Zandru's Forge (46 page)

At last, the winds subsided and the hard frozen nuggets gave way to softer flakes of white. The sky darkened, heralding an early dusk and plummeting overnight temperatures.

There was no returning to Nevarsin, not with the storm settling in. Nor could they camp along the road. They would have to make the best speed they could to reach a travel shelter before dark.

As the day wore on, snow began to fall steadily. Thick and wet, it soaked their woolen cloaks and packed the horses’ hooves, giving them slippery footing. The little convoy slowed even more. The men drew their hoods close around their faces. The horses lowered their heads, tails clamped against their rumps, and trudged on.

Carolin wondered if he were a fool to have set off so soon, but he could not see any other choice. He could not sprout wings and fly to Hali, nor could the land wait until spring for its new King. At Arilinn, he had heard of ancient techniques for bringing people physically through the relays. He thought the knowledge lost in the Ages of Chaos, as so much else had been. At any rate, it would not serve him now.

In a way, this delay was a blessing, a time to fully prepare himself for what lay ahead. He had been anticipating the day when he became King for so long, now that it was upon him, he realized the enormity of the responsibility. He had seen in his uncle how easily a King might wield injustice, in Rakhal, the temptations of ease, rich food, endless wine, and willing women, and in Lyondri, how the power to seize a man’s possessions or even his life could corrupt even an honest man.

I must never forget whose king I am.
The thought came to him that to rule a land was to be bound to it, to keep faith with the loyalty given him, to set aside personal self-interest.

So had he already sworn in his heart. At that moment, Carolin imagined that Aldones himself, Lord of Light and father to that very first Hastur whose name he himself bore, heard his oath. He saw himself kneeling before a figure so shimmering and brilliant, he could not look directly at it. Hands reached down and he placed his own between them, as vassal to lord.

No words were spoken, yet he felt his innermost secrets laid bare and measured in that pure radiance—his moments of petty temper, his disappointed hopes, his pride, but also his generosity, his courage, his love of honor. A silent promise arose from his depths,
As long as I breathe, I pledge to be a just lord and shield against all evil to my people.

The ritual words usually concluded, “The gods witness it, and the holy things at Hali.” Carolin needed no formal affirmation of his oath. As the vision faded, a warmth lingered on his brow like a token of benediction.

Late in the afternoon, they came upon a village, little more than an inn and a couple of barns with pole corrals in back. Smoke rose from the chimneys and lights shone from the windows.

“I don’t remember this place,” Carolin’s captain said.

“Nor I,” Carolin replied, reining his horse toward the friendly-looking lights. “Do you think we’ve been caught in a Ghost Wind and it’s really just a pile of rocks? Or even better, a banshee lair?”

Behind him, the men laughed, the tension of their journey broken.

“Vai dom,
we came through here on a fair day, with the beds of Nevarsin waiting for us. There could have been a dozen villages with dancing girls and roast rabbit-horns hanging from every branch, and we’d never have noticed.”

Carolin swung down from his horse. They went into the inn, a single common room with a staircase at the rear. The trestle table that occupied most of the floor was uneven and much-repaired. A battered pot hung above the fire and a woman bent over it, stirring. She wore so many layers of skirt and shawl that it was impossible to determine her size or age. Without looking up, she said, “They’ve all gone back—”

She lifted her head and broke off, seeing Carolin in the doorway. “Oh! My lords!”

“Forgive the intrusion, my good woman, but could you provide us with a hot meal?”

They crowded into the room, damp cloaks already steaming in the warmth. The woman bustled about, taking out wooden trenchers and cups from a cupboard, dishing out helpings of soup thick with boiled grain and root vegetables, and filling pottery pitchers with ale from a barrel. The food was plain, but needed salt. She’d probably learned her cooking at the Nevarsin guest house. The ale, however, was superb, tasting of sun and malted grain.

As they were finishing the meal, two men entered, stomping off the clinging snow. By the welcome the woman gave them, they were clearly her husband and brother. The husband served up another round of ale for everyone. He hovered about the table, talking affably. His wife disappeared out back to begin another batch of loaves.

Despite the warmth of fire and ale, Carolin could not shake a feeling of growing urgency. “How far is the next village?”

“Oh, half a day, be it a fair one, m‘lord. But you’ll not be wanting to travel on so late in the day. Here’s stout walls and a merry fire. Soon there will be my good wife’s hearth cakes. We’ve but two guest rooms, but there’s space to spread a cloak by the fire.”

The man’s arguments made sense, even if they were fueled by the thought of what all these services would cost. This late in the year, rich travelers must be few.

Carolin’s captain leaned over, pitching his voice low.
“Vai dom,
you cannot be thinking of going on tonight.”

“Be at ease, my friend. We will remain here and leave tomorrow with the first light.”

The men made pallets of their cloaks in the common room, even as the innkeeper had suggested. Carolin went upstairs to one of the guest chambers, his captain and senior aide to the other. The room was narrow, with a single small window, set high in the rough stone wall, and of such thick glass that no details could be seen through it. As he had expected, the bed was too short for his height.

