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  Knight or Knave by
Andre Norton and Sasha
        Miller
                         Prologue
  In the Cave of the Weavers, the ancient ones toiled over their
work, adding first a dusty green strand, then a blue one, then
another of brighter green, then gold ones, as their brown old
hands twinkled deftly. Each addition sank into the Web
Everlasting even before they had let go of it, though the pattern
was not yet clear.

   The youngest of the Three touched a spot where the dusty
green and blue strands crossed. "Is it meet," she asked, "that we
blend two mortals in this way, with one doomed?"

  "It is meet and altogether meet," replied the Eldest. "For look
you here."

   She pointed to a design in the Web that was beginning to take
shape farther along in the sheet of Time. In form and fashion
this design resembled a heavy snowstorm and in it moved fell
shapes, each more terrifying than the last. The Youngest
recoiled, more a movement of the head than of the body.

  "Is that what they will have to face?" she said.

   "All in due time, Sister," said the middle one placidly. "We
have yet to reach that point, for we have come to a spot where
things must change."
   "And we do not know yet what that change will be," said the
Eldest. "The Web will tell us."

   "Then this joining of the ill-omened might ward off the horror
that is to come?"

   "Perhaps. Perhaps. Be patient. The Web is bound to tell us. It
always has, in its own time."

  The Youngest returned her attention to the most recent work.
"Nothing has blended well in this spot," she said.

   "We cannot be concerned with the affairs of mortals," the
Eldest said, adding another strand. "It is as it is, and as it will be.
Nothing will change that. The Web of Time is all that matters,
and if we paused to take pity on those whose lives are interwoven
in it, all would become a tangle never to be put straight again.
Do not speak of it again."

   The Youngest bowed her head in acceptance. But yet, she kept
returning ever to the just-added threads, touching them with her
brown and wrinkled fingers. Indeed, this was a tangle but even
as she looked, it melted and became part of the whole.

   One of the life-threads, the dusty green one, frayed and
snapped. Carefully, the Youngest clipped it, leaving the fragment
that, under her hand, grew and began to change and solidify the
pattern the Three had begun. Unexpectedly, as the other two
Weavers looked over the Youngest's shoulders, the brighter green
thread took up the pattern left off by the dimmer shaded one. It
looked strong and durable from that point, with spots left rough
to the touch.

  "Ah, yes," said the middle Sister. "That was what was needed.
Now we can go on."

   And as always, the living continued to believe that they were
free to make decisions, to act as they believed fit, even as their
threads passed through the fingers of the Weavers.

  The Youngest glanced back along what had been completed.
Yes, there were recorded lives and deaths, Kingdoms' passing.
And she knew that the words of the Eldest were true. There could
be no mercy, no pity from those who held the threads. It would
be folly—and worse, it would ruin the work.

   Interested, she watched while the pattern re-formed to
accommodate the newly added strands. She recognized what was
taking place. A vigorous new strand, not yet the Changer, but
close, began to emerge, affecting all it touched. So that was what
had been working its way to the surface. All was well. Renewed
and refreshed, she reached out and took up the work on the Web
Everlasting once more.


                             One
   In the capital city of Rendelsham, a steady drizzle had been
fall-ing for days, keeping all inside whose duties did not require
that they venture out. Also it was unseasonably cold. Servants
kept fireplaces stoked and the damp, green wood they were
forced to use—all the seasoned having been used during the
winter—sent clouds of smoke over the city. Inside houses where
chimneys were not efficient, a similar veil of smoke hung in the
air, making people cough and sneeze as they huddled into warm
clothing they had thought to put away until winter.

   The forced idleness had its uses, however, for there seemed to
be no one at court who was not occupied with the problem of
what to do with Ashen, daughter of the late King Boroth, newly
come to Rendel from the Bale-Bog where she had spent most of
her life. This was an illegitimate daughter, to be sure, but one
possessing a strong claim to the throne, perhaps enough to
topple the new King, Florian, if only the lady herself had been of
a mind to undertake such a thing.

   Thus, in many residences this topic was the subject of much
conjecture, and prominent among them were the households of
the Dowager Queen Ysa, who consulted frequently with Lord
Royance,

   Head of the Council of Regents, and Count Harous, now
officially the Lord Marshal of Rendel, who consulted with no one.
Rather, he was given to action and it was obvious that the action
upon which he was now embarked was the wooing of Lady Ashen
herself.

   This day Lady Marcala of Valvager—in reality, Marfey, Queen
of Spies—had come seeking audience with the Queen, who
granted it willingly. "Welcome!" she said when Marcala came
into her privy chamber. She turned to her ladies. "Bring heated
wine and spice cakes, and then leave us."

   Marcala let Lady Ingrid take her rain-dewed cloak to hang
near the fire where it might dry. She approached the fireplace
gratefully, rubbing her hands. "Even with gloves lined with
rabbit fur the cold seeps through and pinches my fingers," she
said. "I've forgotten the last time I saw sunlight."

   "I welcome your presence, but I know the errand must have
been urgent to bring you all the way from Cragden Keep. Come,
take a seat by the fire. You'll soon be warm enough."

   Lady Ingrid hurried in with the flagon of wine and two
goblets, and a plate of cakes on a tray. Marcala poured for both
herself and the Dowager and waited until Ingrid had left again
before taking up her tale.

   "If I could draw upon the heat inside me, I would not need a
cloak," the younger woman said, a bitter note in her voice. She
drew up the low chair the Dowager indicated and sat down with
the air of one on intimate terms with the actual ruler of Rendel.
"Instead, I am left to molder in Cragden, while Harous dallies
with Ashen here in the city."

  "Surely our good Count is not behaving improperly."

    "As to that, I do not know. But, to be fair, Ashen lived for
many years in the Bog, and defended herself from what
threatened from any quarter. Surely she is not so bedazzled that
she would yield to Harous's blandishments before marriage for
all that he was the one who rescued her and brought her here."

  Ysa looked keenly at her noblewoman, her own creation, the
supreme spy she had set to be her human eyes and ears in the
household of one who might be a threat or a danger to her plans.
   She did not miss the reference to marriage, nor did she miss
the unmistakable resentment in Marcala's voice. This
resentment, Ysa knew, came from jealousy—and this jealousy
came from the spell Ysa had herself performed to make sure
Marcala's interest focused on Harous. With Marcala enthralled
by Harous, Ysa knew she could keep her Queen of Spies under
her complete control, first advancing and then retracting her
approval regarding Harous. Also, she had seen to it that Harous
was in love with Marcala, according to the spell. His ambition,
however, was not subject to any such weakness as matters of the
heart and therein lay the weakness in this scheme. Ysa thought
again about what Marcala had said.

