Madia came through the door shaking the brisk chill of the late April afternoon from between her shoulders. She spotted Hoke halfway across the room doing his fast hobble, getting to one of the tables. He stood and began pouring from a tall earthenware flagon, filling tankards with ale. Three young men, flashy travelers apparently just off the road, took up the mugs and drank deeply.
Hoke seemed to linger a moment, considering them more closely now, as Madia then did. She saw the clouded, brooding look of a November day in their nervous eyes, and too many lines on their young faces. Highborn, one might think, taking them at a glance, since they were dressed as noblemen: fine boots, white shirts, short tunics of leather and fur, and unusually fine swords and scabbards dangling to their heels, with hilts carved in rare detail, imported workmanship from the ports of Neleva. But there was nothing so noble in their deportment or their faces, or their speech—which was clearly audible above the subtle voices of the inn's other patrons.
They had not been men of such means for long, Madia decided, though they may well have come upon such men quite recently, from behind. . . .
The spring market fair was to begin the day after tomorrow, and already Kern had begun to fill with all manner of folk. Soldiers were on hand in unusual numbers, along with a few visiting men-at-arms, and merchants and pilgrims from Vardale and Thorun, Jasnok and Bouren, and even parts of Ikaydin were growing plentiful. But no amount of troops could guarantee a traveler's safety.
The roads were filled with hazards these days, with so many citizens—lords and freemen, peasants and beggars alike—falling on hard times under the weight of new taxes and the conscription of sons and husbands. The number of bandits had increased dramatically. Perilous times for all, Madia knew—and even the most perilous of folk were known to take ale like everybody else.
Madia saw the look in Hoke's eye—acute, restless. He stepped back cautiously, still watching the three, with no awareness of the rest of the room; Madia didn't think he'd seen her enter. Though he may have, she thought after that. If he was concerned there might be trouble, he would purposely avoid drawing attention to me. . . .
One of the travelers, the tallest one, wearing long hair and a painted leather hat, stood up suddenly and took off the hat, then used it in a motion directed at Keara, who had the misfortune to be passing nearby at that moment. When she didn't slow, the man tossed his hat at her. When this finally caught her attention, he stepped forward and reached out, grabbing Keara's arm.
"Surely you have a moment to talk," the man said. His two companions grinned as they looked on, both of them examining his catch. Then one of them, the shorter, stockier man, stood up in support of his friend. He seemed to eye the coins on Keara's tray.
"No, thank you," Keara said, bowing her head, forcing a smile. She tried to move away, but the hand held firm. The shorter man moved around to block her intended path, chuckling to the others. Madia recalled the two men who had greeted her outside the inn half a year ago; the same sort of men or worse, she thought, though now some things had changed. She touched her palm to the hilt of the long sword Hoke had given her, felt the now familiar shape as she slowly wrapped her hand around it. She watched Hoke step forward.
"Right!" Hoke shouted. "That'll be enough of that. Let the lady be. You go on to your tasks," he told Keara. The third man, stout in a brutelike manner, wearing a full beard and grayish cloak, abruptly rose and pulled out his sword, and pointed the tip in Hoke's direction.
"She's your daughter, then?" he asked, grinning with a mouthful of darkened teeth. Hoke made no sound. "Or maybe your wife?" the man prodded. He sidled away from the table, extending the sword to within an easy thrust of Hoke's chest. After a moment he drew back slightly, grinned again. He leaned over without looking and picked his tankard up off the table with his free hand.
"If she's not, then she's not worth dyin' for, is she? So you'd be wise just to keep your say and be about your own tasks. We'll give 'er back." He drank back briefly then set the tankard down, but he kept his eyes on Hoke.
"Let me be," Keara said, neither fear nor daring in her tone. "Do as the innkeeper says."
"She works for me," Hoke explained, controlling his voice, at least temporarily, Madia thought. Patience had long been one of Hoke's hallmark qualities, though he did not possess it in endless abundance. During the long winter months, Hoke had shown her many things, how to fight, and when, but also he had helped her to hone her knowledge of the hearts of men, and to read more in the messages people constantly delivered in a hundred different ways. Such men as these saw only something for themselves in the lives of others. Madia held no hope of a peaceful end to this.
The short one glanced about, surveying the inn, people standing still or sitting motionless at their tables. He seemed to find nothing to cause him worry. He turned back to the others. "Sure she works for you, when she's done workin' for us," he said, cackling in self-amusement.
"No, that won't do," Hoke said.
One of the men mumbled something, then all of them laughed. The man pointing his blade at Hoke and bore forward again. "You don't feel like livin', do you innkeeper?" he said. "Maybe another bad leg could change your tone?" He waved the blade toward Hoke's feet, then pressed it into the white linen of Hoke's blouse.
"That threat doesn't work on him," Keara said. "I've tried it."
Madia began to move slowly, quietly, just a bit at a time. No one else in the room was moving at all, and she knew how conspicuous that made her. The three strangers hadn't been here long, hadn't had much to drink yet, so they were as sharp as such types could get at the moment.
