Harald (15 page)

"This isn't an army; could have brought ten times as many. Two thousand cats, near that many Ladies, good as anything you have, better than most. Me commanding. You can raise eight thousand—if everyone shows up. How long before some of your lords decide a king who tears the alliance apart, hires bandits to burn out their people, isn't what they want? Estfen, married to Estmount's sister, they move together. Or North Province, River. Once two go, balance swings, out of a job. Some might think they could do it better. Might be right. Way I saw it, you took my daughter's mother prisoner, maybe killed her, tried to kill me. Why didn't I come back with the host?"

James smelled something burning, turned three oatcakes, considered.

"Think, boy. Useful habit."

There was a long silence; finally James broke it.

"The Emperor."

"The Emperor. Doing his work for him. Told you back then. Every Lady you kill, every one of your people I kill, one less. Pretend war. South Keep, had to kill for real to get 'Nora out alive. Pulled some north, got a friend to spike a barrel of beer with nightbells, saved what I could. Next year, year after, I'll need them."

"It didn't work. Maybe it couldn't. But I'd talked with people from the wars. Heard stories. We needed cats, Ladies, you. How could I hold for a lifetime when the best third of my army could stay home if it felt like it?"

"Henry did it. Thirty years."

"Mother said . . ."

"Your mother had singers to sing pretty ballads about honor and glory to folk as hadn't seen a thousand lancers die on the legions' spears. Ballad, you just have to be brave. Seen a lot of brave men die. Killed some. War, do with what you have. Never did figure out how she thought he was going to hold the legions after he finished trying to conquer us. Sing ballads at 'em, maybe."

Harald turned, wandered off; James returned his attention to what he was doing. When he was done he sorted out the worst of the scorched cakes and went looking for horses.

The next morning they again headed north. A day south of the Borderflood they made camp. Harald sent out scouts, Leonora messengers. Two days later, one of them came back.

Early morning, a column of horsemen riding single file south, bows, quivers, leather armor. To their left, half a bowshot or less, the forest, right the plain, rolling in long waves to the western range dim in the distance. Two scouts ahead, one left near the forest edge, one right riding for the ridge top.

Out of the forest arrows, men and beasts falling, horses bolting for the plain, riders clinging to the side away from the attack. Over the ridge. On the far side, a hundred yards beyond, a line of cats. A storm of arrows.

Harald yelled out something in a language James had never heard before. Everything stopped. From behind a dead horse, one of the nomads stood up, bow in his left hand, right hand empty, yelled something back, turned, yelled something else to what was left of his force, most of them behind the bodies that provided such cover as there was on the flat plain. Those that could stood up; James noticed that the first had an arrow sticking out of the back of his right leg. The battle was over. Cats, dismounted, hurried over to do what they could for the wounded.

Later, while the cats were helping the few unwounded nomads deal with their dead and James, feeling useless, was watching, Harald brought over a pair of saddlebags.

"War leader had them, not Westkin work. Take a look."

The saddlebags were heavy. Each was half filled with leather bags. James opened one, spilled a handful into his palm, bright in the morning light. Most of the coins were new minted, the Emperor's face not yet blurred by wear.

When Harald returned, the gold was back in the saddlebag; James was looking at two scrolls, one still sealed. He unrolled the other; both bent over to read.

At the top, words, numbers:

60 boge. 30 e fur, 30 madn, 60

At the bottom, in a different hand:

Moondark, three days after. Meadow east of Sunsign house. Turlogh knows. Password: Strayed horses. Counter: Dappled?

Harald spoke.

"Read Tengu?"

James nodded. "Sixty bows, thirty emperors before, thirty meadow, sixty. But the rest is in our speech."

"Some of the Westkin learn it, mostly from us, speak it, read it. Probably their war leader did."

"Sixty bows. Is that how many men they had?"

Harald nodded.

"Thirty emperors in advance, thirty when they reached the meadow, sixty sometime later?"

Harald nodded again. "The Emperor is getting generous in his old age—two gold pieces each."