   "But you have yielded to the Marshal," the Dowager
remarked, trying to keep her tone neutral. She was rewarded by
seeing Marcala blush to the roots of her hair.

  "He has visited my apartment on occasion. It seemed the
appropriate step to take," she said defensively.

  "To what effect?"

   "He says he loves me. When we are in private he acts like he
does. But he is wooing Ashen. And he says he is making good
progress."

   Ysa kept herself from frowning with an effort. She had enough
to worry about concerning King Florian and his latest escapade,
without this added. It was all well and good for Harous to pay
suit to Ashen, as long as the wench stayed aloof. But if she
seemed to be yielding—No, it would not do at all.

  "Have you spoken to Lady Ashen?" Ysa said.

   "I have not. Though Harous has given me no direct orders, my
feeling is that he wants me to stay away from his residence here
in the city, where he has installed her. And so I have had no
opportunity to visit the lady. Besides, I do not think that she
would confide in me." Marcala's lips twisted. "A Princess—so
much better than I am. Bog-Princess, that's all she is."

  Ysa had to bite her own lips to keep from laughing out loud.
Bog-Princess, indeed! And yet, she understood. "It is only natural
that you would not be able to summon up much warmth toward
her. After all, she is standing in your way."

  "If you could but find someone else, another nobleman—"

   "Do you know of anyone suitable?" Ysa sipped at her wine,
keenly aware that Marcala was not telling everything that was on
her mind. It was a delicate problem. Ashen, last known heir of
the House of Ash, in ancient times the cradle of Kings, and the
late King Boroth's acknowledged bastard daughter at that, had
become much more than an annoying Bog-brat or even, in
Marcala's amusing phrase, an annoying Bog-Princess.
Unmarried, she was the center of a political faction opposed to
King Florian, whether she willed it or not, and a temptation to
every hedge-knight eager to improve his station in life. Too lofty
a marriage and she was a danger to Florian and even to his heir,
when he should have one. Too base a marriage, and she was still
a danger, because of those who would become angered at the
insult and glad to have this matter as an excuse for opposition to
the Crown.

   She wondered if the rumors about Rannore, the new Rowan
heiress since Laherne had died, were true. Well, time would tell if
there was going to be another heir to dispute Ashen's claim.

   "Perhaps I could think of a suitable candidate," Marcala said.
She set the empty goblet on the tray and did not move to refill it.
"But my strong feeling is that Ashen will marry no one at all, if
she does not want to. She has not been trained to set aside
personal feelings, the way she would have had she been brought
up properly."

  "And what do you suggest?"

  "Ask her."

   Now the Dowager raised one eyebrow. This was something
she had not anticipated having to endure—bringing the bastard
child of her late husband into her very home, speaking to her
face to face. She had not laid eyes on the girl since that awful day
when the King was dying. Royance had brought her into the very
death chamber, giving Ysa a chance to throw her support to this
sturdy Ash twig rather than the spindly, gawky, unworthy
product of her union with Boroth.

   And now, this new King, Florian, was creating his own share
of personal mischief with Rannore. Her cousin Laherne had died
in childbirth, so the story went, only a few months after a visit to
Rendelsham. The gossip was that Florian was responsible and
also that the aged Erft's passing had been hurried along because
of the shame. His younger brother Wittern, a contemporary and
friend of Royance, now governed in his place. Ysa had thought to
address this matter today, rather than the question of Ashen and
a potential marriage. The Dowager sighed. One unpleasantness
versus another. Both must be dealt with, but each in its time.
Marcala was here present, and Rannore and her guardian,
Wittern of Rowan, had not yet arrived at the city.

  "Send for Ashen," Ysa said. "Tell a messenger to go and fetch
her while you wait with me."

  Marcala inclined her head. "Yes, Madame." Then she arose
and went to do the Dowager's bidding.

   Obern flexed his arm, the one that had been broken in a battle
with giant birds atop a cliff at the edge of the Bale-Bog. It was
whole and well again, though it ached a little in the damp
weather, and this day he wanted nothing more than to go back
home. He missed his Sea-Rover companions, missed the freedom
of being able to go out in a ship where the sea air blew away the
miasma of city life.

   That, however, would be as Count Harous pleased. For the
moment at least, Count Harous pleased to keep Obern as his
"guest" and Obern still did not know why.

   Once in a great while, since the doctor had decreed that he no
longer needed to keep his arm in a sling, Obern had been allowed
to go out on a patrol. As long as it did not involve ranging a great
distance from Cragden Keep or actual skirmishing with the
Bog-men, who still kept up their campaign of raids on honest
Rendelian farmers, he could ride with the soldiers as he pleased.
Even that break in the routine was denied to him now, however,
since he and Ashen had been removed to Rendelsham and
Harous's great house at the foot of the rise where the castle
perched.

    Still, this part of his sojourn had been interesting. Before now,
he had never really learned to handle a horse, and now he was
counted more than adequate. He had never been among a group
of land nobles, so that he could observe their ways. He had never
before attended a royal funeral, or a coronation, when the new
King Florian was crowned.

   Obern studied Florian appraisingly. So this was the one who
had come, as the report had it, to his father, Snolli, with his little
private treaty paper in his hand. Obern almost laughed, but that
would have interrupted the ceremony. Oh, the King looked good
enough stripped to the waist for the anointing but that was
merely because he had not yet begun to show the effects of
dissipation. He could have had the nicely muscled body of youth,
but King Boroth, his father, had gone to fat in his later years and
this stripling looked fair to follow. Obem and Ashen, at the
insistence of Count Harous, stayed well back in the crowd.
Ashen's presence, so Harous said, could be a disruption but it
would also have been an unthinkable discourtesy for her not to
attend. And as for Obem, well, he was practically highborn
himself, so his presence was almost as mandatory as hers.

    Obern liked standing next to Ashen in the mass of people
filling the nave of the Fane of the Glowing. He liked putting
himself between her and the possibility of her being jostled by a
rude stranger. Most of all he liked looking at her, at the beauty of
her face and form, and her silver-gilt hair falling like pure
treasure down her back.

