Yesterday's Kings (24 page)

A
MADIS HALTED THE TROOP
on Per Fendur’s order. The sun fell away to the west and a swelling moon rose into the blue velvet sky. It was poor tracking weather—the melting snow produced slush and mud that left the ground roiled with the tracks of animals, and all the surrounding trees dripped meltwater, so that the trails were indistinguishable. Amadis felt as miserable as his men. He longed to return to the keep, but he was under Fendur’s command, and the priest would have his prey. So the captain of Lord Bartram’s guard sat his horse and thought of his lord’s wife, and how soft was her bed and how firm her body, and of Fendur’s implied promises. He watched as the priest cast about, turning his mount slowly from one branching track to another, and for want of anything better to do called, “Steady, men! We wait on Per Fendur.”

The soldiers gave back no answer. Like Amadis, they were troubled by their journey into the Fey lands. And to make matters worse, they pursued a man they liked and respected. Indeed, Amadis wondered if they did not respect Laurens more than him, and could not understand why Laurens had done what he had. But … and it was a very large but … Laurens had chosen to side with the forester, Cullyn—who was of no account, save he consorted with the Durrym and consequently found disfavor in Per Fendur’s eyes.

Therefore, Amadis thought as he watched the priest study the ground and sniff the air, Laurens and the forester were proscribed, and he would side with Per Fendur and hope to become master of the keep, and somehow find himself in Lord Bartam’s place—lord of Border Castle and bed, both. He contemplated the prospect until a voice interrupted his musings.

“What?”

“Do we make camp?”

He glowered at Drak and rose taller in his saddle. “No. We’ve quarry to pursue, so we wait on—”

“This way.” Per Fendur swung astride his horse. “Come!”

Amadis waved for the disgruntled troop to follow.

E
BEN BENT OVER
L
AURENS
, examining the wounds and easing more of the blue liquid into the man’s mouth.

“At least three days,” he muttered, more to himself than Cullyn. “Then, perhaps …”

“Perhaps what?” Cullyn was confused and frightened and irritated. He understood that he and Laurens were pursued, but little of what Eben did, and he had sooner
quit the cottage to find refuge in the forest. Nor did he enjoy the wizard’s shifting humors.

“Before he’s well enough to travel,” Eben grunted. “Put him on a horse now and he’ll be dead, despite all my care.”

Cullyn felt fear overcome his other emotions; he did not want Laurens to die. “And so?”

“We wait and hope,” Eben said. “Hope that my fends distract the priest; hope that he and his soldiers do not somehow stumble on my home; hope that Laurens does not die.”

“And if not?”

“Then we might be safe. You and Laurens might not be put to the question. I might not be hung and burned for a Durrym wizard.” He settled wearily at the table. “The gods know, boy, but you delivered me trouble. I wonder if you’re not a syn’qui.”

“What’s that?” Cullyn asked.

“A Durrym word,” Eben replied. “It means a …” He shook his head angrily, as if he could not quite grasp the point, or understand it. “A confluence. It means … a person who gathers events to themselves, so that the world revolves around them, and others are swept along in the train of events.”

“
Me?
” Cullyn stared at the wizard.

Eben shrugged and said, “Perhaps. I wish you’d not come here. I was happy before you came.”

“And I was happy in my cottage,” Cullyn returned.

Eben laughed and rubbed his hands over his eyes. “The way of the world, no? We’re all happy until something happens to disturb it. Then … Oh, gods, boy, fetch me that flask and let’s have a drink while we decide what to do.”

Cullyn fetched down the flask and filled their cups.

“T
HIS WAY
!” Per Fendur beckoned the troop. “They went this way—I can smell them.”

Amadis urged his tired horse forward. His men came behind, weary and cold and thoroughly disgruntled. The sun was down now and the night chilly. The moon illuminated their way, casting long shadows over the mud and the glistening snow. They were all hungry and tired, and wanted nothing more than to halt, make a fire, and sleep. But Per Fendur took them onward until the moon was overhead, shining its cold silvery light over the grove where they finally made camp.

“We need to rest the horses and the men,” Amadis insisted. “Neither can go on much longer.”

“But we ride on come dawn,” Fendur decided. “The heretics are in sight now.”

They rose to a wet morning. A wind blew from the south, and it set the trees to dripping afresh, and muddied the trail anew. But Per Fendur led them keen as a scented hound toward their quarry.

Until …

He reined in his horse, glancing hither and yon.

“What’s amiss?” Amadis asked.

“Confusion!” Per Fendur swung his horse around, swung from the saddle, threw the reins to Amadis and knelt to sniff the sodden soil. “Fends!”

