Weatherwitch: Book Three of The Crowthistle Chronicles (33 page)

Cathair Rua was decked with garlands of red and yellow Autumn leaves for the betrothal celebrations. The weathermasters rode through the streets in carriages, or enclosed chairs carried on poles, flanked by an honorary escort of Knights of the Brand, captained by Conall Gearnach. It seemed the city was in the grip of a high good humor; but some amongst the visitors noted a change. It was not a change of weather; rather it was an alteration in the attitude of the populace. Usually, citizens greeted weathermasters with respectful cheers and a doffing of hats, and smiles, and bows. This time, there were, amidst the cheering welcomers, a few who merely watched the weathermasters’ progress stone-faced, or skulked away when the procession approached.

“Something is amiss,” said Asrathiel, peering through the lace curtains of her chair and past the broad back of one of the four bearers. “I discern the citizens do not welcome us as is their wont.”

“Nonsense,” stated Albiona, whose conveyance was being carried alongside. “They applaud us. See, over there; a band of craftsmen waving their caps in a gesture of respect.”

“Many behave as ever,” said Asrathiel, “but others turn away, or scowl.”

“I do not see why they should.”

“I wonder whether they are envious that Narngalis has its own weather-mage.”

“Balderdash! You are Warwick’s subject, not Uabhar’s. It is your duty to serve your sovereign. They ought to know that.”

“Mayhap they resent our privileged position.”

The chairs passed a charcoal brazier on a tripod set up on the footpath. A street-vendor was selling eggs he had robbed from larks’ nests and pickled, and baby quails, threaded on a spit and roasted. Asrathiel closed her curtains.

“Balderdash again.” Albiona’s voice carried through the lace. “Our kindred has always been privileged, and with good reason, for we provide indispensable services to the Four Kingdoms. Our prerogatives have never seemed to bother anyone in the past, and there is no reason why they should bother people now.”

“I am uneasy.”

“Only recall how courteously Gearnach gave us salutations upon our arrival, and observe how nobly his Knights of the Brand conduct themselves towards us! Their esteem is clearly as great as ever.”

“Upright men, such as they, ignore scandal-mongers. Prince William told me that gossips in Cathair Rua are spreading nasty rumors about us. I did not think the citizens would listen, but I see I have been proved wrong.”

“I expect you are mistaken, Asrathiel. No ill-natured hearsay could turn popular opinion against us.”

But the chairs lurched on, and Asrathiel was convinced she was not mistaken.

Peering at the procession through a spyglass from a high, narrow window of the Sanctorum, Primoris Virosus observed all that went on in the streets below; the stately files of chivalry led by Commander-in-Chief Gearnach, the elegant vehicles conveying the weathermasters, the mixed reactions of the onlookers.

“Ah, how the loyalty of Two-Swords would be tested,” he muttered to himself, “if he knew who had introduced the slander that disturbs the crowd! The royal perpetrator is wise to keep the truth from him. Between fealty and honor, the valorous knight would be torn in two.” He sniggered dryly and continued to watch until the convoy passed out of view.

Dignitaries from all over Tir had been invited to attend the festivities. The betrothal of Prince Kieran of Slievmordhu and Princess Solveig of Grïmnørsland took place with much pomp and strict observance of formalities, but between rituals the guests indulged in a good deal of easygoing merriment. The banquet in the Great Hall, marking the closing of ceremonies, was particularly jolly. Resplendent in colorful raiment, the diners sat at long tables loaded with a variety of delicious and spectacular dishes. Banners and pennants and all manner of war gear decorated the walls of the vast chamber. King Uabhar displayed his celebrated personal armaments in pride of place above the high table; his shield,
Ocean,
his dagger,
Victorious,
his spear
Slaughter,
and his sword
Gorm Glas,
the blue-green.

As the occasion was a betrothal—the official confirmation of an arrangement made during the couple’s infancy—and not a full state occasion, only representatives of Narngalis and Ashqalêth attended, rather than the monarchs of those realms. Had it been a wedding, the principal members of all the royal houses would have been present. Naturally the parents of the bride-to-be, King Thorgild and Queen Halfrida, were amongst the guests, along with their sons Hrosskel, Halvdan and Gunnlaug; also King Chohrab
IPs brother-in-law, Duke Rahim, and King Warwick’s second son, Walter. Druidic delegates from the Cathair Rua Sanctorum graced the occasion on behalf of the greatly revered Primoris Asper Virosis, who, being particularly averse to jocular crowds, had absented himself and was taking his supper alone in a private room.