   He liked also those rare times when they walked together
through the grounds of Rendelsham Castle, and when they
passed the high lords going about their business. One he
recognized, Lord Royance of Grattenbor, the Head of the Council
of Regents, who had questioned him in the Hall at Harous's
residence the night the old King died. Others Ashen pointed out
to him—Gattor of Bilth; Valk of Mimon; Jakar of Vacaster; Liffen
of Lerkland and another, whom Ashen had not met that
memorable evening, Wittem of Rowan, lately come to the
guardianship of that high House. Of those Obem formed no
particular opinion one way or the other except to acknowledge
that Lord Royance seemed an able, experienced, and stoutly
honest man.

   The city of Rendelsham interested Obern because of its
strangeness. He was used to the Sea-Rovers' way of life, and a
much more casual—one might even say cruder—approach to city
building. Here, instead of a cluster of small, sturdy huts, all was
whitewashed stone, with carvings and decorations in profusion,
and at every corner of the rooftops fabulous creatures rendered
so lifelike that they seemed ready to leap down upon the unwary
passerby beneath. From the mouths of these creatures the
rainwater poured into the streets, away from the walls where it
might cause damage. It seemed an ingenious arrangement.

   Together he and Ashen made a small pilgrimage to the
forecourt of the Great Fane of the Glowing, to view the four great
trees that represented the Four Great Houses of Rendel. A
courteous priest, passing by, informed them of the history, of
how Rowan was rallying and even Ash was making a miraculous
revival, with new growth crowding through the dead old twigs.
Oak still continued a slow, steady decline, however, and Yew
throve, as always. Obern gave the priest a coin, one he had won
at gambling, and the grateful fellow then took them inside and
showed them the interior wonders, even to the three mysterious
windows, hidden away where casual visitors might not notice.
One window was shrouded from view by a curtain that, the
priest informed them, no one touched on fear of death by Her
Majesty's orders. Another showed a Bale-Bog pool, with
something just beginning to break the surface. But Ashen gazed
longest on the third, a depiction, the priest said, of the Web of
Destiny.

  "They move," she said, as if to herself. "The hands of the
Weavers move."

  But Obern could not see it.

   These pleasant excursions had been cut short, however, with
the arrival of the wet, cold weather. Obern was used to a chilly
climate, but this was unnatural, occurring as it did in the middle
of the summer. Gratefully he accepted a fur-lined tunic and cloak
from the stores of clothing at Harous's residence, and stayed
inside as much as his free spirit could bear. He began wearing a
cap indoors, the way the Rendelians did, and learned that it, too,
contributed to keeping him warm.

    Ashen was of a similar mind to him, and fretted when she was
kept too long indoors. And so they were drawn together even
more than might have been their usual wont, because of the
discovery of her high birth and the enormous changes it would
be bound to bring to her life. And sometimes they talked about
it.

  On this day, Lady Marcala had come to Rendelsham from
Crag-den Keep, visiting the Dowager Ysa. Marcala never entered
Har-ous's town house, but nevertheless Ashen took the
opportunity to hide in Obern's quarters while she was in the city.

   "I never desired any of this," she told him as they sat close to a
fire, sharing a hot drink that Harous's chef had created out of
the juice of pressed apples and an assortment of sweet spices.
"And if I could, I would let it pass me by. My guardian and
Protector, Zazar, predicted that I would have a different road to
walk, but I never dreamed it would be so complicated."

  "You do look far different from the first time I saw you."
Obern smiled. "Though those hide breeches—"

   "Lupper skin."

   "Yes, lupper-skin breeches—they looked much more practical
for the life you were leading then."

   "You are somewhat changed, yourself."

   He glanced down at the clothing he was wearing—doublet and
tunic and a warm cloak over all, with no cross-gaitered hose or
fur vest heavy enough to stop a dagger. He straightened the
velvet cap on his head. "They took away my old garb. Said it
made me stand out as an Outlander."
   Ashen laughed at that. "You are an Outlander! All who are not
of the Bale-Bog are Outlanders, for that matter." She grew sober.
"Even I am an Outlander, now. I am not of this world, either. I
feel that I have no place."

  "You will always have a place, at my side."

   She glanced up at him. Her silky eyebrows rose. "What does
that mean?"

   "I shouldn't have said that." Obern stared at the fire, and then
shrugged. In for an egg, in for the clutch. Did he love her, or
merely desire her? He thought of her entirely too much and now
this day seemed as good as any to decide that it was love that
drove him on. "It means that, in other circumstances, I would be
bringing you gifts and bargaining with your—your Protector, for
the bride-geld I would have to pay for you."

  Ashen's face grew pink, and, Obern suspected, not from her
nearness to the fireplace. " 'Other circumstances'?"

  "I have a wife."

  "Oh."

    "We were pledged—handfasted—when we were both very
young," Obern added hastily. "I never knew her beforehand. She
is a good woman, and showed herself to be brave enough on the
journey south from our ruined land."

   She had pulled back from him a little. "Tell me about your
journey."

   And so Obern recounted for her the tale of the Sea-Rovers'
battles with the invaders from the North, of their flight from
their homeland, and the great voyage that had brought them to
New Void. He left out the part about his first encounter with the
giant birds or the hideous monster that had tried to climb from
the sea onto his ship. No sense in frightening Ashen; let her
think that the huge birds were a singular anomaly, and not what
he had come to believe they were—harbingers of worse to come
as the frozen evil of the North awakened and began to stir.
   "Your people must all be very courageous," Ashen said.

   Obern shrugged. "Some more than others, like people
everywhere."

   "What is her name? Your wife."

   "Her name is Neave. While we were on the ships on our
journey here, I missed her warmth in the night. She was on a
different ship from mine, of course, for I could not afford to have
her presence be a distraction. Also, if one ship went down the
other might be saved. That was the way with all of us who had
wives still living after our city was destroyed. And then she
became ill shortly after we arrived. I have scarcely been in her
company. Since I met you, I have seldom thought of her."

   Again, Ashen's cheeks grew pink until she was blushing to the
roots of her hair. "I cannot encourage you in this."

    "It is not in your power to encourage or discourage. It is as it
is," Obern told her. "I love you."

  "It is only gratitude speaking. After all, I saved your life when
you were so sorely hurt, before we came here."

   "I recognize that this might be part of it," Obern said. "But
nevertheless, I do love you. Can I be faulted for that? I don't think
so."

   Ashen arose abruptly. "It is not decent, or honorable, that you
speak of such matters. Or that I listen. I like you well, Obern, but
please believe that is all—all it can be. When I have the
opportunity, I will speak to Count Harous and petition that you
be allowed to return home."

   "Where I will live on with Neave. But I will think of you in the
night."

