Harald (29 page)

"Order got behind him, cut off supplies. Stay, try to take Markholt, starve. Went home instead."

"So he got the whole army back. Better than we did."

"He lost half the cavalry, Bashkai, maybe more. Fighting by Markholt. Fighting at the bridge."

"You're sure? Father says the farther you get from a battle, the more people were killed."

"Wise man. Yes."

"You talked to someone who was there?"

She nodded, rose.

"So have you. Think I can make it to the bathhouse now."

She went out. He thought about it.

That night, half asleep in the shut bed, he heard horses, people. Niall back? The next morning, wondering if it had been a dream, he followed the smell of bread baking across the courtyard to the side door of the hall.

Seated at the table was Harald, the lady beside him. Kiron tried to keep his face blank as his host rose to his feet.

"Kiron, my daughter Caralla, back from chasing your uncle's army back across the river. Cara, our guest, the Most Noble Kiron. Here learning bad habits from your brother and nephew; His Highness may never forgive me."

Kiron bowed, tried to keep from blushing. Caralla nodded, smiled.

"We met yesterday. Honors about even."

"The noble lady is as generous as she is . . . valiant."

Niall came late to breakfast. The Lady with him—young, pretty, shy—was introduced to Kiron and Caralla as Aliana. She used one hand to eat, one to hold Niall's, spent most of breakfast watching the older Lady.

Afterwards Niall suggested archery. While he was setting up the butts, Kiron, having determined that this Lady, at least, spoke no Tengu, took the opportunity to practice the vales tongue.

"Niall sister, Lady, know you?"

"Lady Caralla? Her first trip over the pass since I came west. I've heard of her. Everyone has."

"She your fellowship is?"

Aliana looked at him curiously, decided the question was real.

"She's the daughter of the Lady Commander. And Harald. And a famous captain. Two years ago she and Harald rescued her mother, captured the King, ended the troubles."

"I told you all about it weeks ago."

Kiron turned to Niall, switched languages with relief.

"Did you? You told me about someone called Nora being rescued."

"And my sister Cara helping. You were more interested in how many wives people had."

"Cara is Caralla?"

"And 'Nora is Leonora and 'Bjorn is Asbjorn unless its big 'Bjorn—Arinbjorn—and 'Liana is Aliana. Don't you have short names, for friends?"

"Kiron is my short name for friends. The long one has my father's name and his father's name and his father's and grandfather's too if someone is being really formal and wants to prove how learned he is, and a bunch of titles that don't mean anything. I can starve to death being introduced."

Aliana was stringing her bow; Niall imitated her. His first arrow missed the piece of branch stuck into the face of the target by almost a foot.

"And I can starve to death shooting that badly."

Later they went hunting. By the time lengthening shadows signaled time to turn back, Niall's archery had improved. So had Kiron's.

"I think I was lucky."

"Rabbit wasn't."

"Stop a minute; I want to keep it."

Kiron stopped by a small brook, filled his game bag with clumps of moss, twigs, a few small rocks, carefully stained the bottom with blood from the dead rabbit.

"Ask your lady to carry the game, stay behind us. She's harder to see than you are."

When the three hunters came into the kitchen, Asbjorn was sitting at a table, looking with disgust at the contents of the captured bag.

"Grandfather. Hall. You come."

Kiron lowered his bow, turned. The words were Tengu, the accent reasonably good, the speaker about seven. He replied, slowly, in the same language.

"I will come now. Thank you."

Harald was sitting at one end of the hall, his daughter beside him. On the table a small wooden cage. Nearer, Kiron could see a gray pigeon inside, fast asleep.

"From a friend of yours."

The paper was as thin as gold foil.

"Isk held Santio. Self to cover G.B. K. knows pig. A."

Kiron thought a moment.

"You sent the bird back with Artos?"

"For emergencies. Two weeks ride from here."

"Father's being held in the summer palace; that must mean Grandfather . . ."

"Is moving against him. Probably both of them. Wonder what the plan was if the attacks worked."

"He can't. Not unless he plans to bring out one of his bastards."

"Doesn't want to cut the princes' heads off, just make clear who's Emperor. Lock them up while he's busy, out if they ask nicely enough. Might buy him ten years—maybe all he's got anyway."