Uabhar’s sons were determined to enjoy the occasion as it deserved. The elder two deliberately put aside their uneasiness about the popular smear campaign against the weathermasters, their alarm at the inexplicable rise in success of Marauder raids, and their tentative uncertainty about their father’s political affairs, focusing instead on the joyfulness of the celebration. Prince Ronin, alone, appeared a trifle less than lighthearted, but that might have been for personal reasons.

The four most blithesome persons at the feast were the affianced couple—who were clearly deeply enamored of each other; Halvdan, Kieran’s favorite comrade and the brother of the betrothed princess; and Conall Gearnach, who was delighted at the opportunity for companionship with his friends, the princes of Grïmnørsland. No one was happier for Kieran than Halvdan Torkilsalven, who sat close to the feted couple at the high table. During the breaks between courses the two young men flung jests back and forth, and swapped stories of shared adventures during their boyhood, to make Solveig laugh.

“Once,” Kieran said to his bride-to-be, “in the days when I dwelled with your family at Trøndelheim, Halvdan and I slipped away from Two-Swords, ran off to the marketplace and hid ourselves in a wine-merchant’s wagon. We broached a cask, drank the wine and fell asleep. By the time we awoke., night had fallen. We discovered the wagon had exited the city, and we were miles away from home!”

“Aye, and it was a hogshead of trouble you two landed me in over that escapade,” said Gearnach good-naturedly. Tankard in hand, he had wandered over from the knights’ table, where he had been seated with other warriors of the Red Lodge, and took up a position standing behind the tall, gemstudded backs of the princes’ chairs.

“I do not remember it,” said Solveig. “You boys were always skylarking so much that one prank seemed no more prominent than the others. I only recall being helpless with laughter every time I heard about your latest scrapes. It is fortunate that Conall was there to rescue you or neither of you would have lasted past your fourteenth Winter!”

“True indeed, Your Highness!” affirmed Gearnach, raising his tankard and bowing in a salute to the princess.

“One of the best jokes,” said Halvdan, lowering his voice so that the other three must lean closely to hear him, like conspirators, “was when Gunnlaug challenged Kieran to walk through the cemetery at midnight on Lantern Eve.”

“You would never refuse a challenge,” Solveig said, bestowing dimpled smiles upon her betrothed. “How characteristic of our brother to suggest such a test of courage. He himself was terrified of that place. What happened?”

Halvdan said, “In secret, or so he thought, Gunnlaug draped himself in a sheet of bleached linen.”

His sister could not contain her glee. “That must have been a pretty sight!”

“Then,” continued Halvdan, “when Kieran was walking through the cemetery, our dear brother jumped out at him!”

“I assure you, Gunnlaug in a sheet is about as fearsome as a milk jug,” said Kieran.

Halvdan chaffed. “Sister, Kieran is only pretending to be brave. He would have fainted, had I not forewarned him.”

“Dan, you’d faint into your porridge if your nurserymaid said
’boo,’”
Kieran returned affably. “But that is not the end of the story, Solveig my love, for I walked up to this strange white figure in the cemetery and I wished it good evening, which flummoxed it no end. Then I suddenly pointed a trembling finger over its shoulder, like this, and yelled,
‘What’s that behind you? By Ádh’s Fortune, ‘tis a black ghost!’
The white figure jumped pretty high, I can tell you—for I daresay Gunnlaug was fairly jittery after spending all that time in a graveyard—and when it touched the ground it was running in the other direction. So I shouted after it, as it fled into the darkness,
‘That’s it, black ghost! Catch the white ghost and carry it away with you!’
”

Solveig giggled into her hands, while Conall Gearnach looked on with benign joviality, his elbow bent, his drinking-vessel held close to his chest.

“What’s more,” added Halvdan, “the white ghost was running so fast in the dark that it tripped over the sheet and ended up flat on its face in the mire. Gunnlaug never knew we had tricked him, so be certain you keep our secret!”

The princess nodded assent, pink-cheeked and laughing too hard to be able to speak.

