The Guardian (32 page)

Shara raised a hand and called out, and the great wood door trundled down on greased chains to deliver its weight across the moat. Beyond it I saw a metal curtain rise to grant ingress to the hold’s bailey. I could see no guards, nor soldiers or servants, but the courtyard that faced us past the walls was well kept, its flags swept clean, and flowers growing in stone trenches and from little metal buckets hung about the walls.

I heard a clanking sound from behind, and spun my horse around in time to see the metal curtain falling and the strange wooden door rising, cutting us off from the outside. I must admit that I was unnerved by this and touched my sword’s hilt, but not so unnerved as Ellyn.

She dragged her chestnut around in a tight circle, shouting,
“We’re caught! By the gods, she’s trapped us! Now the Vachyn shall slay us!”

I found my blade halfway from the scabbard before Shara spoke.

“There’s no harm here. The broch works thus. See?”

I stared about. There were no armed men come to greet us, nor archers on the towering ramparts.

“Who lowered that … ?”

“Drawbridge,” she supplied, “and the gate’s called a portcullis. They’re both workings of an older magic than mine; but they answer to my call. And, Ellyn, there are no Vachyn sorcerers here.”

I returned my blade to its sheath and looked about. I could still see no retainers, but the broch was in excellent repair. There were smithies inside the walls, and stables, granaries—but none to tend them or keep them in such fine condition. No one to tend the plants or sweep the immaculate flagstones of the courtyard.

Save, from the corners of my eyes, I thought I saw shadows flashing in the sunlight, like those half-understood images you see in dreams and then forget. I felt nervous—Shara was, after all, a Vachyn, and perhaps all this journey had been only some devious entrapment. I dismounted.

I realized that I still touched my sword’s hilt, afraid.

Shara saw my perturbation and smiled. “What you see are … memories. They last from an older time, when this place was built.”

“Ghosts!” Ellyn cried. “By all the gods, she delivers us to Vachyn ghosts!”

“Not Vachyn,” Shara said. “Nor ghosts as you understand them. They are not malign—they’d only tend this broch and keep it safe.
So you
can be safe here.”

Ellyn scowled, tugging on her reins as if she’d turn her horse and gallop away. I went to her and set a hand on her knee.

“Climb down, eh? Shara’s our friend. She’s proved that,
no?” I clutched the chestnut’s reins. Ellyn loosed a foot from her stirrup and kicked me in the chest. I hung on as she made the horse buck, then got a hold on her belt and dragged her from the saddle.

She landed on her back with a great gasp of exhaled indignation and stared up at me as if I were some horrible, crawling thing she’d found unexpected in her bed.

“Do you see danger?” I asked. I pointed at the empty ramparts, the deserted bailey.

She glared at me and struggled to her feet. “I see a hold we cannot leave, save on
her
permission. I see ghosts, and …” She began to weep, and flung herself against me. “ … I’m afraid.”

“You’ve me,” I said, my arms around her, “and know that I’m pledged to defend you.”

“Against Vachyn magicks?”

“Even against those—to the ending of my life.”

“But,” she said, and halted as Shara came to us. We both turned to hear what she’d say.

Which was: “This broch is safe against attack, be it Eryk or Talan or Nestor. They’ll none of them find this place, and you
shall
be safe here. Now, shall we see our horses stabled and find something to eat?”

Ellyn wriggled from my protective embrace and looked into my eyes. “Do you truly trust her?”

I nodded.

“Then I suppose I must.”

Her tone suggested doubt, but I nodded again and followed Shara to the stables, where stalls were spread with clean straw and mangers filled with oats, buckets of water set ready. It was as if this were some great keep serviced by efficient, but invisible servants.

“I do not understand this,” I said.

And she smiled and answered me, “It’s magic, Gailard. Have you not learned to trust that yet?”

“Perhaps yours,” I answered.

“There’s more to come,” she said, and beckoned me away. Nor was she wrong.

