The Bitterbynde Trilogy (86 page)

Two days passed.

From the turmoil of festival, the palace was thrown into the upheaval of war. Aggression had flared again at the Nenian Landbridge. This time, the King-Emperor himself was to travel north, accompanied by many soldiers and Dainnan, leaving Thomas of Ercildoune in charge at Court. All had been in readiness for this eventuality. In two days more, the battalions were gone. The palace fell silent. The passages echoed with their own emptiness.

A dreariness settled.

Dianella came to Rohain privately, sending the lady's maids away.

‘I have tidings.'

‘What tidings?'

‘News for which you have waited long.'

‘Well, what is it? Prithee, speak!'

‘Dear Heart, you seem a trifle peeved these days. Selestorfen thou al Sorrow Isles?'

‘No, I am not homesick.'

‘Now, I insist that you treat me kindly, Heart,' scolded Dianella with a smile. ‘I have done some hunting on your behalf. See how I put myself out to please you?' She pouted. ‘You know you are dearer than a sister to me.'

‘If I appeared brusque I ask your pardon, Dianella.'

‘I forgive easily.' Lowering her voice, the courtier went on confidingly, ‘I have heard somewhat of your Dainnan, Sir Thorn.'

Rohain started.

‘What? What have you heard?' she said, unable to conceal her eagerness.

‘Only that he has gone to the gythe.'

‘Gone where?'

‘To the gythe. He has gone to
war
, Heart, with the last detachment of Dainnan who left here with the King-Emperor. What shall you do now—dress as a soldier-boy and follow him into battle? Oh, but I only tease.'

‘Then he was here! Are you sure? How can you know? Have you seen him?'

‘Patience, patience! You know, Rohain, that I have certain connections here at Court. My uncle is an influential man. He has discreet methods of discovery. You can be assured that no one shall be apprised of your inquiry and that I shall keep you informed of any further word received. No gratitude, please! I have done all this out of friendship.'

‘But I am grateful, Dianella. You are a worthy friend indeed. I should ask the Duke of Ercildoune to make a heroic song about you.'

‘Pshaw! How singularly inventive you are. I must take leave of you for now, Heart—duty calls.'

‘Don't leave—'

‘I must.'

As Dianella passed through the door, her voice floated back over her shoulder;

‘Until tomorrow, my—'

The last words were muffled, uttered with a laugh. She must have said
‘imaginative
friend'. She could not possibly have said
‘imaginary'
.

The Letters Patent would soon be finalized, but with the King-Emperor absent for an indefinite period, no date could be set for the official bestowal of Rohain's title. Ercildoune was continually occupied with matters of business, ‘holding the fort' as he called it, while His Imperial Majesty was absent. The Bard had never a spare moment between receiving and sending dispatches and attending meetings.

Conflicting rumours whirled like maddened insects up and down the streets of Caermelor. The Empire was doomed; it would be smashed apart by a sweeping assault from Namarre. Some barbaric wizard-warlord would then seize governance, and the lands of Erith would be plunged into decades of suffering and strife. Unseelie wights would overrun the cities. All mortal creatures would be destroyed.

Folk cringed, darting uneasy glances northward, as if they expected to see at any moment a tidal wave of unseelie incarnations rolling down to crush them. Like fog, an atmosphere of impending ruin brooded over the city. Many members of the Set dispersed to their country estates. Those who remained became bored and discontented. They quarreled often.

There seemed nothing better for Rohain to do but to repair to her new estate, Arcune. Somberly—in harmony with the weather—she set out with Viviana in the Duchess of Roxburgh's Windship
Kirtle Green
, a topsail schooner, accompanied by that gentlewoman, who, now that her husband had departed once more for the battle zone, was eager to escape the dreary and suspenseful Court climate for the freedom of the countryside. Also on board were the Duchess's eldest child, Rosamonde, her six other children, and her large retinue of servants and nursemaids.

Viviana spent most of the journey below, lying in her cabin. Her normally rosy face had taken on a greenish tinge, like a plum
un
ripening.

‘I fear that Windship travel does not truly agree with me, m'lady,' she had said woefully. ‘I never can master the art of walking on aerial decks, and the movement sets my head aspin. Waterships, on the other hand, present no problem.'