  Then Ashen fled the room, closing the door behind her. Obem
knew that, according to Rendelian custom, he must have
overstepped his bounds. But Ashen had not been brought up as a
Rendelian bred, and neither had he.
   Oh, if only—He did not allow himself to complete the thought.
It was not Neave's fault that he no longer loved her, if, indeed, he
once had. And it was nobody's fault that he loved Ashen or that—
he hoped with every fiber of his being—it was only her modesty
that made her speak of friendship and not of love in return.

   For once, Ysa was mistaken. Wittern of Rowan, the heir to his
elder brother Erft, full of years but in much better health, had
arrived earlier than expected. Even while she had been
consulting with Marcala, Wittern was being admitted to the
presence of King Flo-rian. With him was Rannore, her head
downcast and her entire bearing radiating shame.

   "Oh," said the sovereign lord of Rendel when the two had been
brought to where he lounged by a fire, playing a board game
with one of his courtiers. A pile of coins lay beside the board, the
stakes the players had wagered. "It's you."

   "A word with you in private, Your Majesty," Wittern said. "I
crave it as a boon."

   The King drummed his finger on the board, his hand on the
piece he had been prepared to move. Then he set it down and
waved his retinue away. "Stay within calling distance," he said.

   The group of fawning courtiers bowed and withdrew to a far
corner of the room, where they pulled their fur-lined surcoats
about them and huddled together for warmth. One of them
gestured to a servant, and presently a brazier was brought and
lighted so that they could be more comfortable in their exile.

   "Yes, well, what do you want?" Florian said. He lounged at his
ease, and did not invite the elderly noble or the young woman
with him to sit down.

   "I think you know, Your Majesty." Wittern took Rannore's
hand and made her step forward. "This lady is with child, and it
is by you. It is not enough that you debauched Laherne who died
in delivery of your child and it with her, but now you would do
the same with her cousin. It is not to be borne, sir]"

  "And what will you do, to make me marry if I do not choose?"
   Wittern's eyes flashed. "I am not my brother, Your Majesty,
and Rannore is not her cousin. We are both of sturdier stock
than they. I have resources in this land. If you will not of your
own accord, then you shall be compelled."

   Florian threw back his head and brayed with laughter. "You?"
he said at last, wiping tears from his eyes. "You would compel
me? Oh, I suppose that I must admire your presumption, but
hear this, old man. I will do as I please, when I please, where I
please, and with whom I please. And you are not man enough to
stop me. Now begone."

   Tears had begun running down Rannore's cheeks. She spoke
up for the first time. "You claimed that you loved me," she said
brokenly. "And I know I loved you. I would never have allowed
you near me, otherwise. Now I love you not, but honor binds me.
I will not bear another kingly bastard. There is talk enough of the
one your father sired and the trouble she has brought without
willing it."

   Florian sat bolt upright in his chair. "You will not speak of
that matter," he said. His command was spoiled a little by the
break in his voice. "Leave my presence, at once!"

   "We will speak of that, and more," Wittern said. "You tell us
to begone. And so we obey. But be sure that we will meet again,
and soon."

   Then the white-haired noble and his granddaughter left the
chamber. The courtiers came back and took up their former
spots by the fire. Florian completed the move on the board game
that he had been contemplating when interrupted.

   His opponent, a minor noble named Piaul, grinned. "You lose,
Your Majesty," he said as he made the countermove that ended
the game. He scooped up the coins as everyone laughed, except
King Florian.

   Ashen, unsure of herself and wondering why the woman who
was her bitterest enemy in Rendel had summoned her to her
presence, entered the Dowager Queen's privy chamber. She felt
like her heart had lodged somewhere in the vicinity of her
stomach and was fluttering like a captive bird. The girl's heart
sank even lower when she saw Lady Marcala standing by the
Dowager's chair. But Ysa smiled, a little stiffly perhaps, and held
out her slender, elegant hands in greeting. The Four Great Rings
glinted in the firelight.

   "Come closer, Lady Ashen, so we can have a look at you."
Ashen obeyed, hoping that her knees would hold her up, glad
that her maid Ayfare had taken pains with her appearance. Also,
Ayfare had had the good sense to insist that Ashen not wear the
dress in which she had been clad on the occasion of her
appearance in the old King's death chamber, but another. This
one was made of dark blue velvet, the court color, its warmth
welcome in the unseasonable chill of midsummer, and her
indoor slippers matched. The wooden pattens every woman wore
to protect their fine footwear from mud and mire Ashen had left
at the castle's doorway, according to custom.

  Of her own accord, Ashen had decided not to wear the
necklace

   Harous had given her that was a badge of the House of Ash,
but another of his gifts, an ornament of silver and lapis beads.
Her hair flowed down her back in maidenly simplicity. She
curtsied deeply, as Marcala had taught her.

   "Thank you, Your Majesty," she said to the stern-faced lady
who sat so implacably, waiting. She also wore velvet, but a deep,
rich green, and her jewels, except for the Four Great Rings, were
of gold and emeralds. Her countenance was beautiful, but her
hands verged on the edge of gauntness, though they were still
white and elegant. Nevertheless, it was there that she showed her
age. "I am honored at being in your presence."

   The Dowager nodded slightly. "I have a reason to send for
you," she said. "Come and sit, and Lady Marcala also, for your
answers coacern her as well." She indicated a pair of low chairs
that had been set nearby.

    Marcala took one with a rustle of skirts and a cloud of the
lily-scented perfume she always wore. Ashen, glad that Ayfare
was enough of a gossip that she knew of the significance of the
perfume made of blue flowers, had chosen one with a citrus tang
instead. The Queen, Ayfare said, hated the blue-flower one
because it had been the favorite of her great rival, Ashen's
mother.

    Nobody offered to take Ashen's rain-wetted cloak, so she hung
it on a peg beside the fireplace beside another one she
recognized as Marcala's. Once seated, Ashen's discomfort did not
abate for she felt that something in her life had just come to a
crisis point, and she did not know what it was. She wished that
Zazar, the great Wysen-wyf of the Bale-Bog who had fostered her,
could be at her side. But that was like wishing for the moon.
Ashen knew that her own wits would have to be her sole weapons
to get her through the coming hour.

   Her uneasiness must have communicated itself to the
Dowager for she smiled again, frostily. "Be at ease, child," she
said. "We aren't going to hurt you. We only want to know what is
going on now in your life."

  "Surely I am beneath Your Majesty's notice."

   "Your modesty becomes you, but it is misplaced. Let me be
open with you. I did not welcome your presence; indeed, for a
long time I tried hard to convince myself that you did not even
exist. However, here you are, and you cannot be ignored."