S
he brought us to the great tower through halls and corridors that alternated strangely between the immaculate and the decrepit. Some were swept clean, and hung with magnificent tapestries that glowed in the light coming from the tall glassed windows, chairs and tables shining as if recently polished, vases of fresh flowers adding further brightness; others were dank and smelled of mold, weeds creeping from cracked stones, the windows smeared thickly with grime, spiderwebs filling the dusty corners, the angles of ancient, age-damaged furniture. It was as if we walked through a dream, and I felt uncomfortable. But the tower, for all I knew it belonged to an older time, might have been built yesterday. Its stones were pristine, its windows bright and clean, there was an odor of beeswax emanating from the woodwork. No keep could have been better kept, I thought—and as I did, sensed faint and distant laughter, appreciative, and looked about to catch brief glimpses of flickering shadows, as if we were escorted by half-seen servants too modest to reveal themselves. Beside me, Ellyn shivered, glancing nervously around.

“It’s like this,” Shara said. “They maintain some parts, but leave others as you’ve seen.”

I hiked my shoulders, feeling none too easy in the presence of these ghosts. I glanced at Ellyn, who glared about as if she trusted none of this and had sooner been gone, but when she caught my eye she gave me only a grim smile and followed Shara up a flight of winding stairs that delivered us to a circling corridor where our enigmatic hostess announced we would sleep.

My chamber was the finest I’d seen, surpassing even Chorym’s. Thick rugs covered the floor, their intricate weavings glowing in the sunlight that shafted from high windows that opened onto a balcony overlooking the farther
part of the canyon. A vast bed laid with clean linen sat like some potentate’s catafalque at the center. There was an armoire of some dark and glossy wood, a table set with pitchers of water and wine and ale, a bowl of sweetmeats, three high-backed chairs around it. There was a couch scattered with plump cushions, even a footstool. Shara indicated a door that opened onto a bathing room where a great stone tub was set into the floor, and another that was a marbled and magnificent latrine. I gaped, and she laughed.

“Do you believe in magic, Gailard?”

“How can I not?” I returned. And she said, “I’ll show Ellyn to her quarters. Do you bathe, if you want and then we’ll eat and speak of the future.”

I nodded, dumbstruck by this opulence, and the door closed behind them. I stowed my gear in the armoire and tested the bed, which bounced most satisfyingly under my weight. I went out onto the balcony and inspected the courtyard below, the canyon beyond. When I returned I caught a musky scent in the air. I traced it to the bathing room and flung open the door. The tub steamed, filled with hot water.

I said, “Thank you,” to the empty air, and shed my clothes and sank into the tub.

When I was done and all the fatigue of our journey washed away, I dressed and poured a cup of ale. I wondered awhile if it was appropriate to wear my sword here—and decided that there was little point. Whom should I fight, ghosts? I settled at the table until there came a knocking on my door.

I opened it to find Ellyn standing there. She, too, was freshly bathed, and dressed in a long gown of some pale blue material that flattered her figure and complexion. She plucked at it, frowning.

“I understand none of this, nor like it much.” Uninvited, she pushed past me into the room and filled a glass with wine. “Are we truly safe here?”

I shrugged. “I’ve told you—I trust Shara.”

Ellyn sipped her wind and grunted at the same time. “But you’re besotted.”

“Am I?”

She shrugged and rose, restless, crossing to the opened windows, going out onto the balcony. I topped my cup and followed her.

“We’re trapped here,” she said.

“Or safe,” I answered.

“That hurt, you know.” She turned to face me. “When you dragged me from my horse.”

“You panicked.” I gestured an apology. “Not too much, I hope.”

“No.” She shook her head and assumed a mournful expression. “But it was undignified.”

Almost, I laughed.

“You consider me a child.” She smoothed her dress. “But I’m not.”

“You’re Chaldor’s heir. And with Shara’s help, you’ll be Chaldor’s queen.”

“And you my general,” she said. “Is the Vachyn’s purpose true.”

“I believe it is.”

Ellyn pursed her lips. “Perhaps; but she’s still a Vachyn.” She set her glass down on the balcony’s rail and stepped a pace toward me. “I shall be full-grown soon, Gailard. Do you find me …”

I was grateful for the knocking. I turned away, crossing to the door. Shara stood there, dressed in a gown of pale green that was somehow both demure and enticing. She smiled and asked, “Shall we eat?”

I nodded enthusiastically and called that Ellyn join us—which she did with poorly concealed irritation.

