The Faerion (7 page)

"Do not let him see you."

"Yes, Lord Daass."

They all left the room, leaving Daass to his meditations.

Carle and Dellana waited in the library. Daass told them he would summon them back in an hour and neither had plans to go elsewhere. Dellana looked over the books, aware of Carle's gaze upon her. She did not fear his company like some of the other brothers, who drooled as she walked by. She had spoken to Daass about it once, and he admonished her for tempting the men. Carle was attractive and she thought about him at times. She turned and caught the younger man watching her, turning his eyes away quickly. She smiled.

"I don't mind you looking at me, Brother Carle," said Dellana. "You have kindness in your eyes. Some men don't."

"I do not mean to stare."

"No, it's all right. A little polite appreciation goes a long way."

"I have not spent much time in the company of women. Most of my work has been with Brothers. I do not speak often with Sisters."

"Well, perhaps it is time you became comfortable with Sisters."

The door opened; Lord Garlac, the Vizier stood before them, his eyes bright.

"I will speak to each of you in turn."

The orders were brief and to the point. "Watch your subject until notified. Watch only; do not engage in conversation. Your presence must not be discovered." After Garlac departed Carle and Dellana compared orders and found Carle had been assigned to watch Baroness Richela and Dellana to watch Sir Kirkes.

"This is what you wanted?" asked Dellana, mystified by the assignments.

"No, I had no intention of being involved further. I thought to make my report and return to my work. And I certainly don't want to loiter around the Baroness' apartments. What am I to do?"

"What are we to do you mean. Can you see me following a knight?" They both laughed.

"Yet, it is what you must do," said Carle. "Kirkes should be in Nantitet soon. Treteste will soon proclaim himself king and he would want his best knight nearby."

"I heard he was searching for Wynne."

"I hope she's dead. One less sorceress to worry about and she was young enough not to have taught anyone else her demonic skills. At least I hope so. It is so difficult to convince people to live righteously when there are practitioners of black magic wooing them away from us."

"I know what you mean. People want to be fooled by the ease of magic. They want to believe magic is good and helpful. Certainly, sorceresses like Wynne did good things, but it only allowed them freedom to enact their evil deeds, because people were in awe of the single positive accomplishment."

"They must be wiped out." Carle spoke more vehemently than he had intended.

"Such strong words," said Dellana. "Are you sure you are not the illegitimate son of Lord Daass?"

"Dellana! That kind of talk could cost you your life!" His rushed to the door to check for anyone just outside the library door.

"You are too serious, too intense. This assignment will ruin your health if you do not move slowly, thoughtfully, through the next few days."

"You sound as if you cared."

She looked at him, smiling. "Of course I care. But I move slowly, thoughtfully, as should you." He smiled back at her, finally.

Carle walked near the Baroness' rooms several times. His habit gained him passage to that end of the castle but he never saw the Baroness. His mind could not develop reasons to gain entrance to her chambers.

The second day he wandered near the Baroness's chambers he felt the guards' eyes upon him. He walked through the corridors several times without stopping and the guards were alert. He decided he couldn't risk being detained. He had no good reason to be there. He walked back to the main corridors.

Baroness Richela kept to her rooms when the Baron was in residence. He was elsewhere, and Richela did not care where as long as he did not return soon. For weeks at a time, she could be seen in the castle, cheerful, younger than her years, but when the Baron returned she would vanish. Her marriage started smoothly but the Baron quickly became moody, muttering about King Yeates and the throne. It became an obsession that drove them apart. She did not offer her bed to him anymore; he had to force her, and he did. She did not truly hate him yet, but the hate grew slowly. Only the sight of Sir Kirkes held back insanity. Her pulse would quicken at each stolen glance, each whispered endearment, but their time was short and infrequent. Still, it was there and she craved it.

From time to time, she would see someone from the Brotherhood of the Rose and she would feel ashamed of her longings. Several times, she thought to speak to one of them to confess her sins. However, she never did, until this morning.