   "Madame, I apologize for my presence. I know that I am a
constant reminder of something unpleasant. But you must
realize that I did not request the conditions of my birth. If I
could make it otherwise, I would do so, if only to spare you."

    The Queen favored Ashen with a frigid smile. "Spoken well.
Your breeding shows; also, Zazar brought you up better than I
thought. Perhaps there is more to you than I was willing to
credit. Now to why you have been sent for. You must know there
is talk in many places in Rendelsham of you, of your place here,
of whom you will marry."

  Ashen looked up, startled. "I have no thought of marriage,
Your Majesty!"
  "Nevertheless, marry you must. The only question is, who
shall it be?"

    "I do not wish to marry," Ashen repeated. "When I do, if I do,
it will be to somebody whom 1 love."

  "And you do not love Count Harous?" Marcala said.

   Ashen glanced at her. She fairly glowed in lavender brocade
lined with fur, but a frown puckered her forehead. "No, my lady,
I do not," Ashen said. "I admire him enormously, and will be
forever grateful that it was he and not another who took me from
the Bale-Bog, as my Protector said would happen. For he has
always been gentle with me, and his behavior entirely correct. I
fear that another would have acted ungraciously."

   Marcala sniffed audibly and the Dowager held up a
restraining hand. "And yet the rumor is that he would marry
you."

   Ashen felt her cheeks grow warm. All the talk of marriage this
day was making her very uneasy. She wanted nothing more than
to escape. But she was required to answer. "He has said that he
wished it."

   "Nol" Marcala said, heedless of Ysa's displeasure. "Are you
such an idiot that you cannot see the folly? With you, and what
you are heir to, Harous's power would be such that all the other
nobles would rise up against him! And that I could not bear!"

   "Lady!" the Dowager said sharply. "Marcala! Enough. You
forget yourself."

   "Yes, Madame," Marcala said. She bowed her head and bit
her lip.

  The Dowager turned back to Ashea. "The Lady Marcala, for all
her impetuous outburst, is correct. A match between you and the
Lord Marshal Harous would not be suitable. And so, the question
remains, whom shall you marry."

  "I know of someone," Marcala said, though Ysa frowned.
  "Speak," the Dowager said, a warning clear in her voice.

    "Obern. He is the son of the Chieftain of the Sea-Rovers. That
makes him almost royalty. He was once hurt, but now is well,
still living in Harous's residence here in the city, by his orders.
Obern and Ashen are friends."

   Ashen drew in her breath sharply. This, coming so closely on
Obern's unwanted declaration, was almost more than she could
bear at the moment. Nevertheless, there was a possibility for
escape. "But he is already wed. He wants very much to return to
New Void— the old Ashenwold."

    The Dowager pursed her lips, thinking. "That is unfortunate
news, that Obern already has a wife. He would, in many respects,
make an ideal match for you. And we need his people as stronger
allies than they are now. A certain treaty that was supposed to
have been established between us was bungled by—Well, never
mind." Ysa clasped her hands, rubbing the Rings. "There have
been marriages set aside for dynastic reasons before. Perhaps
this one can be as well."

  "Your Majesty, no—"

  The Dowager stared at Ashen and she subsided immediately.
"Do you dare refuse me? Do you forget yourself?"

  "I crave your pardon, Your Majesty. I only meant that I would
not ruin another's happiness for any sake."

   "That is not your decision to make. I will tell you this,
however. It is very plain that you cannot stay longer in Harous's
residence.

   You are better kept under my eye. Therefore, you will move at
once into the castle. Please see to it. The chamberlain will
prepare an apartment for you. Now you may go. I have work to
do." With that, the Dowager Queen Ysa dismissed Ashen, who
arose at once and started for the door. The other lady made as if
to rise as well but the Dowager stopped her. "Marcala, you stay a
moment."
   But not before she saw a very satisfied look come over Lady
Marcala's face. Now, what, Ashen wondered, was that all about?
It was as if one of Marcala's schemes had come to fruition, but
how could that be?

    She set it aside to think about later, glad that she was out of
the coils, at least for the moment, of Her Most Gracious Majesty
the Queen Dowager Ysa. How she would avoid this formidable
lady once she was living under the same roof was another
matter. A fresh wave of distaste for the twists and turns of Court
life swept over her.

   Whomever she married, she hoped he would have similar
feelings and. they would live in peace and quiet, far away from
Ren-delsham!

   Obern reacted to the news of Ashen's impending move from
Har-ous's town house to Rendelsham Castle with stoic silence.
She was, after all, only obeying the Dowager's command and he
could not know what had gone on in the private interview to
which Ashen had been summoned. He did doubt that Ashen had
told Ysa of his declaration of love for her.

   This change of residence took her out of Obern's company but
also the change removed her from Harous's influence, and that
could not be all to the bad. He knew, in the way that a man who
loves a woman recognizes when another man wants her as well,
that Harous had dark plans somewhere in the back of his
sophisticated mind.


                             Two
   After Ashen had left the Dowager's apartment to begin
packing for her move to Rendelsham Castle, Ysa had a few words
with Marcala, mostly to soothe her feelings. A servant arrived
with the news about Wittern's unexpectedly early arrival.
Consulting her daily schedule, she set a time for a meeting with
that noble and certain others. Then she dismissed Marcala, to
return to Crag-den Keep. Ysa had already spent more time on
the problems with these women than she could afford.
   The servant bowed himself out, to deliver the Dowager's
instructions. Then Ysa went to her writing desk to draft a letter.
When it was finished to her satisfaction, she wrote out a fair
copy. Then she called for a messenger and sent him off posthaste
to New Void Keep, with the polite request that Snolli, Chieftain
of the Sea-Rovers, come to Rendelsham so that his beloved son
might be restored to him in full health. And also, she added,
almost as an afterthought, so that good relations might be
cemented between their two peoples. She did not specify what
this cementing would consist of. Time enough for that, later,
after she had met with the man. He was bound to want
something in return.

  When that matter had been taken care of, the Queen
Dowager,

   Lord Royatice, and the Lord Marshal Harous all gathered to
confront the young King Florian. They sat at the Council table,
with Royance at the head. Wittern and Rannore occupied chairs
at the back of the room, just outside the light cast by the candles.
Rannore leaned her head on her grandfather's shoulder, and he
had one of her hands clasped in both of his. Florian entered last,
and sat opposite Royance.