‘That is well. Many folk tremble to board a Watership, fearing the possibility of drowning.'

‘I have no fear of water voyages at all. I was born with a caul.'

‘I have heard of such things. A caul is a membrane, is it not? A membrane, sometimes wrapped about the heads of infants newly born. Such articles are supposed to protect against drowning.'

‘Even so,' affirmed Viviana, passing her hand across her perspiring brow, ‘I carry a piece of my caul everywhere with me, inside this locket-brooch.'

‘A pretty ornament. I noticed you wear it regularly.'

‘Oh, ma'am, prithee excuse me. The ship rocks so … I must lie down …'

Arcune, set in the rolling hinterlands, exceeded its new mistress's expectations. As the schooner docked at the Mooring Mast adjacent to the main house, Rohain leaned over the taffrail, gazing at her lands spread out below. In their Winter raiment they looked fair: fallow fields and green meadows, an orchard, woodlands, a chase abounding in game verts, a cluster of farm buildings, a river, and—most imposing of all—Arcune Hall.

This gracious
chastel
, part castle, part manor house, stood three or four stories high. Solid as a monolith yet of graceful, aerial architecture, it plumbed the ornamental lake with an exact replica of its columned self. A formal garden skirted the lake: neat flowerbeds, hedged squares of parterre laid out in gravel and sand of different colours in scrolls and arabesques, crossed and bordered by precise lines of trees. Fanning out from the garden walls lay a spacious park, with quiet tracts of velvet lawns, shady copses and spinneys, water like broken panes fallen from the sky's window.

‘A fine estate,' said Alys-Jannetta of Roxburgh approvingly, ‘and I shall teach you to be mistress of it.'

She did so with a will, hiring more servants, giving orders that the house—which had been unoccupied for several years—should be turned out, aired, polished, dusted, scrubbed, and refurbished. She held consultations with the Steward, the Housekeeper, and the Gamekeeper, she examined the accounts. For a week, she and Rohain indulged in no recreation, but when all was concluded to her satisfaction, they went riding in the chase.

In this open woodland, stands of leafless birch stood like stiff brooms. Horse-chestnut and elm spread black boughs over a deep, rich leaf-mold on which the horses' hooves dully thudded. A line of ravens in arrowhead formation slid over the gray glass sky. Mist rose in soft streamers, like vaporous shang images of the trees' roots themselves, as if the woodlands could ever grieve or love.

Each breath of the riders hung as a silver cloud. The day was dark. Another storm threatened. From upwind, the dire ululation of a howler rang out, to prove it.

‘You have a trustworthy Steward and an honest Housekeeper,' said Alys. ‘I cannot say the same for the Gamekeeper—he'll have to be watched. Howbeit, I would say that this estate, like all good properties, will run smoothly whether you live here or not, although a few unannounced visits by the landlady during the year tends to improve efficiency. On one such visit I shall return to Roxburgh shortly. How I hate these sidesaddles, don't you?'

Rohain, who could not recall ever having sat on a horse before but who felt at ease in the saddle, agreed.

‘I do dislike them, yes,' replied Rohain. ‘Next time you visit me here we shall dress like gentlemen and ride like them, like the wind, jumping hedges and ditches wheresoever they fall across our path. But look now, the storm clouds come rolling over. The sky is angry. We must make haste and return before the rain sets in.'

The echoing howl of the storm-harbinger again curdled the air.

‘Such a Winter it is for tempests!' tutted the Duchess, turning her horse for home. ‘Such disruption to Windship and Stormrider schedules.'