She slid around one table and between two others as all three men concentrated on Hoke, who was making dark faces, switching his attention between the three. Keara found Madia with her eyes and stared at her in silent earnest. Madia gently nodded to her, exchanging messages. Keara took a breath, then turned to the man still holding her and giggled just audibly.
All four men looked at her.
"Well, maybe I would not mind a day off," she said, leaning toward the ringleader, putting her free hand gently on the arm that held her captive. She turned then, moving around so that her back was to Hoke. She leaned her head to one side and favored the shorter man with a remarkably wanton look—a look Madia had a sudden, deep respect for.
"Maybe these bold young men are . . . rather welcome." Keara kept smiling.
The Greater Gods bless you, Keara, Madia thought, inching forward again. She looked to Hoke and watched until his eyes flashed toward hers for a brief instant. He cleared his throat loudly, then slowly put up his hands, palms face out.
"Wonderful," Hoke said. "You see, there is no need for argument after all. Perhaps we have solved this simply. In fact, I have good reason to wish that no blood be spilled here this night."
"And what reason is that?" the bearded man asked.
Madia, close as she was likely to get, drew her sword and leaped. She swung the blade high, then brought it down and across, following her momentum, cutting deep into the short man's side and belly. The bearded man turned just slightly at the commotion. Hoke took the opportunity to step back and kick with his stiff leg, more club than leg anyway. His boot caught the man's extended arm and the sword came loose, hitting the wall, then clanging on the inn's floor. Hoke fell to his knees and snatched it up.
The bearded man pulled a dagger from his waist and held it out as he began to back away from Hoke. Keara let her legs fail, and sank to the floor.
Rather than be dragged down with her, the taller man let go. Madia jumped over Keara's limp body and met his sword with hers as he tried to defend himself. She could see the sudden fear in his eyes, the awkward way he handled the weapon. She parried twice, then drove her blade into his upper ribs, forcing him backward. She let go, letting him take her sword with him. His eyes lost focus as he fell to his side on the floor, gasping, blood foaming at his chest as air escaped from the wound.
Madia stood back from the body and looked up—in time to see the bearded man's head snapping back and forth, panic in his eyes as he faced off against Hoke. Abruptly Hoke picked up the flagon of ale beside him and threw it at the man, then he followed with a swift cut to one upper thigh as his opponent raised his arms to fend the tankard off. The man howled and went down in a jumble of flailing arms and ale and spurting blood.
Hoke jerked forward and thrust the sword into the downed man's back as he tried to roll away, then he withdrew the sword. Madia leaned and pulled her blade free as well. The bearded man, wheezing, bleeding heavily, flopped over and curled up on his side.
"The reason is," Hoke said, answering the man's question, "I hate to have to clean it up." The other man's eyes rolled up and he was still.
Hoke walked around the table and helped Madia get Keara up and sitting in a chair. He comforted her as he did, congratulating her at the same time, and she thanked him.
"You are welcome," Madia said to the both of them, just loud enough.
"Oh, and thank you," Keara said to her. Hoke looked at Madia, saying nothing. Then he glanced about the room. People were gathered in clumps, looking on from the corners. He looked down again, eyeing the bodies. Blood seemed to ooze everywhere. "We'll need a mop," he muttered.
Keara turned to the table and dragged all three flagons near, then lifted one and downed the better part of its contents. She looked up, wide-eyed. "And another flagon of ale," she said. She bent down and picked up a second flagon, then started to drink it. Madia smiled at her, then at Hoke. "I'll get it," she said. Hoke shrugged, then sat down to join them.
"There'll be more trouble before the fair is through," Hoke remarked, taking a seat at an empty table, one of many. "Pity. Dead customers have a way of spoiling the appetite. We will need to stay close to the inn for the next few days."
Madia sat down with a sigh across from him. "We've been cooped up inside for months," she complained. "The weather grows warmer by the day. I was looking forward to meeting travelers, listening to their tales, hearing more news of Kamrit."
"And buying the merchant's wares," Hoke added, smiling.
"Perhaps a thing or two."
"You will find that most travelers and news come to us at day's end, and after enough ale, they will tell you or sell you anything you like."
"They bring mostly trouble," Madia said, making a face, holding up one foot, and on it a shoe still wet from mopping the bloodied floors.
"Don't worry about any of it," Hoke chuckled. "I've made arrangements with some friends in the town, good with a sword. We'll have help on hand the next few days, enough so you and I can enjoy an afternoon or two of freedom."
Madia nodded, felt her heart buoyed somewhat; she missed the stories and songs and tricks the many minstrels and jongleurs had brought to her father's castle. She missed a great many things, in fact. More all the time. . . .
"Tomorrow?" she asked, the way she always asked Hoke for permission, even though, by right of her heritage, his first duty should have required him to do her slightest bidding. There was a time Madia would have sought only a way to conquer a man like Hoke, a conquest of the spirit, of position, but in truth she had never known any man quite like him—or she had never realized that she had.
"Tomorrow, I think. I'll send Keara home shortly, and we'll close up a little early tonight. Start fresh in the morning. I may even go out with you."
"Good!" Madia said. "I have the feeling tomorrow is going to be a most wonderful day."