   "Lord Wittern of Rowan has acquainted us with the problem
he and his granddaughter now find themselves facing," Royance
said, his snowy eyebrows drawn together sternly. "And
furthermore, I find his petition worthy. You, King Florian, are
responsible for this lady's condition, and answerable to her
guardian. I tell you this: Do not shame her further."

  "And I," Harous said. "I would not long remain as Count of
Cragden, Rendelsham's Lord Marshal, if the ruler I guard with
my own body and might were shown to be unworthy. A fellow
who treats highborn women as playthings and abandons them
when he is weary of them."

   "Both of you men are much too nice. I will speak bluntly. I
have learned the art, dealing with the late King," Ysa said. She
stood up and leaned forward, her hands flat on the table, and
Florian shrank back a little in his chair. "Florian, your father
may have debauched a noblewoman, but he was at least careful
enough about it that nobody knew except near the last. And you
are well aware of the trouble his indiscretion has caused."

  "You can't talk to me that way," Florian said, but his tone was
weak and Ysa knew that he was merely blustering.

    "I can, and I will!" Ysa retorted, her voice like the cracking of
a whip. She held up her hands so that the Great Rings, the
repository of true power in Rendel, glowed in the light. "These
show that I can. The Rings still reject you, or they would have
gone to you long ago, of their own accord, as they came to me.
Faugh! You, the King? You grew up pampered and spoiled, for I
had too much on my mind to .spare the time to devote to your
training. Know this, you puppy. I made you King when I declared
it in my husband's death-chamber. I can un-make you as well."

   Florian went pale. "You wouldn't dare."

   "Don't put me to the test. Much as I dislike the thought, my
husband's by-blow might prove much more suitable to occupy
the throne than you. You would do well to let yourself be guided
by me, in this as well as many other matters for, really, you have
no other choice."

   The Dowager's words hung echoing in the air while Florian
fidgeted in his chair, looking from side to side as if seeking an
escape. He refused to meet the eyes of anyone sitting at the
Council table. Then a change came over him. He lifted his head
and smiled at each in turn.

   "But of course I will marry Rannore!" he exclaimed. "How
could you think I would not? I have merely been having some
sport, jesting with all of you. And to think how well I fooled you,
that you believed I would abandon the dearest creature in all the
world to me." He got up and crossed the room to where Wittern
and Rannore waited. They arose in their turn. Wittern bowed to
his sovereign, and Rannore dropped in a deep curtsey.

  "Now, now, none of that," Florian said. He took Rannore's
hands and raised her to her feet. "We shall be equals, you and I. I
am your King, but you shall be my Queen, if you agree. Tell me
you will. Tell me you will sit by my side, with our son, forever."
   "If that is what you desire," Rannore said shakily, "and my
grandfather agrees, then that shall content me as well."

   "Oh, I so desire. And you, my Lord Wittern? Do you agree to
this match?"

  As Ysa watched, a number of expressions passed across
Wit-tern's face—disgust, contempt, disbelief at the depth of the
young King's cynicism. She knew those emotions well, for she
had experienced them frequently toward Florian. Then the
nobleman mastered himself and nodded. "I agree, Your
Majesty."

   "Then we shall hold the wedding as quickly as possible,"
Florian said with weird gaiety. "We wouldn't want to delay very
long, would we? People might talk."

    Then, to everyone's dismay and embarrassment, the King
tittered.

   Iaobim and Haldin, once proud Sea-Rovers but now confined
to land, stood watch while other men, not warriors, worked to
erect a kind of shelter over a small field of grain. Because of the
unseasonable cold that had blotted out the summer, it was
thought that such a shelter might gather what warmth there was
to help the faltering plants. Dordan the archer stood watch on
the other side of the field. All three of the warriors wore warm
cloaks over their chain mail.

   The workers had erected pairs of poles at intervals up and
down the field, each with a crossbar at the top, and now were
stringing lengths of thin cloth along these supports. Iaobim
shifted, resettling his sword in its scabbard, more than a little
bored with guard duty.

   "We should be out on the GorGull," his companion muttered,
loudly enough for Iaobim to hear. "Not nursemaiding a
cornfield."

   Iaobim laughed. "You got your orders from the Chieftain,
same as me," he said. "D'you think the tales about Bog-men's
raids are just for scaring children with?"
   Haldin sighed, leaning on his spear. "I haven't seen any
evidence. And until I do, I won't believe—"

   He was interrupted by a shout from Dordan, from across the
field. "Here they come!" he cried. He was already fitting an arrow
to bowstring.

   Iaobim and Haldin sprinted toward their companion, trying
to avoid trampling the tender plants underfoot and also trying to
keep from wrecking the shelter their countrymen had been
laboring so hard to erect. They reached Dordan's side, and
Iaobim shielded his eyes with his hand, trying to see what had
alarmed the archer. "You have long eyesight," Iaobim said. "I can
see nothing."

  "They disappeared in a little dip in the land yonder." Dordan
pointed. "But they're coming this way."

   At that moment, the Bog-men did appear, topping a small
rise. They ran at a steady, distance-consuming trot. There were
six—no, eight of them. Iaobim glanced at his companions. "Odds
are a little longer than I like," he said.

  "I'll see what I can do to even the odds before they get close,"
Dordan said. He sighted and let fly with an arrow.

   One of the Bog-men dropped and did not rise. His fellows
paused only for a moment, and then kept running. It was clear
that their goal was the field, and the workers in it. Dordan fired
again, and another Bog-man stopped, clutching his leg. Dordan's
arrow protruded from it. He had time for one more shot and
then, with a bloodcurdling screech, the Bog-men were upon
them.

   For an instant Iaobim wished he had chosen a spear this day.
Spears were the weapon of choice for the Bog-men—those, and
clubs studded with shell spikes—and fighting with a sword let an
enemy get too close before he could deal with him. He dodged
when one of the Bog-men lunged, and dispatched him with a
single blow. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that his
companions were likewise employed. In the space of only a few
heartbeats, the attackers were down, dead or dying—all but the
one Dordan had wounded. This one managed to slip around the
cluster of fighters, obviously intending to take Iaobim from
behind, but one of the farmers smashed his head in with the
sturdy hoe he had been using to grub up weeds.

  "Thanks, Ranse," Iaobim said.

  "Pleasure's mine," the farmer replied.

   The three fighters quickly dispatched the wounded, and
dragged the bodies of the Bog-men to one side, to examine them.
"Looks like they're feeling the pinch of the cold weather, too,"
Haldin commented. "They aren't dressed mainly in mud. What
kind of leather is this they're wearing?"