We followed Shara back down the winding stairway to a door that swung unbidden open on a hall set with a sumptuous table. The smells prompted my mouth to water and my belly to rumble, which prompted a disapproving look from Ellyn, who accompanied us with a haughty dignity
that was somewhat undone by her sullen expression. Shara bade us sit and we took our indicated places as she served us. I accepted a silver platter laid thick with roast beef, vegetables, and a rich brown gravy, and could barely wait as Ellyn was served and Shara took her share. The food was excellent—fine as the wine that accompanied it, served from decanters of glittering crystal in goblets that were some intricate combination of glass and silver such as I’d never seen.

“Now,” Shara said after a while of silent eating, “shall we speak of the future?” She turned to Ellyn. “You’ve much to learn.”

Ellyn stared at her, dabbed her mouth with a linen napkin, and said, “And you’ll teach me?”

“To use your magic, yes.” Shara nodded, and looked to me. “And Gailard shall teach you to fight, no?”

“I shall,” I promised.

Ellyn stared a long time at Shara. Then: “And shall you swear fealty to me, as Chaldor’s heir?”

“I swear,” Shara said, “that I shall teach you to use your talent. I swear that I shall fight with you, to drive Talan and Nestor from Chaldor. I swear that I shall do all I can to give you your rightful throne.”

I said, as Ellyn continued to stare at Shara, “What more could you ask?”

“Much,” she said. “Such as you offer me.” She turned again to Shara. “Shall you offer me the same?”

E
llyn was startled by Shara’s refusal. She had thought to entrap the woman, to force her into swearing an oath of fealty that would grant Ellyn undisputed dominance, effectively render Shara her vassal. Then she might, once she’d learned to use her talent, order Shara to some distant part of Chaldor whilst she kept Gailard with her. She had seen how startled he was when she appeared at his door in her gown, and was confident that he found her attractive. Her hair was growing out from its unflattering, boyish cut, and even was she not yet a fully fleshed woman, still her body filled. Soon she
would
be a woman, and she was surprised by her own feelings—she thought that Shara’s presence had likely stimulated her to recognize what she felt for Gailard and had long denied. But he, bound by his oath, must stay with her as she grew, and she believed she could make him love her—so long as Shara was not present to distract him.

But Shara only shook her head and said, gently, “I took oaths as a Vachyn that I’ve reneged. I made myself a promise then—that I’d never again swear fealty to anyone, but make my own choices whom I’d support, and that whosoever that might be must prove himself or herself worthy.”

“And have I not?” Ellyn asked sensing that her trap sprang open, perhaps to snap back on her.

“No.” Shara shook her head again. “You have proven yourself brave. But otherwise …” She shrugged eloquently.

“What?” Ellyn demanded, trying hard not to scowl and losing the struggle.

“You’ve proven yourself willful,” Shara said. “And often selfish. Certainly stubborn …”

Ellyn set down her glass for fear she’d fling the contents into Shara’s face and thoroughly disgrace herself as the catalogue of faults went on.

“But even so,” Shara concluded. “what I have promised, I shall do. Are you willing, I
shall
teach you to use your talent; and I
shall
support you in your war against Talan. I shall use all my powers to defeat Nestor. But to swear an oath of fealty to you? No, that I cannot do.”

Against her will, Ellyn felt her lips purse and her eyes narrow. She clenched her fists and allowed her gaze to wander in Gailard’s direction. She could not help herself.

“And then?” she asked. “Shall you take Nestor’s place? Shall you be the Vachyns’ ambassador to Chaldor?”

“Ellyn!” That was Gailard; she ignored him.

“No, I shall not,” Shara replied. “I’ve no stomach for those games, and once you’re enthroned I shall return here. I’ve no desire to be elsewhere, nor to manipulate monarchs or control countries.” She gestured at the hall. “I want no greater kingdom than this, and to be left alone.”

Ellyn forced a smile and, carefully, raised her goblet. “So you ally with my cause.”

“I’ve told you that,” Shara said.

“But only for your own reasons.” Ellyn drank, congratulating herself on a small victory.

“Mine and yours coincide, no?” Shara asked. “Is that not enough?”

“I suppose it must be,” Ellyn said. “But how can I trust you, save you swear fealty?”

“As I must trust you,” Shara gave back. “Do I teach you to use your talent, am I creating a monster—another Nestor?”

Ellyn choked on her wine, feeling her cheeks redden as she spluttered crimson droplets across the table. “You compare me with Nestor? The god-cursed Vachyn who helped Talan slay my father and mother?”