"You just hope it's better than tonight," Hoke grumbled.
"Yes," Madia sang, "I will."
They strolled the square, picking out trinkets and clothing, wares for the inn, metal tools, a blown glass statue, and spices and fragrances that tinged the air, blending with the blooming fragrance of spring fields and the rich aroma of too many horses in town. Hoke nearly bought a strange sword made by the desert tribes far to the south, a large gleaming weapon, its blade curved like a quarter moon. But the price was too high, and he said it felt wrong, the weight too great on the end. Madia tested it herself, wielding it conservatively in the air.
Just then two figures came up behind Hoke, men-at-arms from Kamrit Castle dressed in light armor and leather and mail. They each slapped Hoke on the back, then called him by a number of titles that were neither kind nor true, though their faces held no anger.
"Still living, the both of you!" Hoke exclaimed, grinning as he did. "By the Greater Gods!" He shook hands with each, former comrades-in-arms, Madia thought, then she realized that they might know her as well. She stepped away, fading to the edge of the booth, and kept her face turned away. Hoke took each soldier by an arm and began hauling them off toward the inn, away from Madia. He never looked back. She decided he had thought the same as she.
Madia waited until they had gone, then tried the great curved sword once more before handing it back to the merchant with a shake of her head.
"Perhaps a gift for someone," the merchant suggested.
"No, no," she told him.
"It is nearly as big as you are," another voice said just behind her. She turned and found a very tall, very fat man standing before her wrapped in two brightly colored tunics and carrying an intricately carved walking staff, roughly half his height, made of a dark wood. He wore a soft silk hat that covered the top of one ear, and a most arrogant smile. His eyes were dark and unreadable, but full of energy.
"Though she handles it well," said someone else, a more feminine voice. Now Madia saw the three figures behind the first, a man and a woman, both very tall and muscular, both with straight black hair and clean faces, and skin the color of tea; they wore thick cloth tunics under reinforced leather armor, and each one was armed with strange bladed weapons that were lashed to one arm from just below the elbow.
The third was another man, younger and somewhat shorter than the first two, and certainly of less sturdy stock, though equally well armed. He had lighter skin, long wavy hair and a bushy beard light in color, and there was something about him that Madia found . . . familiar. She looked at him more closely, but the answer didn't come.
Then she noticed the way he was looking at her, as if she had something horrible on the end of her nose, as if he were looking at a ghost. . . .
He knows me, she thought, or we know each other, perhaps. Though anyone who had visited Kamrit in recent years would likely recognize her face, and she had met so many young men. He seemed to change moods then, and he looked away.
The three stood calmly, quietly, surveying the booths and the crowds, not one of the three ever looking in the same direction at the same time. Madia had never seen their like before. She couldn't take her eyes off of them.
"Thank you," she said. "But I prefer my own." She put her palm on the hilt of the long sword Hoke had given her, then looked sidelong at the plump giant before her. "You know much of swordsmanship?"
"Ah, well," the first man said, nodding to her, "only what I see. I leave matters of weapons to my Subartans." He indicated his companions. "When I am pressed to fight, I usually prefer to turn my opponents into something less threatening—cowards, for instance, or cowards with no swords!" He chuckled at that, for just an instant.
Madia shook her head, deliberating. A sorcerer of some sort, of course, and a brazen one at that, up to promoting himself at the first chance. Her father had kept a wizard or two through the years, most of them better at boasting and gimmickry than they were at spelling a man's courage or sword away. Still, some wizards were men were to be reckoned with. And certainly the three warriors with this one were.
"What sort of weapons are those?" Madia asked, still eyeing the blades each of the warriors wore. She noticed now that each of the blades were serrated on one side and gleamingly honed on the other, a weapon that could no doubt be used to rip anything from silk to saplings. She looked at the wizard again and realized that he was still watching her.
"Subarta, of course," the largest Subartan replied.
"You seem to like my friends," Frost said.
Madia realized she was staring and tried to compose herself. "Where did you find them?" she asked.
"Here and there. Do you have a name, girl?"
"Do you?" Madia countered, raising an eyebrow.
"Frost," the wizard said. "Now, you will tell me yours."
He reached out suddenly, put both his hands on the sides of Madia's head, and closed his eyes. Madia raised her hands to stop him, but found the three Subartans gathering closely around her, looking at her with cold, steady eyes. She froze exactly as she was, hands open and raised halfway. She looked at Frost, at his eyes, still closed, then jerked as he opened them suddenly wide. Madia felt a slight tingle run across her scalp as he let go.
"Madia? Named after the princess of Kamrit, I see. A questionable honor, I would say."
"She looks rather a little like her, too," the youngest Subartan said now, grimacing quite strangely. "Though, what in the name of Hual would the Princess Madia be doing here?" He leaned towards her, eyes growing narrow. "One might think the daughter of Kelren Andarys would be at Kamrit, mourning her father's passing and seeing to the affairs of Ariman. Though, from what is known of her, she well might be hiding instead in just such a place as this."
Madia winced, then shook her head, trying to cover up. He was a devil, this fellow, and he was making her extremely nervous, and a little ill. But the voice, like the eyes, was indeed familiar. She almost had him placed, almost. . . .