She had reviewed the market, returning to the inner bailey, stopped suddenly, and turning around. A brother bumped into her from behind.

"Pardon me, Baroness. I am so clumsy."

"It matters not. Please, come with me. I wish for you to hear my confession." She spoke impulsively, not wishing to think about the consequences lest she turn coward again.

"I am not worthy," said Brother Carle.

"I will hold you to your oath of secrecy," said Richela. Her face was stern. "You are a shriven brother?"

"Yes, of course." He wondered how he could tell the Vizier that he was under oath not to speak of the Baroness's doings. A dangerous situation. He would have to talk to Dellana. However, he would have to hear the confession first.

She led him into her outer chambers. She offered a chair and wine; both he accepted gratefully. She sat across the room from him, watching. He imagined she could read his mind; he did not trust his voice.

"What does the Brotherhood of the Rose think of me?"

"I wouldn't know. I am merely a lowly brother."

"I see. You have no access to Lord Daass?"

"Not for myself. As I said, I am a minor figure in the Brotherhood."

"Well, then, what do the minor figures of the Brotherhood say?"

Carle shifted in his chair. "You are not merciful."

"No, I am not. I follow my husband's example; beast that he is. I want to know what people think of me; people who are not angling for personal gain. I know I do not show an example of the supportive wife. But I want to know more."

"There are rumors of a tryst," began Carle. The Baroness paled.

"These rumors, might they reach the Baron?"

"They might. They are widespread."

"Widespread? Everyone talks about it? I have exercised extreme care. How can this be possible?"

"People such as myself, Baroness. People of your station often dismiss servants, merchants, and clergy. But everyone has ears and eyes. Somewhere someone was in the wrong place and spoke of it."

"I see. There is no way to alter the situation?"

"None that I know of. Please be assured that most people are sympathetic with your ordeal and wish you only the best."

"Thank you, Brother Carle. That means a great deal. I am ready for confession now."

Later, Carle found himself wandering, full of the confession Daass dearly wanted but he was oath bound to keep to himself. He knew Dellana had rented a room in south Nantitet, near the estate of Sir Kirkes, who was still in the field. His return date was yet unknown, so Dellana waited, learning about the man from the people who lived near and worked for him.

Carle tried to breathe slowly, keeping his eyes in front of him. Each time he glanced right or left he seemed to find someone watching him, and then turning their eyes away abruptly. He told himself that they were more frightened of him, a brother of the Rose, and had guilt they could not face. Still, it was difficult to believe that Lord Daass did not have someone watching him, although he knew he had little importance in the Brotherhood.

He found the inn where Dellana lived and asked the innkeeper if she was home. One look at his habit brought courtesy from the innkeeper and directions to the room. He climbed two flights of stairs, knocking at the door indicated.

"Who is it?"

"Brother Carle."

The door opened quickly. Dellana's hair glistened as if she had washed it. Her tunic fit snugly, distracting Carle with the contours of her body. "Come in, come in. What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to someone, but it may endanger you."

"How?"

"I heard a confession today. The Baroness."

"Oh, I see." Her eyes searched his face. "And you don't know what to do with the information?"

"You are perceptive. That is exactly what the problem is."

"Lord Daass would want to know what you heard regardless if it was bound under confession or not."

"Yes, I know that! Tell me something I don't know. Am I a servant of Cothos, or of Lord Daass?"

"Sit down, dear one. I cannot answer that for you. It is a question for you alone."

"What would you do?"

"Careful. You might not want to know. I have hidden passions of my own."

"You do?"

She laughed. "I better rephrase that. You don't know if I favor Daass or not. I could give you an answer to influence your decision one way or another. I think it is wholly up to you and I will not give you my opinion."

"What will you give me?"

"Don't sound so hurt. Sometimes you are too trusting. You don't know me, Carle. You could make a mistake."

"Or I could be overwhelmed with happiness."

She laughed and hugged him. His lips sought hers but she pushed him away.