   "Skins off those infernal jumping horrors that you find
everywhere in the Bog," Dordan said. "And breastplates, too." He
indicated a crude form of armor, shell-reinforced, that most of
them wore. Then he pulled a couple of empty sacks off one man's
belt.

   "They came prepared to cart home as much as they could
carry."

   "Hmmm." Iaobim squatted beside the body he had been
going over, thinking. "I wonder what Obern would make of all
this."

   "No way of asking him. He's probably safe and warm, inside a
grand house somewhere in that big city up north. Being catered
to by servants of the fine lord who took him." Haldin gestured to
a couple of the farmers and they began digging a shallow grave.
"Seems he's been gone more than long enough to have gotten
loose to come back to us, though."

   "Maybe he doesn't much want to escape," Dordan said,
grinning. "That lady the city men took out of the Bog when they
got Obern—she was a nice-looking wench, for a land woman,
even if she was skinny and pale. He might be having a nice
tumble with her even now."

  Haldin laughed, and even Iaobim had to smile. He had no
idea what was going on in the mind of Snolli, their Chieftain,
that he would not immediately go and demand the return of his
son, but Iaobim knew that Snolli was a far-thinker. He had to
have a plan somewhere in that long head of his. But Iaobim, too,
wondered what Obern was doing.

   "I think we're safe enough from a return visit from these
Bog-people, at least for the moment," he said. "Haldin, you go
back to the keep and report that the rumors were true. Bog-men
have learned to cross the river on this side as well as where it
curves to the north, and anytime any of our people are outside
our strong walls, they will need to have an armed guard with
them. These are fell doings, and perilous times. It is not safe to
be abroad in the land these days."

    All of Rendelsham was buzzing with the news of King Florian's
coming marriage—quickly arranged, even more quickly prepared
for. And though it was common knowledge that the bride,
Rannore of Rowan, was proving fertile perhaps a little earlier
than custom demanded, most were polite enough not to mention
it. At least in public.

   Naturally, Ashen would be there. She had been established in
one of Rendelsham Castle's many guest apartments, located in
one of the twin three-story buildings flanking the taller main
structure where the royal family lived, and the officials who
actually ran the country had their quarters. Under her maid
Ayfare's watchful eye, the house steward assigned Ashen's suite
on the second floor—close enough to the heart of the castle to
provide easy access to all the servants' chatter. Ashen was
grateful, for this was near enough for quick access if she was
summoned, and still far enough away that she no longer worried
about having to encounter the Queen Dowager every time she
stepped outside her door. And summoned she was, frequently,
for she had, will or nil, become involved in the hasty
preparations. She would, she was informed by the Ceremonial
Steward who was arranging the elaborate protocols, walk
directly ahead of the happy couple in the procession, bearing the
marriage rings.

  This created a near-panic in Ashen. She turned for help to
Ay-fare, with whom she had formed a friendship. "I cannot do
this!" she said. "I can't show myself to the Court this way. I am
here only because the Dowager ordered it, and not through any
desire of my own."

   "There, there now, sweeting," Ayfare said soothingly. She
smoothed Ashen's hair. "You act like you'll be the center of all
eyes. Never fear, my poppet. You'll be very much in the shadow
of the King and his bride. That's who they'll be looking at." The
maid winked conspiratorially. "Besides, everybody'll be
whispering behind their hands, counting on their fingers and
trying to judge how far along the bride is."

   Despite herself, Ashen had to smile. In this matter, she had
not had to rely on Ayfare to bring her the gossip. Everyone was
talking about it, and about how Wittem, the new Lord of the
House of Rowan, had brought King Florian to heel.

   "There's rumor that all in the procession will wear white
samite and velvet," Ayfare continued. "They say it's to be a very
virginal wedding."

   That comment made Ashen laugh outright. She was very glad
that Lady Marcala had given her Ayfare as her personal maid.
Younger than the other maids in attendance upon Marcala, and
presumably less experienced, her fine features and bearing
suggested that she might be a bastard offspring of some noble as
well. Once Ayfare had remarked on it, and this circumstance also
brought the two girls closer.

   There was, Ashen discovered, a place in the festivities for
nearly everyone at court. Fitting for his place as the castellan of
Cragden Keep, Lord High Marshal, Champion and Defender of
Rendelsham, Harous would carry the great sword of state as he
had at the coronation. Royance, also duplicating his role in that
ceremony, would carry the mace. And so on with other nobles.
Each would bear some emblem or symbol or trinket of office and
this, Ashen learned, was an honor to be vied for. Even Obern,
Ayfare told her, would be included. As there was no actual
official station he occupied, he would be given a model of a
Sea-Rover ship, in token of the alliance the Dowager and the
King hoped to make between the two peoples.
  The thought of Obern clad in white samite made Ashen shake
her head in rueful wonder. Well, at the very least, all the hustle
and bustle served to divert the Dowager's attention—and
Harous's and Obern's as well, she hoped—from the matter of her
own marriage.

   Ayfare's information source about the color chosen for the
wedding party proved to be correct, and, sending the castle
seamstresses away, she personally set about the task of designing
and sewing a dress of white velvet for Ashen. The sitting room of
the apartment was soon cluttered with sketches of other ladies'
dresses, and with scraps and cuttings of velvet.

   Even Ashen, who had come to like the luxury and comfort of
Rendelian clothing but who knew little about styles, recognized
Ay-fare's talent. The skirt was split in a daring fashion, showing
an underdress with a front panel of white samite, embroidered
lightly in gold thread mixed with touches of blue. More of the
embroidered samite would show at neck and sleeves, and the
pillow on which Ashen would carry the rings would also be made
of the same fabric.

   "Oh, you'll look fair and fairer than the bride once I'm
finished," the maid said effusively.

  "I'll look like a specter," Ashen said. "I am too pale to wear
white unadorned."

   "Most people are, including the bride. I'm told she's more
than a little green around the gills these days."

  Ashen had to bite her lips, hard. "Ayfarel"

   "Yes, ma'am." The maid obediently subsided, but her eyes
were twinkling and Ashen knew it would be only a matter of time
before she came out with yet another remark that would prompt
Ashen to forget her station and double up with laughter.

   It was a welcome respite, here in a place where Ashen knew
danger lurked behind every corner, outside the snug haven of her
borrowed quarters. Also, it served to bring the two girls closer
together.
   In New Void Keep, Snolli Sea-Rover gazed contemplatively at
the messenger dressed in the Dowager's livery, who stood before
him. "Give your letter to Kasai," he said, indicating a small man
who hovered nearby, a drum hanging by a cord from his neck.
"He is my trusted adviser. Also, he reads your language better
and more easily than I do."