"I don't think Father . . ."

"Was planning to give him ten years. Neither was your uncle. Been playing them against each other for years; they decided to change the game. So did he."

"But why . . . ?"

"Send to me? Enemy's enemy is friend—for a while. Know what pig he's talking about?"

"That part is easy. The Commander's gone to cover in the Golden Boar. It's a big tavern in the capital, regular warren. Legionaries, twenty-year men, not many officers. Giorgios took me there twice. The manager is a friend of his."

Caralla looked up.

"Go as traders, find Artos, give him a hand?"

Harald nodded.

"You've never been to the Western Capital. Worth seeing."

He turned to Kiron.

"Can you tell Cara where the Golden Boar is, how she can get in touch with the Commander, maybe your friend's friend?"

Kiron thought a moment.

"He won't trust a stranger—especially not a woman. I'll go. If I have your leave. Give my word to come back."

"Up to you; your father's paid most of the ransom, good for the rest, may need you. Always welcome."

Two days later, they were on the road. As the line of loaded horses and mules moved up to the pass, Caralla went over details.

"First question is who is what. Mostly by age and language. Tengu is your birth tongue—can you tell where I'm from?"

"You don't talk like a highborn, but most people don't. If I heard you on the street I wouldn't think twice."

"What about Gudmund?"

"He sounds more foreign. A lot of people from the provinces learn Tengu second. Like that."

"What about you? Can you talk so you fit in with us?"

"Speaking highborn in the wrong place is stupid. In a tavern, I talk like Giorgios, or close. Easy."

"Remember to do it. Gudmund is the trader; I'm his wife. You don't look like us so you're my sister's boy. Rest of Gudmund's decade gives us five guards, four drivers. Poor traders—no servants. Guards are easy—cats. Erik is Gudmund's second and speaks some Tengu, so he can be guard captain. The rest, decide who's what for yourselves. Problems?"

One of the younger cats spoke.

"Suppose I'm a driver. Not from the Vales, what am I? Don't speak much Tengu."

"Good question. We want drivers from somewhere edge of beyond, nobody recognizes what they look like, how they talk. Kiron?"

"Northeast, beyond Belkhan? Lots of hill tribes."

"What do they call themselves?"

"Damned if I know."

Caralla thought a moment. "Drivers are Vlathi. Somewhere past Belkhan. Can't meet any others—aren't any. Need a language, Plains talk, Fox dialect, hope nobody knows it. Mostly, don't talk if anyone can hear. Drivers out of armor tonight. Tomorrow, we're a trading caravan, Vales to Western Capital, wool."

The second night, at Cloud's Eye, they met a westbound caravan. Gudmund—renamed Gudion—paid a brief visit, exchanged news, returned to share with wife, nephew, chief guard.

"Grain, beans, everything high. Long wait at the ferry. More than the usual griping. Sounds like he's started moving. Supplies, shipping. No word on troops."

"Send word to Harald?"

Caralla shook her head.

"He'll hear from the caravan. What he expects."

Kiron looked curious, said nothing. She explained.

"Princes went after barbarians, got beat. Maybe glorious Emperor will show how, earn triumph himself. Not to repeat, Nevvy—traders safer out of politics. Lot of beans, grain, for an army, less for us. River down, may ford instead. Save wait, save ferry fee."

Two days later, the last hour of light brought them past hostel, campground, caravans, to make camp a mile up the north road. The next morning Kiron woke early. Caralla and Gudmund—Gudion and Karia, mother's sister and her husband—asleep at the other side of the tent. He rolled out of the low bed to the ground, stood up, went out. Stopped. There was a familiar figure bent over the fire pit.

"What are you doing here?"

"Starting the fire. Want to help, fetch some dead wood. Should have been done last night. Need someone can look farther than a warm bed."

"Where did you come from?"

"Haraldholt, like the rest of you. Couple of miles behind through the pass. Cut north above the hostel through the woods—'Liana made me a map. Hope Niall marries her. Nice to have an aunt who doesn't try to order me around."

Caralla came out of the tent behind Kiron. "Lot of good it ever did. Does Father know you're here?"