"Have you nothing to say to that?" Frost asked, breaking her thoughts. Frost was quick to act and to gather information, and he had some talent, certainly. Madia smiled at him, then at all three warriors now standing at ease around her. These were quite possibly the most interesting people she had met since leaving Kamrit Castle, though she wasn't at all sure whether that was a good thing.
Before anything else was said, a small troll of a man wandered up, drawing everyone's attention. He was unkempt and unbathed, with a full winter's hair and whiskers grown all about his head, and he wore layered tunics instead of a coat. He nearly passed between Madia and Frost, but just as he reached them, he glanced up, then down again, and went round, past the booth, eyeing the weapons displayed on the wide boards that ran across the front. He lingered there, apparently interested in a stunning cinquedea dagger.
Madia had seen too many men of this sort—large and small alike—traipse in and out of Kern these past few weeks. They reminded her of the peasant villagers she had stayed with, of a life she had nearly been sentenced to. The merchant came over and spoke to the little man, who in turn shook his head and waved him off. No money, and no prospects to acquire any, Madia thought. Only big eyes.
"You have not told me where you come from," she said to the sorcerer, growing curious about it.
"Neither have you," the youngest Subartan said to her. "I would be most interested in hearing that."
"Many lands, many times," Frost said in answer. "Recently, Ikaydin, and before that the Lagareth province beyond the Spartooth mountains. But many years ago, I walked these very hills."
"How far have you traveled?" Madia said, feeling her pulse quicken, letting her mind fill with images of exotic places described to her by minstrels and bards since childhood.
"There is a country to the south," Frost said, "beyond the Kaya deserts, called Breshta, where I—"
"I have heard of it!" Madia said, enamored of the chance to talk of such places again, their people and their ways, to imagine visiting them one day when she was . . . older.
"You have heard of Breshta?" Jaffic asked now, much too craftily for her tastes. I do know him, she thought, certain now, from Kamrit. He reminds me of—
No, she thought, that could not be. She found Frost eyeing her with a puzzled look, an ill-fitting look for him, somehow. The wizard intrigued her at least as much as the young Subartan bothered her, but she wasn't willing to trade one for the other.
"Well, yes, a tale or two, as told to me," she answered the Subartan, though the teller of the stories she remembered had in fact been a diviner of some sort in her father's court, and much of what he had said remained in doubt; he had described it all admittedly secondhand.
"And where would a young lady of Kern hear such things?" Frost inquired.
"From a wizard, like yourself, passing through the inn."
Frost glanced up the street at the big inn and nodded. "I see. And would you know if there might be a room there? We will need quarters for tonight. We can pay any price."
"There may be," Madia said, smiling coyly. "For a fair price, and a promise of stories from your travels."
"Good enough," Frost said, then he looked about, considering other nearby booths. "For now, I wish to do a bit more browsing. Can you go and tell the innkeeper?"
"I'll tell him when we get there. I would like to browse along with you, if you don't mind."
She didn't really make it a question. Frost found her with one discerning eye. "I see. I am being held captive."
"Something like that."
"Very well," Frost said, hiking a large leather pouch off the ground and over his shoulder, turning to go on. "You can tell me what other places passing wizards have told you of, so that I do not bore you with old news."
"Bore me," Madia said, and started after him. "Please."
She glanced at the youngest Subartan as they walked. He looked away as she did. No, she thought again, it couldn't be. . . .
They paused three booths away and Frost, setting his pouch back down, began sniffing at the table's many jars, asking the spice merchant about the contents of some, in particular a cluster of painted white pots. Madia noticed the little troll-like man again, at first standing almost beside her, then moving around between herself and Frost, eyes twitching in his head. A sudden commotion stole her attention.
She looked behind her to find a half dozen soldiers coming toward them at a jog. She didn't recognize any of them, but that didn't mean they might not recognize her. Mercenaries, certainly, as many in Lord Ferris' new army seemed to be, at least the men that had passed through Kern. Still, that didn't mean they hadn't been informed of her presence here by someone who knew her—possibly by the men with Hoke, in fact.
It was too late to go anywhere. She stood tense but still, casting about for possible escape routes.
"Stop, thief!" one of the soldiers began yelling, the sergeant. Madia realized they were not looking at her but past her. She turned and saw the little man glancing hastily over his shoulder, his body dancing erratically in place. The soldiers pushed Madia out of the way, then went around Frost's much larger bulk, eyeing the Subartans as they passed. They grabbed the little man by the arm and held him. Then a merchant arrived just behind them, the armorer, red faced and pointing a finger accusingly—at the little man, and at Frost as well.
"It's one of them!" he shouted, panting through gritted teeth. "Search them both!"
The Subartans came quickly forward, forming a shallow triangle with the large male Subartan directly in front of Frost, the young one to the right, the woman left, a defensive posture, Madia noted. Frost stood back against the spice booth, barely managing a thin smile.
"I am sure you'll want to search this other fellow first," Frost said. "He likely has what you seek."
