Two to Conquer (50 page)

His eyes blurred with tears.

I have been loved, all my life, and I never knew
.

What’s happening to me? I want to weep all the time! Is it only
laran
, or have I become a milksop, a
mollycoddle, the kind of man I always despised
…

He would grow accustomed to what had happened; he knew it. But he also knew, deep and hard within himself, that he had become a different man. He was surprised, but not ashamed, of the man he had become. His shame was reserved for the man he had been, and that man was
dead
. He need waste neither guilt nor shame on that former Bard.

He must find time to speak with Carlina again. They had not finished what lay between them. But her business was with the living, too, and the dead Bard could not be much more interesting to her than he was to himself. And so, as the first streaks of real daylight lightened the sky, he went in search of Paul Harrell and of Melisendra.

Chapter Nine

By dawn Varzil had done all that he could do in the field hospital, had sent Master Gareth, protesting, to rest. “A few hours will make no difference.”

Master Gareth said, “You’ve worked all night too, and ridden all the day before. And you’re not young either, Dom Varzil!”

“No, but younger than you are, and I’ll deal with what needs to be dealt with. Go and rest!” he said, suddenly drawing himself up to his full height—he was not very tall— and speaking in command

voice, and Master Gareth sighed.

“It’s a long time since any man commanded me, sir, but I’ll obey you.”

When the old
laranzu
had gone, Varzil detailed orderlies to feed those who were able to eat and to look after those who were not, and went into the women’s part of the Great Hall. He found Melora there, her dress pinned up and a sheet tucked around her.

“Well, child, how is it with you?”

She grinned. “Asturias has three new subjects,” she said, “whoever the king may be. A soldier’s son and a kitchen maid, and to judge by the red hair, a
leronis
for his council. I did not know that I had talent to be a midwife, but then, I did not know till yesterday that I could ride a horse, either.”

“Well, moving around is the best way to keep from getting saddle sores after all that riding,” he told her, “but now,
breda
, you must go and rest. And you too, good mother,” he said, looking at Carlina in her black mantle.

“Yes,” she said, tiredly drawing her hand across her eyes, “I think I have done all I can here. These women can care for them while I rest a little.”

“But you
vai tenerézu
?” Melora asked.

He said, “The army has been put at my disposal; I will consult Bard, whether he is Lord General or king, but before that—” he looked at the lightening sky, “I will go and have sentry birds flown, to see if we are under attack from Aldaran. If they are sending an army against Asturias, Bard must somehow manage to stop them at the Kadarin. And if not— well, we will think of that later.”

He went away, and Carlina stood watching, suddenly aware that she had neither eaten nor drunk since Melisendra had fed her soup and custard yesterday. She said, “Varzil spoke to me as if I were a

priestess of Avarra.”

Neither of the women thought it strange that Melora should know precisely what had happened to

Carlina or why. She said, “You belong to the Goddess still, do you not?”

“Always. But even if I could return to the Lake of Silence, I am not sure I should do so. I think we have been too isolated, on our safe little island, protected by powerful spells, and not caring what goes on in the world outside. And yet—how can women live together, unwed, in safety?”

“The Sisterhood of the Sword do so,” Melora said.

“But they have means of protection we do not have,” Carlina said, and thought,
I could never wield a
sword; I am a healer, I am a woman
…
and it seems to me no part of a woman’s life to make war, but to
care for others
….

“Perhaps,” said Melora hesitantly, “the Goddess needs both of your sisterhoods, one to be strong, and the other to help and heal…”

Carlina’s smile was shaky. She said, “I do not think they have much more respect for our way of life than we—” the smile was rueful now, “than we have for theirs.”

“Then,” said Melora, and her clear voice was not command voice but it might just as well have been,

“you must learn respect for one another’s ways. You are Renunciates too. And people can change, you know.”

Yes
, Carlina thought,
if Bard can change so much, there should be hope that anyone on the face of this
restless world can change! I must speak to Varzil about this; as Keeper of Neskaya, perhaps he has
some answers for us
.

