Why, I...I do not call it at all,” answered the old cleric
when his bare foot touched the ground.  “It’s a horse, after all.”

The boy nodded slowly, a look of understanding behind his
usually dull eyes, and twitched the grass between his teeth.  He led the
animals away, clucking and cooing and slipping each of them another carrot.

When she heard no answer at her knock, Renda pushed open the
huge doors of Castle Damerien and led the cardinal inside.  “Nestor?” she
called through the empty entry hall.  Fires blazed in the two facing fireplaces
and filled the great vaulted entryway with wavering warmth and light.  She
unclipped her mantle and took the cardinal’s from his hand as well.  “Most
peculiar.  Nestor never fails to greet visitors.  Nestor?”

“Perhaps all is not well at Damerien after all,” breathed
the cardinal.

But almost immediately from the archway leading to the great
hall, she heard the sound of footsteps approaching, pained footsteps that she
recognized as those of the duke’s retainer.  “A moment, my lady,” he called. 
“Not as nimble as once I was, I’m afraid.”

Relieved, she smiled at the cardinal who peered at the
approaching Bremondine with reservation.

“Nestor…Nestor’s family has been with the duke’s household
for ten generations,” Renda told the cardinal.  “A more faithful attendant his
Grace will never find.”  Then she turned to the servant.  “Nestor, I have
brought his Eminence, Cardinal Valmerous.”

“Aye, my lady,” spoke the old man without meeting the
Hadrian’s pale eye, “the duke’s been expecting him.”  With only a veiled glance
down at the cardinal’s bare feet, the retainer took their cloaks and folded
them over his arm before he gestured for them to follow him.

“My apologies to his Grace,” murmured the cardinal, glancing
around him at the rough stone of the castle walls and the mortar between them
that seemed as hard as the stones themselves and just as ancient.  He studied
the great hall’s crisp tapestries and murals intently as he passed and even
raised his hand to touch the brilliant hanging depicting the end of the Gods’
Rebellion with B’radik’s glory sparkling down over the prostrate Forgotten
Ones, and the fearsome Dragon of Damerien at its center.  The bright colors
might have been woven just yesterday, from the look of it.  “My horse is ill
shod for this sort of terrain, I’m afraid, else we should have arrived much
sooner.”

Nestor watched the old priest’s hand move over the tapestry,
but he said nothing as he led them to the stairway.

Renda watched him carefully.  This was more than just his
inborn dislike for Hadrians.

“Nestor,” she asked him softly, “is something wrong?”

The Bremondine drew a deep breath as if he would answer,
then let it out again.

“Nestor?”

He sighed.  “You will see for yourself soon enough, my
lady.”  He continued in silence until he had led them to the doors of the
audience chamber.  Then he pushed open the door and stood aside to announce
them.  “His Eminence, Cardinal Valmerous of the Temple of Vilkadnazor the
Unshod, and Lady Renda of Brannagh.”

Renda gasped.

Duke Trocu Damerien, only two years her senior, sat propped
on his throne with pillows like an old man, bloated beyond recognition,
lethargic, his dark gold hair thin and patchy against puffy pale skin.  Trocu
glanced up at her a moment with bleak ashen eyes and gave only a weak nod of
his head before he turned to Valmerous.  “Eminence,” he croaked with tremendous
effort.  “Dearest cousin.”

“Trocu, how now?”  Renda moved toward the throne.  “Nestor,
why have we heard nothing of this?”

“My apologies, again,” interrupted the cardinal, turning
back toward Renda and drawing his plate of greeting from his cloak with a
humble smile.  “But my business with his Grace is most confidential.”  He
gestured weakly with the plate, and shrugged.  “Please, my lady, if you would
be so kind...”

She glanced at the plate and understood at once.  He was
humiliated enough at having to beg charity from the duke; she would not
humiliate him further by watching.  “Yes, of course.”  Renda stepped back
through the doorway, casting a quick glance at the walls as she passed.