"Dead men are easily searched," the sergeant snarled, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword. He seemed to size the situation up, then nodded toward their short, shaking prisoner. Two of the men searched him perfunctorily but found nothing.
"Now, you, step away from the booth," the sergeant asked of Frost. The Subartans closed ranks. All six soldiers drew their swords.
"You'll join the dead, then," the sergeant said, "but to what end? What have you to hide?"
"Nothing," Frost said. "But I will not be searched, nor will I let you plunder my things." He bent down and picked up his sack. The cinquedea dagger lay on the ground just behind it.
"Get him!" the sergeant shouted. The soldiers moved in quickly. The Subartans suddenly exploded forward. Madia jumped back, trying to get out of the way. She glanced at Frost, who had put his things back down and closed his eyes, apparently lost in concentration, and apparently certain he had little to fear. She turned to the Subartans again and watched them cut three of the soldiers to pieces almost immediately, leaving torn and bloodied bodies, mortal wounds all. They parried with the rest, but already another group of soldiers, nine or ten in all, was approaching from the east end of the square. They joined in the fight and drove the Subartans back.
Madia fell back again as well. Four more men lay on the ground by the time she came to rest. Then the bearded young Subartan lurched to one side. He dropped low and came up again, one blade caught in the ribs of a soldier who had been trying to get around behind him. Three of the other men saw their chance and lunged.
The Subartan tore his weapon free and struck as the first sword slashed his leg. He cut off the attacker's hand with a single pass, but another blade had already found his left side exposed. He feinted to his right and pulled himself free. Blood ran from both his wounds as he repositioned himself, crouched nearly on his knees, parrying more blows from the two remaining soldiers. They moved too quickly, forcing their way closer, trying to finish their downed opponent from two sides. Madia took her long sword in her hand and ran into the fray.
She cut the nearest soldier down, striking through one side of his back, then pulling away. She moved forward again and saw the third man turn. Finding his eyes with hers, she looked high, then swung low, a simple deceptive move Hoke had taught her. An effective move, she found, as the soldier screamed and collapsed on his half-severed leg. She swung again unopposed.
When she looked around, she found the other two Subartans still engaged, standing on the bodies of dead men now as they fought the last five able soldiers. She took the man nearest to her. He noticed her approach and turned to face her, his look one of mild surprise. Madia had seen such looks before, the first reaction of a man finding himself opposed by a young girl. Then he swung almost absently, raking the air with his sword, apparently intending a quick, easy solution to the problem. She used his moment of misjudgment to dodge and thrust, and found a solid target. She withdrew and moved toward the next man.
There were only three soldiers left now, but even as she took stock of them, she could see that they were changing, their bodies beginning to glow with a satiny white corona. Their skin began to wrinkle as their eyes glazed over, their postures shrank slightly and arched forward, their hair turned a pure white, then fell to their shoulders. Rosivok and Sharryl stood back, watching as the three men dropped their swords and lowered themselves voluntarily to the ground, breath heaving in and out of their chests, fear and exhaustion on their faces. Their arms lay at their sides as if there remained no strength to lift them anymore.
Madia looked at Frost, whose eyes were open again. The young Subartan lay a few feet from him, unmoving.
She started toward him, but Frost was there first, bending and putting his hands on the young man's head, much as he had done to her. In a moment he stood again and turned to the remaining two Subartans. He shook his head slowly, side to side.
Madia looked at the other two, saw them each nod, no apparent emotion on their faces, though their eyes barely moved from the still body. Frost had lost the smirk Madia had believed was engraved on his features. In its place was a languid, empty look, an apology of sorts, Madia thought, meant for the others.
"We should get off the streets," the male Subartan said after a moment. "Before more of them come." He waved his blades at the bodies strewn all around them.
Madia looked across the square. There were but two other men about in any form of armor, but their surcoats bore the crest of Jasnok; no one was moving in their direction.
"I think we've killed every soldier in Kern," she said.
"There will be more," Frost said, turning to her, a subtle, yet surely unfavorable look.
"Yes, but perhaps not for a day or two," Madia replied. "I will have your friend's body taken from the square."
"You were a fine warrior, Jaffic," the male Subartan said, and Madia knew that it was true: Jaffic had been her cousin's name, Jaffic Andarys, Duke of Kamrit. He had changed so much in the years since he had left the castle, but behind the tanned and hardened skin, the remarkably improved body, the thick beard and long hair, behind all that, she could see it was him. They had never been close, and it had been so long, but the loss still gripped her now, a solid thing that lay in her belly and squeezed at her chest.
Jaffic had finally come home.
The street was growing busy now, people beginning to crowd in again, gawking, talking among themselves. Madia looked at their faces, found them looking back at hers. And it occurred to her just how public this whole unfortunate event had been.
"You must think of yourselves," she said, swallowing dryly. "You'll still need a room for tonight. You must come with me."
She went a few steps, then turned, waiting, looking sternly at Frost. In a moment he nodded. He picked up his bag again, then the dagger beside it. He handed the dagger to the armorer, scowling deeply. The little man who had taken it was nowhere in sight.