Melora said, “Forgive me, Mother—” using the title of respect given to a priestess, “but you are the Princess Carlina, are you not?”

“I was. I renounced that name many years ago.” With a pang Carlina realized that, as the laws stood, she was lawfully married to Bard. And if Bard should have made her pregnant!
What would I do with a
child? His child
!

“I thought so; I last saw you at midsummer Festival, but I do not think you saw me, I was only Master Gareth’s daughter—”

“I saw you. Dancing with Bard,” Carlina said, and then, because she too had
laran
, she said, “You love him. Don’t you?”

“Yes, I do not think he knows it yet.” Melora giggled, suddenly, nervously. “I am told that the Lord General was crowned, and married, yesterday. And as the laws stand also, you are his wife, handfasted.

So, at the moment, he has at least one lawful wife too many. I am sure he will want to be free of at least one of them… and, if I know him at all, of both. Perhaps, Carlina—Mother Liriel—this

misunderstanding will all turn out for the best, since the whole matter of his marriage must be cleared up by the laws.”

“Let us hope so,” Carlina said, and impulsively took Melora’s hand.

“Come and rest,
vai leronis
. I can find a place for you among the ladies-in-waiting; I will send them down to do what they can for the wounded and the sick, and you must sleep.”

Meanwhile, Bard di Asturien walked along the halls of the castle toward the rooms he had occupied since Alaric was crowned and had appointed him Lord General. There was a guardsman before the

door, telling him that the Lord General—supposedly—was within.

Bard thought for a moment. He could, of course, walk up to the door and demand, as Lord General, to be admitted. Most of the men in the army knew the Kilghard Wolf by sight. But he was not quite ready for that confrontation yet. So after a moment’s thought he went around through a hallway to a back entrance whose very existence was known only to his most trusted men.

He walked through the rooms as if he had never seen them before. He hadn’t; the man who had slept here only a few nights ago was a different man. In the great bedchamber they lay sleeping; Paul, on his back, and Bard looked on his own face with strange, dispassionate interest. Melisendra lay curled against him, her head on his shoulder, and even in sleep Bard could see the protective way his arm curled around the woman. Her red curls were scattered, covering Paul’s face.

Bard reflected, distantly, that had he found them like this, in his own rooms,
before
, he would have lost no time in whipping out his dagger and cutting their throats. Even now he reflected on it for a moment, Paul had tried to usurp his throne; had been crowned in his name, and by marrying Melisendra in the sight of half the kingdom, had provided the throne of Asturias with a queen who would, somehow, have to be publicly repudiated. Even if Paul were willing to yield up the identity of Lord General, that still left Bard married to Melisendra. What a tangle! And by what he had done, he had made Carlina

lawfully his wife, and he could not publicly repudiate her, either! How in the name of all the gods was he to solve this? For a moment, Bard contemplated slipping out of the room as quietly as he had

entered it, taking his horse, and riding away into the hills again. He did not want the Kingdom of Asturias. He had been sure they would find someone else, even when he had the shocking knowledge of his father’s death and Alaric’s. Beyond the Kadarin there were dozens of little kingdoms, and he had earned his way as a mercenary before…

But what of his men, if he did that? Paul had not the knowledge or the interest to care for them. What of Carlina, of the pledge he had made to the Sisterhood of the Sword, of Melisendra, of Melora? No, he still had responsibilities here. And after all, he had left Paul, knowingly, to fill the place of the Lord General. Perhaps Paul had simply been protecting his good name and reputation—how would it look, after all, if it had been known that at the time of the sneak attack on Castle Asturias, the Lord General had run to weep on a woman’s shoulder for his crimes? Paul must have his chance to explain; he would not kill him sleeping.

He leaned across Melisendra, looking down with a tenderness that surprised him, at her sandy

eyelashes resting on her cheek, at the fullness of her breast where the thin nightgown, so thin that the skin showed pink through it, was gathered in flimsy folds. She had given him Erlend, and for that, at least, he must always show her love and gratitude.

Then he shook Paul’s shoulder lightly.

“Wake up,” he said.