James looked up: "Where were they going?"

Harald pointed at the rest of the writing, stood up, went off to help with the funeral.

The mound finished, a fire was kindled above it. Harald and two of the surviving nomads gave long speeches of what sounded like poetry in the Westkin tongue. The survivors were sent off to a nearby village, some in horse litters, a decade of cats for escort. Weapons and gear of the fallen—what had not gone into the mound with the dead men and horses—was loaded on the surviving horses along with most of the nomads' supplies. The next day James looked up from his thoughts, saw a hill in the distance crowned with walls. They camped near its bottom. Harald set off for the gate—accompanied by Leonora and a king unsure whether to feel surprised.

Eyes followed Leonora; nobody gave any sign of recognizing James until they were alone with Stephen in one of the smaller buildings near the hall, a guard outside the closed door. The North Province lord embraced the Lady Commander, then turned to the King.

"How may I serve Your Majesty?"

"Tell me what has been happening."

"Your cousin sent word to me, I suppose others, that you had been taken prisoner by the Senior Paramount, feared dead. Word of you or him to the castle, or to one of his men staying at the Sun in Splendor, an inn south of here. I am to be ready to call out my levies upon a day's notice."

The King turned to Harald. "By your leave, I would send Andrew word that I am well, the Lady Commander alive and in authority over the Order."

"Your Majesty is free to do as you desire. I have no claims over you."

Leonora spoke: "And I postpone mine until a time better suited to deal with them."

James thought a moment, spoke slowly. "As to your claims against me, I give you self judgment—name what I owe and I will pay it, to the limit of what I have. My lord Stephen, you are witness. Find me foresworn and you are released from any duty you owe me.

"Best I bring word how matters stand to my cousin myself. Can you provide men to guide me?"

Stephen nodded. "Thorvald and his brother know the roads from here to the castle. The inns too."

Harald spoke:

"To Stephen's borders I will escort you, with your leave. Farther south risks misunderstandings. The Sun is a day's ride beyond. From there the castle is two days' more. By my council go quietly, eyes open."

"I will not travel in such state as to attract attention. Once in my castle, I am safe with my cousin and my own men."

"Safety is scarce, in castle or out."

The King turned back to Stephen.

"Before I depart, one matter more. The royal messengers are from this hour dissolved and without authority. I trust you to deal with the matter in your province, word to Brand in his. I will speak with the others."

Stephen nodded.

The main room of the Sun was half full. James and Thorvald shared a table and a pitcher, thought about dinner while they waited for their companion to come in from the stable. Near the fire a family—elderly man, wife leaning on a staff, grown daughter, all wrapped in cloaks against the evening chill. A few more guests were scattered about the room. The door opened. A broad-shouldered man came in, three more behind him, all wearing swords. He threw back his hood, revealing dark hair, a gray streak running through it.

James spoke.

"Here's an unexpected friend."

He stood up, waved.

Mord saw him, turned, said something to one of the men behind him. With the other two he walked across the room, looked carefully at James, sat down.

"It appears Your Majesty has escaped your enemies."

"Enemies? I have been with friends."

"Harald and the Order accept the new Lady Commander?"

"The Lady Leonora commands the Order. The cause being ended, so is the quarrel."

"Before Your Majesty makes such decisions, it were well to take counsel with your advisors."

"The decisions are taken. One concerns you. You heard of Estmark's words at Council."

"If there are bandits in Estmark, they are not ours."

"I have seen villages with new walls."

"Rumors of trouble, fears of war."

"Charred timbers, the bodies of bandits wearing my badge. It will stop. The company of messengers is dissolved. We will find you other duties."

"Rather we will find you better counsel. Your Majesty believes his enemies against his friends."

Mord looked about the hall, hesitated a moment, spoke to Thorvald.

"We will take charge of his Majesty. Say nothing to anyone."

He rose to his feet. The King remained seated.

"Tell my cousin that I am well, at peace, and will return in my own time. What messengers you have, release. They have no longer leave to bear Our badge."

"Your Majesty goes now and with me."