"Does Grandfather know which side of the mountains the sun comes up?"

"Meaning you didn't tell him."

"Gerda would have said I couldn't, made Grandfather pretend to try to stop me. Easier this way." Asbjorn turned back to the fire, blew gently. Kiron went off in search of firewood.

Three weeks and several hundred miles later, Asbjorn spoke in a hushed tone.

"Now that's a river."

"East and west branches join at Sarga, eighty miles upstream. If a raindrop falls in the mountains, east range or west, this is where it goes. Right by the golden wall."

Kiron pointed downstream, where the low sun of late afternoon lit up the capital's river wall.

"Going to tell me it's made of gold?"

"If I thought you would believe it. It's yellow stone from quarries southwest of here. The summer palace is built into the hole in the mountain that wall came out of."

"It's high."

"Ten times a man's height. All the way around the city."

"Have to siege it. How wide's the river?"

"Hundred yards, maybe more."

"Easy for bows, big rock throwers. One camp up stream, one down, no boats get by. Lot of people inside the wall—wait till they get hungry. Take a big army though."

"Took Konstantin the Great twenty legions, a two-year siege. A hundred years ago, nearly. Now it's ours."

"When you children finish sieging the Western Capital you might help the men set up the tents, stake out the animals. Too far to make the south gate tonight."

"Yes, Mother." Asbjorn almost sounded as if he meant it.

By twilight the work was done, the little caravan quiet. In the trader's tent, Caralla spoke quietly to Kiron.

"In tonight, try to find the Commander. Tell him we're here to help if he wants us to. City's hard to miss—can you find your way back in the dark?"

"I think so. If not I can wait till dawn."

"Something goes wrong, we might try sending someone after you. Can you tell us how to find the Golden Boar, get word to your friends?"

"It's in the barracks quarter—no barracks any more since they expanded the keep, but it's still popular with the legions. South gate is closed at dark but the little gate next to it is open all night, always a trickle in and out. Follow the road north till it joins the road of triumphs—built so a legion can march down it ten men across. Keep going north past two arches, then the barracks road goes left—maybe half as wide, still big. Red paving stones if there's enough light to see. Ends in a big square, statues, arches. It gets messy after that—west of the square you're in a tangle, used to be barracks, not too safe at night. Best go around. You might want to ask someone. The Boar is the biggest tavern in the quarter; everyone knows it. Niko runs it, friend of Giorgios."

Caralla put down the stylus, read back the directions, folded the tablet. Kiron looked once around the tent, pulled his cloak around him, picked up lantern and firebox, went out into the night.

Asbjorn was waiting; they moved off into the dark, spoke in whispers.

"It isn't like hunting in the mountains. I know the city, you don't."

"Why you have to go—besides, he doesn't know me. No reason you can't have someone to watch your back. Night before last you were talking about how dangerous parts of the city get after dark. Your friend isn't hidden as well as he thinks he is, might be watchers. Wear my hair like the boys we saw last week—nobody worries about kids. Servant to carry your lantern."

Three hours later it occurred to Kiron that he might have to follow his own advice—if he could find someone to ask. The narrow street past the south wall of the massive building that had once lodged a legion bent left instead of right. Whatever the streets, he knew the general direction of the Boar, cut right down something even narrower. An open space, bounded by blank walls. Footsteps behind them.

The larger held a heavy staff; the light from the lantern glanced from the iron-bound end. The smaller, a few steps back, had something in his right hand.

"No trouble, no blood. Give us what you've got, see dawn. Or not."

The servant carrying the lantern dropped it with a clank, backed off, vanished into the shadows. The man with the staff spoke without turning.

"Don't bother. Time he finds help around here, we're long gone."

Trust looked an even worse gamble than fighting; Kiron's hand slid under his cloak, reached the dagger hilt next his purse. "Yes sir. No trouble."

The smaller man jerked his head up and back, as if to look at something above him, collapsed with an odd gurgling noise. The other stepped back from Kiron, half turned. The figure standing where his companion had stood stepped forward, caught the staff left-handed, pulled as its owner pushed. The man grunted, buckled, fell to the ground, lay still. Asbjorn picked the lantern back up; it was still burning.