"I would sell this quickly," Frost told the merchant. He waved a hand at the lifeless soldiers. "As you can see, it is very bad luck!"
Madia stepped through the door and found Hoke seated at a table just inside, still joined by the two knights he had met in the square. The three of them looked up, staring at Madia as she stared back. They eyed Hoke briefly, then stood and bowed at the waist. "Princess," the one on the left, the older of the two, said. "We are at your service."
"It is all right," Hoke said. He looked at Madia's three companions, then glanced quickly around. There were fewer than a dozen other patrons in the room, a mix of townspeople and travelers, but some were beginning to take notice. "Come," he said. He got up, indicating a table near the back wall. "We'll talk over there."
As they made their way to the table Madia noticed Frost looking at her as if she had stolen his purse. She let it wait until they wre in the back of the room, then Hoke asked loudly, "Who are they?"
"A wizard from beyond the Spartooth mountains, and what remains of his guard. His name is Frost."
"My Subartans," Frost said. "Rosivok and Sharryl."
"One of them was killed," Madia said. "There was a fight. I—I became involved."
"Of course," Hoke remarked, frowning at her.
"There is more," she said. "The Subartan who died was someone I knew, and you as well, I think. Jaffic Andarys, my cousin."
"The long lost nephew?" Hoke asked her, obviously surprised, though not apparently devastated.
"The same."
"I knew him," Hoke went on. "A wild boy, when I saw him last, though he played your father like a lute when he desired. No more comfortable than you were with the prospect of royal responsibility. He left without blessings, to find adventure, though it seems he may have found too much. And left Ariman with one less heir, as well." He looked straight at Madia with this last remark, a look of accusation.
"I had no idea," Frost remarked. "He came to me when news of my need for a third Subartan reached him. And he was working out very well. It seems his loss is a loss to many."
"Who's employ are you under?" Hoke asked Frost.
"No one's," Frost replied. But he was still looking at Madia, another look that seemed to hold an air of accusation as Madia studied it. And then it made sense to her. But she hadn't lied to him, simply allowed him to assume she was named after the princess, and wisely, she thought. There had been no need for him to know the truth, and no reason for her to trust him or his Subartans in the least. And her own cousin had kept a truth from her, after all. Frost could have been in league with the Lord Ferris, or worse—though, if he was, the bodies outside would likely strain their relationship.
She looked about and noticed no one was talking.
"Perhaps we should start over," Frost advised.
They pulled seven chairs about and sat down, and Hoke finished the introductions, including the two knights, Sirs Olan and Delyav, then Madia told the others what had happened outside. Silence fell once more.
"I have heard of your death," Frost told Madia, after a moment. "You fight well for a ghost."
"And I have heard of you," Hoke said to Frost. "They say a man can never know whether to trust you or fear you."
"What more can I ask?" Frost said, chuckling. "Other than to hope he might smile while he opens his purse!"
Hoke frowned. "I see."
"Your troubles outside were most unfortunate," Delyav said, looking at his hands. "Olan and I may have to explain why we were not killed along with those others."
"You knew nothing of it," Hoke replied. "You were here with me!"
"Drinking at an inn might not be reason enough. We should be about arresting all of you right now."
"Unless of course Lord Ferris never learns we were here," Olan said. "Though it is unlikely."
"There are few in Kern, or elsewhere in Ariman, who feel a bond with Andarys' apparent successor," Hoke replied. "Word will be slow to travel, and details can be missed, at my urging."
"And then what of you two?" Madia asked, still watching the two soldiers.
"They knew Kelren well," Hoke said. "Olan fought at my side many times, and Delyav a few as well. Unlike that lot rotting outside, they can be trusted. They believe, as I do, that the king's death, like your own, was planned, and that the grand chamberlain cannot be trusted. They have news of Kamrit, and I think you should hear it."
"First, Frost and his friends need a room," Madia told Hoke. "And the body of Jaffic needs to be taken care of. Quickly. Perhaps we could see to it."
"Of course," Hoke said.
"Thank you," Rosivok said in a low voice. Hoke gave him quiet acknowledgment. Then he excused himself, rose and went to the other side of the room where a boy was bent over an empty table, scraping at dried food with a dull knife. He spoke to the boy, who then nodded and disappeared out the door.
"I am traveling to Neleva," Frost said as Hoke rejoined them. "But of course I must pass through Kamrit. I too would like to hear what these men have to say."
"Lord Ferris is consolidating his control," Delyav began. "He will proclaim himself king before long; no one doubts this. All Ariman believes you are dead, and they have all but forgotten poor Jaffic."
"Lord Ferris is not the man your father was," Olan said. "He is strange, especially lately, and troubling to be around. He seems taken with himself and easily agitated. He metes out justice without mercy, with no compassion for any man, an insult to your grandfather's legacy, and your father's. He finds favor only with the rich merchants who frequent his chambers, men eager to help him finance his new army in return for trading preferences in the new order Lord Ferris seeks to forge."
"And what order is that?" Madia asked.
"Most of us, those still loyal to your father's ideals, believe he intends to expand Ariman's control over the entire region, from the Ikaydin Plateau to Glister, by force if necessary," Olan answered. "An army such as the one he is building can only be used for conquest. He may have plans for Ikaydin, too."