"I will not."

"Whether you will or not."

Mord put one hand on his sword, looked about the hall. The men with him stepped forward. Thorvald stood up, reached for his dagger. From a bench by the wall a man took two steps forward, caught him about the waist, wrestled him down. The King spoke.

"It seems I do have enemies."

"And I friends; most in this room are mine. Your Majesty comes now with me, and quietly."

"Silence I can deny you. Traitors! Loyal men to their king!" He stood, backed, reaching for his dagger.

The sword came out, swung. One of the three by the fire stepped forward, a chair lifted in her hands. It caught the blow, twisted. Mord stepped back, staring at a broken blade.

The two others were on their feet, cloaks sliding off to reveal armor. Mord shouted, pointed. Two of the men on the benches were up, swords and daggers coming out. The gray-haired man batted a sword aside with his left arm, struck with the mace in his right. The Lady's staff licked out, back; a Wolf clutched at his stomach, blood running between his fingers.

Mord shouted, "Nae Halla. Kal."

Short bows, gray robes of the western plains, they poured through the door, took up positions left and right. The surviving Wolves stepped back, out of reach of Leonora's spear. Harald took one step back, right side to the fireplace, left arm with its archer's shield in front of him. Caralla froze, chair still raised between Mord and his king. Mord spoke:

"Last is best. Lay down your weapons."

The King looked around the room, spoke.

"I am James of Kaerlia and your king. Are you all traitors?"

Mord laughed. "Their king is some filthy savage out on the plains. But they are as fond of gold as we are. There is much to be said for servants with their own tongue."

James spoke again. "I will come with you; let the rest go."

"All come with me. Or die."

Harald's voice was calm. "Last is best."

Mord saw where he was looking, turned. The men standing either side the door had their bows half drawn, arrows pointed at him.

Harald spoke again:

"Raven clan rode south into ambush. The men who met you in the meadow were mine."

Mord hesitated, leaped for the King. Caralla brought her chair down across his wrist; the dagger clattered to the floor. Bowstrings sung.

The remaining Wolves, more prudent than their commander, let weapons fall; two of them released Thorvald. Harald's men bound them. Harald sat down at the largest table, motioned James and Thorvald to join him. Leonora carefully wiped the blade of her spear on a dead Wolf's tunic, leaned it against the fireplace, went into the kitchen. Voices. She returned with a pitcher of beer in one hand, a loaf of bread in the other. The stew, when it arrived, had a distinctly scorched taste. They ate it anyway.

The next morning at breakfast, Harald asked James his plans.

"To the castle, quietly. If I recognize any more old friends I will pass them by. From there, reassure the lords, dissolve the messengers, seek to discover which of my people have been taking the Emperor's gold."

"The first evening I spent in your hall, Mord was sitting beside Andrew. It was Andrew who told you that Leonora was dead."

The King looked up, startled.

"My mother's sister's son—as near an older brother as I had, after Robert died. And for years before that Robert was always up north with Father. While I live, Andrew is my right hand. If I die, my uncle's boy inherits and Andrew goes back to being one more southern lord—with better birth than land. He has no reason to seek my life, much to guard it."

An hour later James and his two companions were on the road. A little past noon, nearing the turn to the long valley with Eston and the castle at its head, they heard hoofbeats, reined to one side. It was a single rider, cloaked and hooded. Passing, sunlight struck a glint of fire under the hood. The King shouted, "Anne."

The horse came to a sliding stop, wheeled. She threw back her hood.

"James. Gods be thanked. You're going the wrong direction."

"What do you mean?"

"Treason. I passed a pack of Wolves not a mile south. Your enemies, by now mounted and moving. North or into the woods."

"Can we get past and safe to the castle?"

"The least safe place in your kingdom; I'll tell you the whole tale when there is time. We must ride."

Thorvald spoke. "Your Majesty, I hear horses. Take the lady's counsel now, discuss it later."

The group turned. Around the far bend, horses. Anne pulled her hood back up too late; the lead rider shouted, spurred to a gallop.