"Not yet. Not yet. We have much to do. I still have to seek out Sir Kirkes. We must find out all the facts before we act. And carefully. Garlac is watching us. He probably knows you had an audience with the Baroness." Carle's mouth dropped open and his shoulders sagged.

"My life is an error."

"Don't be so melancholy. Go home, sleep, and come back tomorrow. We shall have a picnic together."

"All right. I'll do that." He looked longingly at her as she closed the door.

Behind her, the closet opened.

"Interesting," said Garlac. "You two are more interesting than I had hoped."

"Leave, Garlac. You were allowed to listen. I shall do no more."

"Allowed to listen? Well, you hold yourself high, Dellana. Remember where you were when I found you."

"Shut up! Out! Or I will shout for the Guard."

"The Vizier of the Brotherhood of the Rose has no fear of common soldiers."

"I'll cry 'rape'! I am known here. You are the enemy. And I am still handy with a dirk."

"You have made your point. Remember, I am followed myself."

"What?"

"Daass has people following me. He trusts no one. Your actions must be discreet. The old bastard doesn't miss a trick."

"Out!"

"I'm leaving." He kissed her as he passed. She slapped at him; her hand caught by his. "Your spirit is one of the things I liked best about you when I met you. I still cherish it."

She slammed the door. She put her face in her hands; silently sobbing.

From time to time Kirkes found signs of her passing, continuing higher into the hill country. A stray footprint, bent grass, flecks of blood; and a piece of cloth snagged by a low bramble; Kirkes missed few signs. From the depression of her footprints he guessed she was injured in her escape from Stormridge. She moved much faster than he expected, refusing to stop until she reached her destination, wherever that might be. In hindsight, he wished he had set a faster pace; a thought voiced repeatedly, by Sir Crestan, a perpetual thorn in his side. They moved faster, but not too fast. They could not risk tiring their mounts. To the north, Trolls haunted the passes, waiting for travelers. Even mounted armored knights find the Trolls too much to handle, and they were but two knights.

"What's beyond these hills, Sir Kirkes?" asked Watty, one of the soldiers accompanying Kirkes. It was a party of six. Sir Kirkes, Sir Crestan, and their squires, Rocodt and Birate, respectively, plus Watty and Holder, two foot soldiers who often worked with Crestan, being familiar with his moods.

"It is the land of Tuors, but I have never seen one."

"Tuors?" asked Crestan. "Aren't they some kind of dwarf?"

"Short of stature, I believe they are human.," said Kirkes. "A rustic race, specializing in weaving. They keep to their own land, rarely venturing out; it's rare to see one in the three kingdoms. They let traders distribute their wares. I think I might have seen one once, but I am not sure."

"Childhood fantasy," said Crestan. He spat. "I have no time for pixies. A man must do men's work, not listen to nursery tales."

"Perhaps," said Kirkes. "Children seem to have a better grasp of life's mysteries than adults." Crestan snorted.

"Are we going there?" asked Watty. "Where the Tuors are?"

"If the sorceress goes that way, we will follow her," said Kirkes. "We must be cautious. I don't want the Tuors to think we are invading them. They are said to be quite adept with their bows."

"Who cares?" said Crestan. "Treteste is the power to worry about, not your Tuors. Little people cannot withstand knights. They will move out of our way."

"You seem to forget that Men are late comers to Anavar. Other races have been here for centuries. We are not as feared as you might think. Oh, Men are dangerous but so are the other races and if we aren't familiar with them then caution is warranted. Do not stumble your way into battle with an unknown opponent Crestan. Many mysteries in Anavar have not been revealed to Men. The other races understand this world more fully than we do."

"Well, it is time for them to bow to Men. I wish I had gotten my hands on that Daerlan at Stormridge."

"Do you think so?" laughed Kirkes. "Navir? You think you could have handled Navir? You are more ignorant than I thought. Yes, I too wish you had found him. Then we wouldn't be having this stupid conversation because you would be dead."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, Crestan. I would. You are a disgrace to knighthood. Your only conscience is gold. You have not earned your title. You only supported Treteste because he knighted you. And because you supported Treteste you were knighted."