Arcune Hall's most ancient inhabitant was a household bruney known to all as ‘Wag at the Wa'. When no kettle occupied the pot-hook hanging in the kitchen, he would sit there swinging himself to and fro, chuckling. He loved merriment and in particular the company of children, of which, until now, he had lately been deprived. He looked like a grizzled old man with short, crooked legs and a long tail that helped him to keep his seat on the hook. Sometimes he wore a gray cloak, with an old tattered night-cap on his head drawn down over one side of his face, which was always harrowed with toothache, but usually he wore a red coat and blue breeches. He would not approve of any drink stronger than home-brewed ale and used to cough furiously if strong spirits were imbibed in the kitchen. In all other ways he was a benevolent wight despite the toothache, although very fussy about the cleanliness of the house, and the bane of slipshod kitchen-maids. Like most household bruneys he had no fear of cold iron. Swinging the empty pot-hook would bring him; this the Duchess's children often did. What with the wight, the children, and the servants, the cavernous old kitchen was the heart of conviviality at Arcune. When beyond the house's thick walls the wind came in sudden gusts like heavy blows, and sharp, prickling rain fell and thunder punished the skies with flails of lightning, all remained cosy by the kitchen fire. It was often there that Rohain, Alys, and the children would spend the evenings, in the company of the old Housekeeper.

Every day a Relayer of the Noblesse Squadron rode in with dispatches from Caermelor—communications about the fighting in the north and, often, snippets of Court doings in a note from Ercildoune.

‘I need to stay informed,' said Alys. She looked daily for tidings of her husband. With equal impatience, Rohain awaited the incoming reports.

The messenger would be seen coming out of the southeast like some strange bird, his cloak flying, to alight on top of the spindly Mooring Mast whose structure of pointed arches was etched against the sky. Soon after, the sildron-powered lift would begin to descend, carrying both the Relayer and the eotaur with its hoof-crescents unclipped and flying-girth neutralised by andalum. The ostler of Arcune would then hasten to take the steed's bridle and lead it to the stables, while the Stormrider, pulling off his riding gloves and winged helmet, strode into the house, a butler or footman hastening before him to open doors and bow profusely.

True Thomas of Ercildoune corresponded regularly, reporting on humorous Court incidents as well as graver matters from the strife-torn north, including descriptions of battle tactics, which Alys read over and over. The Bard wrote:

The mounted archers of Namarre are exceeding swift, and they use this to great advantage. Their preferred tactic is encirclement. Even when we outnumber them, they are often speedy enough to surround our troops or outflank us. Aware of this, our commanders try where possible to elect narrow-fronted battlegrounds, protected by natural features of the landscape such as rivers and rocky hills. As additional protection, they keep ready a reserve force in case of cavalry attacks from the rear.

Some days since, the first pitched battle was fought in northwestern Eldaraigne, not far from the Nenian Landbridge. The Luindorn Battalions were marching west in two parallel columns, about four miles apart, when as the first column entered the open fields it was assailed by vast numbers of rebels. In order to provide a secure base from which battle could be waged, the commander ordered his men to set up camp. However, the sorties and continual harassment of the barbarians hampered their efforts, so he sent out the cavalry to stave off the enemy, enabling the infantry to begin establishing an encampment.

However the Luindorn Drusilliers were unable to engage the rebels in battle and were repeatedly forced to withdraw to avoid being cut off. The barbarian rebels successfully encircled the Imperial troops. Furthermore, our infantry were unable to hold off their lightning strikes and sallies without the Drusilliers beside them, so the Drusilliers gradually fell back until all our troops of the first column were close-packed in a dense and milling confusion, surrounded on all fronts by fast-galloping archers on horseback. Their position was grim. Defeat seemed inevitable, until at last, with a great blowing of horns and clashing of swords on shields, the second column appeared over the horizon behind the rebel forces. It was not long before a Luindorn cavalry charge shattered the Namarrans, scattering them to the four winds.

‘The Namarran scouts must have been careless,' commented the Duchess, folding the letter and handing it to a footman. ‘On this occasion, luck was with the first column. It seems these rebels are not to be swiftly defeated.'

‘I remain puzzled as to their purpose,' said Rohain.

‘They are rebelling against the Empire,' explained the Duchess. ‘The Namarran population comprises generations of cut-throats and thieves who have been banished to the north as punishment for their crimes. They hate the judicial system that cast them out, and wish to take revenge upon the whole Empire. Theirs is an unstable society in which violence rules. Habitually they quarrel and make war on one another, until the cruellest and most merciless butcher among them claws his way to chieftaincy. But such victories are short-lived. As soon as any flaw appears in the dictator's defences he is attacked, and the conflict begins all over again.

‘Plagued by so much strife, the Namarrans cannot prosper. They have come to believe that the answer to their poverty lies in expropriating the wealth of the Empire.