Paul sat up in bed, with a start. Instantly alert, he saw Bard’s drawn face, and knew at once that he was in immediate danger of death. His first thought was to protect Melisendra. He leaped upright, putting himself between Bard and the woman.

“None of this is her fault!”

Bard’s smile surprised him. He looked, simply, amused. “I know that,” he said. “Whatever happens, I’m not going to hurt Melisendra.”

Paul relaxed a little, but he was still wary. “What are you doing here, like this?”

“I had intended to ask
you
that,” Bard said. “It’s my room, after all. I hear they crowned you last night.

And—married you. To Melisendra. Can you blame me for wondering if you’ve got it into your head to claim the throne to Asturias? They almost didn’t let me into the castle last night because they had a firm notion I was some kind of imposter.”

For some reason, Bard noted, they were both speaking in whispers. But even so, their voices woke Melisendra, and she sat up in bed, her hair spilling down over the breast of her gown. She stared, wide-eyed, at Bard. Then, in a rush, she said, “Bard! No! Don’t hurt him! He didn’t intend—”

“Let him answer for himself as to what he intended!” Bard snarled, and his voice was like steel.

Paul set his teeth. He said, “What did you expect me to do? They came to me, they said I was the king, they demanded that I marry Melisendra! Did you expect me to say, Oh no, I’m not the Lord General, the Lord General was last seen heading for Neskaya? They didn’t ask me what to do; they
told
me! If you’d come back in time—but no, you were off on some business of your own and left me to see to

things—you haven’t even asked about your son! You’re about as fit to command this kingdom as—as

he
is, and that’s not much of a compliment, because I imagine anything in pants could handle it better than you will! If you could get your mind off your women for ten minutes, and pay attention to what you’re supposed to be doing—”

Bard whipped his dagger out of his sheath. Melisendra screamed, and three Guardsmen burst into the room. Seeing Bard in a common soldier’s dress, and Paul in his nightshirt, they leaped at once to the obvious conclusion, and went for Bard with drawn swords.

“Draw steel in the presence of the king, will you?” one of them yelled, and moments later, Bard stood disarmed, held between two of the guardsmen.

“What shall we do with him, Lord General—beg pardon—your Majesty?”

Paul stood staring from the guardsmen to Bard, realizing that he had jumped from the frying pan full tilt into the fire. He did not want to have the father of Melisendra’s son killed before his eyes. He realized, painfully and just a second too late, that he was not angry with Bard at all.

Hell, in the long run, I got the stasis box because I couldn’t keep my hands off the wrong women. Who
am I to be slanging at him? And yet, if I admit that he is the king, and the Lord General, then I am in
bed with the queen, and from all I know about this country that’s going to be a fairly serious crime too

—
not to mention Bard’s pride! If I have him killed, Melisendra will probably tell them the truth. If I
don’t, I’d be a hell of a lot better off in the stasis box! Because I have no doubt they have the death
penalty here
—
and probably some clever ways of enforcing it
!

The senior guardsman looked at Paul and demanded, “My lord—”

Bard said, “There’s some mistake here, I should think—”

“Somebody’s making one all right,” said one of the guardsmen grimly. “This man tried to get into the palace last night claiming that he was the Lord General; he’d even managed to fool the lord Varzil of Neskaya! I think he’s a Hastur spy. Shall we take him out and hang him, sire?”

Melisendra jumped out of bed, in her thin nightgown, careless of the stare of the guardsmen. She opened her mouth to speak. And at that moment there was an outcry in the halls, and a messenger

entered.

“My lord King! An envoy from the Hasturs, under truce flag! Varzil of Neskaya sends word that you should see them at once in the throne room.”

The guardsmen whipped round. Bard said, “Impossible. The throne room’s full of the sick and

wounded; we’ll have to see the envoys on the lawn. Ruyvil—” he said to the youngest of the

guardsmen, “you know me, Don't you? Remember the campaign to Hammerfell, when I argued with

King Ardrin and got you to ride with us, and how Beltran’s banner got tangled around your pike?”

“Wolf!” the guardsmen said, then turned, menacing, to Paul.

“Who is
this
man?”