"He is too ambitious," Delyav said. "He seems to have no conscience for the hardships his tolls and taxes have already caused."
"No one protests?" Frost asked. "Are there no land barons willing to see Andarys' vision through, no men of justice?"
"There were," Olan replied, "but some of those most opposed to Ferris' conduct have been accused of crimes and put in prison, or blocked from trade with the merchant cartel that Ferris has assembled. It has all happened so quickly!"
"And two of Andarys' greatest compatriots have recently been attacked by bandits on the road and killed," Delyav added. "Much like Madia was—or nearly so," he corrected. "Both men traveled on good mounts and with good men, no easy target for peasant robbers on foot. Rumors and speculation abound. I have even heard tell a squad of Bouren troops, led by Prince Jaran himself, was seen near abouts after both attacks, and that he is behind them."
"This too has helped Lord Ferris," Olan said, "who insists Lord Ivran and the other northern vassals are plotting against Ariman, and plan to—"
"Nonsense!" Frost snapped. "I've come from Lencia just three days past. I know Lord Jurdef Ivran, and his son, and knew Jurdef's father before him. Trust that they are as concerned as you over goings-on in Ariman. They have done nothing to foster these rumors, and do not understand them. But I can tell you they don't trust Lord Ferris any more than you."
"In that you are wrong!" Madia argued. "It was Bouren troops that tried to kill me. The same lot, no doubt, and Prince Jaran with them. I don't know why, but I know what I saw."
"Jurdef Ivran claims no plots exist, and no troops have been sent, and I believe him," Frost said, then he looked around the table. "Although, troops from Kamrit have been seen riding the western edge of Golemesk Swamp inside Bouren."
"Lord Ferris sends troops to Golemesk to search for the Demon Blade," Olan said. "There are many new rumors that it now rests there."
"There are always many rumors!" Frost said, obviously irritated by the subject. He paused, rested his hands on the table in front of him, and linked his fingers. "And even if they are true," he added, more calmly, "the Blade is of little use to any who do not know its secrets, and none do; probably not even the one entrusted to keep it. It has been too long, and the secrets were kept too well, I think."
"I would worry less about the Blade and more about Lord Ferris. The fellow intrigues me. He creates trouble and events out of nothing with an almost magical talent. A jongleur of the fates. Has he a wizard in his circle?"
Olan and Delyav looked at each other, then shrugged. "No," Olan said. "King Andarys had only a few magicians, entertainers for the most part, but Ferris sent them away."
"Indeed?" Frost said, fingers beginning to rub and curl.
"Indeed what?" Madia asked.
"Ferris has enjoyed such a remarkable fortune of events, yet he has had no wizard or mage of any sort to help ensure it."
"That troubles you?" Hoke asked. "Not everything that happens owes tribute to your trade."
Frost smiled at him, remarkably serene. "Of course," he said. "But you miss my point. I dislike puzzles that seem so complete, yet have so many pieces left over."
"There is now a mage's guild in Kamrit," Delyav said. "Dark mages, they say. And those who want to be such. Dark magic and secret ways. Witches, that's a better name. None of them seem to have any real talents, mind you, but every soul in the city has a story to tell of them."
"Lord Ferris is known to take council from them," Olan added. "And their members have been seen to visit his chambers as the merchants do."
"Perhaps they aid him with black magic," Hoke advised.
"I find this interesting as well," Frost said. "Another extra piece of the puzzle, you see, and one that does not bode well for the future of Ariman, not as you men must envision it."
"Nor I," Madia said.
"If the Demon Blade was found," Delyav offered, "and Ferris and his mages should actually acquire it and learn its secrets, there might be no way of opposing them."
"He would need more than a few witches to make use of such a tool," Frost declared. "Worry not."
"I want to go back, and soon," Madia said, abruptly leaning forward, gathering everyone's attention. "To take Ariman back, to rebuild the prosperity my grandfather won and my father preserved. Jaffic is gone. I am all that remains. I owe this to my father, to my cousin, to myself. And I want what is mine."
She paused, looking solely at Hoke. He was eyeing her cautiously, though no longer as if she were a child just learning to walk, the way he had looked at her when she had spoken of this in times past. She leaned on the strength that a winter spent with Hoke and Keara had given her, and an autumn spent with peasants, and time spent with just herself. She almost didn't know the girl that had been exiled from Kamrit those months ago; the girl who let everyone down—including herself—let her father suffer and die full of guilt and doubt and pain at the hands of assassins, lacking the company of his only child. Lacking the knowledge that she loved him. Though this last was something she hadn't realized until it was much too late.
She couldn't change what she had done, but she could do justice to her father's memory, to herself, to Jaffic and the rest of Ariman, and to the lands Lord Ferris sought to exploit. She could do what must be done. . . .
"Still," Hoke cautioned her, "you cannot go alone."
"Hoke is right," Madia said, addressing the two knights.
"But men such as you can help me find a way to take control of Ariman back from Ferris and his merchants and his dark mages. You know his allies, and those who oppose him."