Noting that Gearnach had just drained his tankard, Halvdan gestured to one of the butlers, bidding him refill the vessel. “Drink up, Two-Swords!” he cried. “I’ll not have you going thirsty, especially when it’s Kieran’s beer we’re all swallowing.” Turning to his sister he said loudly, so that the knight would overhear, “You have heard about Two-Swords’s fiery temper of course—” At this, Gearnach’s stance stiffened, but in another moment he had relaxed into joviality again as the prince passed over the topic “—however did you know that he sometimes suffers from unfortunate lapses of common sense?”

Solveig shook her head, her eyes shining.

“When he was a youth,” Halvdan continued, “Two-Swords moved out of his mother’s house into a farm-cottage. A bit later his old mother asks him how he likes his new home and he says,
’The house is all right, but the next door neighbor’s rooster starts crowing hours before sunrise, and it keeps me from getting any sleep.’
So his mother says,
’Well that’s pity because you cannot do anything about it. Your neighbor has a right to keep roosters if he wishes.’

“Not long after, Two-Swords tells his mother he has fixed the problem of the next-door rooster’s predawn uproar.
’How did you fix it?’
enquires his mother.

“ ‘
I bought the rooster from my neighbor and put it in my own garden,’
says Two-Swords.
’Let it keep
him
awake now.’ ”

The four friends guffawed at the joke, particularly Gearnach, who had never in his life dwelled in a farm cottage or purchased a rooster. He then ri-posted with an equally ludicrous fabrication about Halvdan. Their laughter was interrupted by a disturbance further down the table, which caught their attention. Prince Gunnlaug had lumbered to his feet, upsetting a stand of sweetmeats at his elbow. He surveyed the hall, loosened his belt by several notches, and thrust out his swollen belly. “By Axe and Bell, I have eaten so much,” he declared to all and sundry, “that I am on the point of exploding. I hope everyone likes roast beef, ha ha ha!”

His father King Thorgild, a stalwart red-bearded man of forty-five Winters, had been watching this display. He spoke quietly into the ear of his page, who hurried off to pass the message on to Gunnlaug’s personal butler.

While Thorgild’s attention was focused on his youngest son, King Uabhar beckoned to Duke Rahim, the brother-in-law of Chohrab II, who sat
nearby. The duke inclined his head towards the king, waiting to hear what he had to say.

“And will your esteemed brother soon be sending more troops from Ashqalêth to Slievmordhu to join us in war games?” Uabhar asked in an undertone, using one fingertip to draw patterns in spilled crumbs on the tablecloth. “We must all be well prepared to do battle against Marauders in the Spring, when the thaw releases them from their ice-bound caves in the eastern ranges. Unseelie wights, too, will continue to plague us, no doubt. Best to be ready.”

The duke’s face fell. “Chohrab’s enthusiasm flags,” he admitted. “It is a long journey, and costly, and displacing so many soldiers leaves our lands largely undefended.”

A brief spasm of rage flitted across the countenance of Uabhar, and was as quickly erased. “Come with me to my apartments after the feast,” he said smoothly, playing with his knife, “and I will give you a message to take to your sister’s husband. It will be highly confidential. I can trust no other than you to deliver it.”

An expression between complacency and conceit warmed the ruddy features of the duke. “Indeed I am the very essence of discretion, as you judge, Your Greatness,” he said. “Pray tell me, what matter will this message convey?”

“This is no fitting venue to impart news of such consequence.” Uabhar glanced furtively over his shoulder as if he feared eavesdroppers in his own hall, then leaned even closer to the cluke. “You must not breathe a word of this to anyone except your sovereign,” he said, picking furiously at the embroidery on his sleeve, “but reports have come to hand this very hour. I have been impatient to speak with you, but with all these public commitments, you understand, it has been impossible. My spies have confirmed that Narngalis and Grïmnørsland are indeed seeking to invade and conquer Ashqalêth, just as Chohrab, with inimitable foresight, suspected.”

Stifling an exclamation the duke buried his face in his hands. “I was afraid it would come to this,” he whispered.

“You are shocked, Rahim, but you do not seem surprised!” Uabhar muttered. “Can it be that you too have had indication that such an assault was being planned?”

“Even so. Ashqalêth is not lacking its own sources of information. What you have just told me, Your Magnificence, substantiates the intelligence that we have been gathering in Narngalis for months. I shall despatch post-riders
to Jhallavad at once; semaphore is too easily decoded for sensitive communications. This revelation will certainly reinspire Chohrab to mobilize his armies.”