“Fends?” Amadis stared at the priest, amazed to see the man sniffing the ground like a dog in heat.

Fendur rose, and wiped his nose. “Aye, fends. They’ve a sorcerer aiding them, and he’s sent fends out to confuse us.”

“So what do we do?”

Per Fendur snarled like a rabid dog. “We must follow
every trail. The gods damn whoever did this! But I’ll find him and destroy him.”

“And meanwhile?” Amadis asked, thinking of the keep and Vanysse. “What shall we do?”

“Hunt.” Per Fendur indicated the tracks Eben’s animals had taken. They spread in numerous directions.

Amadis sent men dashing to north and south, east and west, chasing trails that went off into the forest and disappeared into dens and burrows, setts and dreys, trees, so that all came back with no report. Per Fendur grew angry.

“We shall lose them soon.”

Amadis glanced at the risen moon and wished he were back in the keep, in his mistress’s bed. The gods knew, that was more comfortable than this cold ground.

“We go on. We must find them.”

“Now?” Amadis stared at the priest and found the courage to dispute. “My men are weary; tired and cold and hungry.”

“But nonetheless they’ll go on. On my command.”

Amadis shrugged and turned his eyes from Per Fendur’s gaze, and called his reluctant men to their saddles.

“W
E NEED TO BUY TIME
,” Eben said. “The fends will have confused him for a while, but even so …”

He picked animals from his stacked books, opening one and another, studying pages, sweeping more protesting beasts from shelves as he took down parchments and leather-bound tomes. Cullyn wondered that so many tracts existed even as Eben glanced at the pages and muttered to himself as he read.

“Not enough!” he told himself and looked to Cullyn.
“Not enough! We must do more. I must do more. You don’t understand, do you?”

Cullyn shook his head.

Eben turned more pages; unscrolled aged parchments; shook out the droppings of animals. Paper crackled as he unrolled it, like old, dried flesh unwilling to give up its secrets. He studied each parchment and manuscript and book and threw them aside in a great confusion of movement and fluttering pages that set the animals still about the cottage to stirring nervously.

Then, “I have it,” he declared. “At least, I hope I do. Come!”

Cullyn followed the man to the stable. Eben carried twigs and herbs, and Cullyn wondered what he did—what they did. But Eben urged him to mount Fey, so he did. They went out into the night.

Fey was eager to run, but Eben went afoot and so Cullyn must hold the stallion to a slow pace as Eben waved his branches and chanted, and they rode in what seemed to Cullyn circles until dawn. Then they returned to the cottage.

Cullyn could not understand how so old a man could run so long, but Eben seemed untired.

“I think,” he said when they returned, “that I might have confused the priest long enough.”

“So we’re safe?”

“For a while. Hopefully long enough for Laurens to ride again.”

“And then what?” Cullyn asked.

“If we remain here,” Eben chuckled cynically, “then sooner or later he finds you and Laurens—and me. So we’d best hope Laurens recovers, and we see him safe.”

“We?” Cullyn asked.

“It would seem that my lot is thrown with yours,” Eben replied. “Not my choice, boy. But you brought this
to me, so I’ve little other choice than to face the Church. And damn you for that!”

“I sought none of this,” Cullyn protested. “I only did what Laurens asked, bringing him here.”

“Even so,” Eben said.

“So what do we do?” Cullyn asked again.

“Wait and hope that Laurens is well enough to ride before the priest finds us.”

“And then?”

“We go where he can’t—at least, not without difficulty.”

“Where?”

Eben stared at him with a gaze that proclaimed him an idiot. “Why did you start all this? Was Abra somewhat to do with it?”

Cullyn nodded.

“And she’s gone into Coim’na Drhu with Lofantyl?” Cullyn nodded again.

“Then,” Eben said, “I suppose we must go after her.”

T
HEY HAD RIDDEN HARD
, anxious of pursuit until they crossed the Alagordar, then eased the pace once the river was crossed. Even so Abra was wearied by the journey, and confused by the strange land they entered. It was simultaneously like and unlike Kandar: woodland and meadows, streams and rivers traversing the undulating landscape, save Kandar was winter-gripped and this place—this fey land—basked in lazy autumn, and more. There were trees she did not recognize, and weirdling beasts that roamed the forest. Birds far brighter than any she had seen before mingled with such ordinary avians as she did recognize.

She was both excited and afraid. Lofantyl assured her all was well and no harm should come to her, but Afranydyr frightened her. He seemed to her a dour man, who wished her no good, and since the rescue he had be
come even grimmer, hardly speaking to her at all—and then only in terms of hard courtesy. But Lofantyl joked with her and promised her ease and comfort once they reached his father’s hall, and she could not help loving him.