Olan and Delyav were looking at each other again, deep concern on their faces.
"What is wrong?" Madia asked.
The two soldiers looked expectantly at Hoke, who only shrugged.
"Well, of course," Olan began, shuffling his feet under the table, "most everyone thinks you are dead. They may not believe you are indeed Madia. And those who do . . . "
Delyav cleared his throat. "You must understand that you have . . . that is, that you are remembered . . . what I mean is, in the past, the name Madia has been . . ."
"He means to say you were a trollop, a coward, a fool, and an embarrassment to the crown, and the only thing you may command in Kamrit is sour humor," Hoke finished for them.
"Yet the woman I saw fight outside was not one to laugh at," Frost said, sitting back in his chair. "And no coward of any sort."
"She has the blood in her," Rosivok said. "Watch her. Only a fool would think otherwise."
Madia sat looking at Frost and the Subartans, warming in the glow of their unexpected praise; in truth, even the most lavish compliments of young courting nobles did not compare.
"Hoke speaks only the truth," she said. "But I am learning. And I will learn even more. I wish to change what has happened, to atone, but I must start with you, Olan, and you, Delyav. I must ask for your help as well," she told Frost. "I have seen your magic, and I've seen these Subartans fight."
Frost began to chuckle. "I am inclined toward straightforward and profitable tasks, dear girl. I am not much interested in political troubles, nor in lending my Subartans to such, though you are welcome to my advice."
"Ariman is quite rich," Madia said. "As are the lands that stand to profit from a return to a more gentle and just rule. You would be paid very well for your troubles."
"If you are successful," Frost qualified.
Madia only looked at him.
"Go more slowly," Hoke suggested, leaning toward Madia with a knowing smile. "You can't ask men to forgive your past and risk their lives all at your sudden whim."
"But Frost and his Subartans are already wanted men," Madia said, addressing them. "There were many witnesses to what just happened outside, freemen and merchants from all over the province. Word of what has happened will spread no matter what Hoke or anyone else does. And I will doubtless be wanted once it is learned that I am still alive. We might act to help each other!"
"A valid point," Frost said, nodding to her. "I dislike being unwelcome in large countries. A nuisance, truly."
Madia smiled. "You would always be welcome in my country."
"I am sure. Still, I will have to think it over. You intrigue me, but there is much to consider. Whatever his past, I have lost one of my Subartans, a man not easily replaced. This trip has already proven quite expensive. And taxing. You mentioned a room?"
Madia nodded slowly, letting it go; the only tactic she could follow for now. "A room. Of course, later we must talk more of this."
"Oh, of course," Frost replied, adding a tenuous grin. Madia turned to find Hoke watching her, shaking his head, a much larger grin on his face.
"What is it?" Madia demanded.
"Just that the Madia I used to know would have thrown a royal fit just then," Hoke replied.
"My thoughts exactly," Olan said, smiling too; he was nearly as old as Hoke, and the lines at the corners of his eyes grew deep and black as the grin broadened his face.
"I hear tell soldiers killed that girl, last fall," Madia said.
"So Hoke insists," said Delyav.
"A great fortune that I never knew you until now," Frost exclaimed, looking smug.
Madia turned to him. "And that now, you do," she said. "My lady, if it serves Ariman, I pledge my sword to you, whoever you are," Olan announced, standing up, bowing from the waist.
"And I mine," Delyav added, rising as well, bowing with his friend. "On the word of Hoke, and on your own."
"And I mine, in spirit," Hoke said. "I am too old and damaged for such a mission."
"You serve well enough," Madia said. "My well-being is proof of that. No more is asked of you." She turned her attention again to Frost. "Sleep on it if you like," she told him, "but I am going with you to Kamrit. And Olan and Delyav with me, if they will. You are in need of a third Subartan, someone to complete the triangle. I will take my cousin's place."
"You are no Subartan, my dear," Frost said.
"I can learn," she said. "As I'm sure Jaffic did."
"Perhaps," Frost said, puckering his lower lip. "Perhaps you can at that."
"Then you're agreeing to help her?" Hoke prodded.
"I make no contract with anyone," Frost explained, "so that I am free to change my mind about anything, at any time. But, as I said, I will consider the situation."
"Your ways could make a man a little nervous," Olan remarked.
"That cannot be helped," Frost told him. He looked at Madia again, took a breath and let it go with a sigh. "You would trade in hearsay, whims and speculations, dear girl, and they are not enough. You may travel with me, and perhaps I will help you, in some manner or other, but it is best to make one decision at a time, for the making of too many plans can bring bad luck."
"As can too few," Hoke responded.
"You are a most arrogant man, Frost," Madia ventured, watching his reply.
The big wizard winked at her. "As I insist," he said, and with that they both began to chuckle.
Keara came through the door just then and headed straight to their table. Hoke introduced her to the others.
"Should be stew in the pot," she said. "Can I bring some to anyone?"
"And plenty of bread and ale," Hoke added, getting up himself to go and help her. In a moment they returned, setting wooden bowls and spoons and clay tankards and hard loaves all about, and talk gave way to the sounds of hungry mouths.