It was a good thing he had his own thick cloak to add to the patched blankets, yet everything was clean and very neat. With such ale and housekeeping, as well as its situation on the principal road to Nevarsin, the inn should have been prosperous. Was the poverty due to some personal difficulty on the part of the innkeeper, or taxes raised ever higher to support soldier and Tower?

I must see if I can ask discreetly,
he thought as his body relaxed into sleep.
In the morning.

Carolin startled awake into a dim, hazy light. It was still night. Around him, the timbers of the house creaked and settled. He heard snoring from the other side of the thin interior wall. The fragments of his last dream dissolved around him, bits of sound and image. Someone had been calling to him—Varzil?

He focused his mind as he had been taught during that season at Arilinn so long ago. There was no answer, but he kept trying—listening....

His thoughts drifted to the tasks which lay before him. Tales had come to him of actions both good and evil, of Lyondri’s cadre of guards, of stones thrown in protest of taxes, of bribery and nepotism in the
cortes,
of harsh and trivial decisions by an increasingly senile King Felix. Over the last few years, he had been less and less able to influence his uncle, who had not wanted to listen to any hint of criticism or disagreement. Rakhal’s flattery was far more pleasing. So, Carolin had bided his time, doing what he could. All that would change.

Fine words, he knew, often crumbled in cold reality. At least, he would begin as best he could. He would gather advisers he could trust, men who would speak to him frankly and with no hidden purposes of their own.

A smile rose to his mouth. He would summon Varzil to Hali and together they would rebuild Neskaya, even as they had planned. It would be a symbol of a new age, a new hope for peace, a place where crown and Tower would lay down arms.

With that vision in his mind, he drifted back to sleep.

The next morning, the winds came up again, whipping the snow to a blinding flurry.

“We cannot travel in this,” the captain reported. He’d gone to the stables to look after the horses and had been almost blown off his feet. “We’d be lost before we went ten paces.”

Reluctantly, Carolin agreed. The night had left him with a sense of formless urgency. He told himself that Hali was safe in the hands of the Regents. The throne would wait for his return. He had no right to risk himself in a Hellers snowstorm. Meanwhile, the inn was snug and warm, and the landlord’s excellent ale flowed freely.

A full tenday later, Carolin and his party at last set out again. The air was very cold and clear. Ice had crusted over the snow, but the horses were fresh and eager. Their breath rose in puffs of white vapor. Their hooves broke through the brittle surface with crunching noises to the jingle of bridle rings and creak of saddle leather.

When the sun had come full up, light filled the valley. Behind them lay the peaks of Nevarsin. The road curved before them, passing fields and farms silent under a blanket of sparkling white. The day warmed slightly, enough to melt the ice. One of the men began singing, a traveler’s tune with a strong, driving rhythm. The others caught it up.

Carolin’s spirits rose. What a day it was to be alive! The wind of their passing burned his face and ran thrilling fingers through his hair.

He sensed the hoofbeats on the road ahead before any of them heard the sound. With a signal, he slowed his men to a walk. The unmarked snow on the road ahead muffled the noise, but within a few moments, there could be no doubt.

A single rider appeared, a dark shape against the whiteness of road and field.

The captain nudged his mount to the front, placing himself between Carolin and the rapidly-approaching rider. He slid his sword free.

Carolin started to tell him not to risk the truce of the road by rash action. Unease brushed the edges of his mind. His pulse leaped in his throat. His black mare pranced and pulled at the bit.

The horseman raced toward them, bent low at full gallop. Neither his colors nor any identifying emblem could be discerned.

“Hail there!” the captain shouted.

Carolin recognized the horseman, not from the man’s face but his seat in the saddle. Only one man he’d ever known rode like that. That tall, almost gaunt frame was unmistakable, even under the layers of flapping cloak.

“There’s no need for steel,” Carolin told his men, He released the reins and Longlegs surged forward. “Orain! By all the gods, what are you doing here?”

The rider pulled his horse to a halt and leapt to the ground.
“Vai dom!
I have not come too late!”

Carolin swung down from the saddle and caught Orain in a hard embrace. As his cheek touched the bare, unshaven skin of his friend, a jolt of emotion flashed through him.

He drew back. Something was terribly wrong.

“I have heard the news of my uncle’s passing, if that is what troubles you,” Carolin said. “You need not have driven a good horse so hard to tell me. As you see, I am already on my way to Caer Donn, where an aircar awaits me. And,” with a glance back at his guards, “I am well protected.”

“All of Hali was making ready to welcome you,” Orain stammered, his words tumbling together. “But Rakhal—he’s seized the throne!”

“Rakhal? There must be some mistake.”

“He claims that Felix named him heir on his deathbed, though Aldones only knows if that’s true. The Regents, Zandru curse them, dared not stand against him.”

Carolin scowled. The old king had grown weaker over the last few years. Many times, he held conversations with people long dead, mistook son for father, forgot where he was. He could easily have forgotten that the throne must by law and custom go to Carolin, the son of his eldest brother.

Orain shook his head. “You must not delay! Rakhal’s already had himself crowned! He claims you are unfit and has declared you traitor and your lady wife a spy. Even now, the men are on their way to arrest you!”