   Kasai took the folded note, bowed courteously with it pressed
to his forehead, opened it, and began to read. "Usual flowery
nothings at first," he said to the Chieftain in their own language.
"Ah, here we come to it. Obern, Her Majesty reports, is alive and
well, healed from his wounds, and ready to come home." He
glanced at Snolli, then at the messenger who was politely
pretending not to overhear. "She says she knows we will rejoice
at this good news, having thought Obern long dead." He read
further. "We're to wait, and come take him off their hands in a
fortnight, as there's to be a big wedding."

  "The Prince?"

   "Oh, no, it seems that the cata… the sweet young man—is
King now. But he's getting married and Obern's to be part of the
ceremony. That ought to lighten Obern's disposition if he thinks
as much of the new King as the rest of us do. Very highly, of
course," he added, for the messenger's benefit.

   The messenger nodded without thinking, and Snolli almost
laughed aloud. Trust that nest of eels in the capital city to send
someone who understood Trader language, which was very
similar to the tongue the Sea-Rovers spoke among themselves.

   "Queen apologizes if she's offered you an insult by not inviting
you, but it's a long journey between here and there, and the
omens says the wedding has to be now." Kasai snorted. "Bride
must be expecting. Queen says there wouldn't be time to
entertain you anyway until after, let alone hammer out a treaty
between us. You can bring as big a retinue as you like. There's
more, but it's just more flowery nothings."

   Snolli nodded, and then turned to address the messenger
directly. "Thank the Queen for the good news when you return,
and tell her that we are so glad to know that Obern is alive that
we cannot take offense at anything even if it had been offered.
When she is ready to meet with us, we will be there. Tell her also
we'll take Dakin with us when we go," the Chieftain said. "He was
left with us in trade for Harvas, one of our people, while we
contemplated the terms of a treaty between the Prince, now the
King, and the Sea-Rovers. I'm sure both men will be glad to be
back with their own once more. And I'm sure also that changing
circumstances have made the treaty King Florian proposed very
much out of date. We might as well start all over, and being in
Rendelsham should make it easier for all."

   "Yes, sir," the messenger said. "I will inform my lady, who is
properly known now as the Dowager Queen Ysa, of what you
have said. And if you don't mind my saying so—"

  "Yes?"

  "I think you will find my lady more agreeable than the King.
He is able but young, whereas she is more—steadfast."

  "I'm sure," Kasai said dryly.

   'Tell the Dowager also that we know about how the Bog-men
have learned to cross the river, for we have run afoul of them
ourselves from time to time," Snolli said. "This, and the news of
Ob-ern's miraculous escape from death, strengthens what had
originally been an uneasy peace at best. And so inform her."

  "I will, Lord Snolli." And with that, the messenger bowed
himself out of the presence of the Chieftain of the Sea-Rovers.

  Snolli drew a long breath. "And what do you think, Kasai?"

   The Spirit Drummer spat into the fire, made necessary by the
unseasonable cold of this Rendelian midsummer. "I think Obem
has earned his reputation for being lucky. By all rights, he should
have been bones by now but instead he has been cosseted in the
greatest of luxury instead of being thrown into a dungeon to rot,
the way anybody else would have. And furthermore, I think the
Queen— What's it mean, 'Dowager'?"

  "I think it means the widow of a King."
   "Well, I think she has something more in mind than just
returning Obern to us. She could have done that anytime."

   "So she could. And I agree with you. These Rendelians are as
slippery as a nest of sea-snakes, and their bite even worse, I'll
warrant." Snolli glanced around the room. In the time that
Obern had been missing, he had managed to begin furnishing
the deserted keep once more, bringing back what the looters in
years past had hidden, thinking to retrieve later.

    Most of the walls in the Hall were now decorated with an
arras depicting Rendelians at work, at play, or engaged in
flirtation. Furniture of a better quality than that hammered
together hastily by Snolli's craftsmen replaced the crude table
and chairs he had once made do with, even though it was carved
more ornately than he liked.

   Eventually New Void Keep would reflect the tastes of the
Sea-Rovers, and not those of the Rendelians, but Snolli had
discovered that much of what he had originally scorned as mere
decoration had a purpose. Wall hangings went far to prevent the
dankness from castle walls from sinking into one's bones, and
glass windows kept out cold winds much better than oiled paper
ever did. Also, velvet lined with fur was warmer than mere fur
alone, for all the dandified appearance it gave the wearer.

    Well, it did no harm. And so thinking, Snolli turned his mind
to the more important question of how he was going to feed his
people. The extended cold weather in the midst of the growing
season had all but ruined the crops they had planted, and Snolli
knew he might have to rely on stores of grain the Rendelians had
put by, just in case of hard times, for their own supplies were
utterly exhausted. The Sea-Rovers in New Void were already
living on what fish they could drag from the sea, and what meat
their hunting parties could bring in, and some of their number
had died. Therefore it behooved him to step softly around the
formidable Dowager Queen Ysa, and look with an easy eye at
whatever treaty she chose to lay in front of him.

   Later, if the terms proved too harsh, there would be time
enough to renegotiate. Or even, Snolli thought with an upsurge
of Sea-Rover martial spirit, to go to war.
   "I'm not of a mind to wait those two weeks just because the
Dowager tells me to," Snolli said. "And I was careful not to
promise to wait like a good boy."

   "I noticed that," Kasai said. "Wonder if the messenger did.
Probably not. He was too busy trying to pretend that he wasn't
taking everything in, to report on later."

   "We do have that piece of sorry news for Obern," Snolli said
with a grimace, and Kasai nodded gravely. "About his wife. And
anyway, who knows what we might meet on the way, to delay us?
Go notify the men. You know the ones I'll want with me. Let us
provision ourselves and start tomorrow, or the following day at
the latest. If we arrive early, then we'll get to watch a royal
wedding. If not, no harm done either way."

   Kasai nodded, and then left to go and do the Chieftain's
bidding.


                            Three
   When the bustle of preparations for King Florian's wedding
grew too onerous for Ashen to bear, she began to escape into
other parts of Rendelsham Castle. Obem's company was now
closed to her, because of his unwarranted declaration—a
declaration she most heartily hoped the Dowager never learned
of—and so she began to venture out on her own.

   One of the first places she visited was one where she had been
before, the Great Fane of the Glowing. She moved through the
door with a group of pilgrims, hoping to catch a glimpse of the
kind priest who had showed her and Obern the wondrous,
changing windows before, and to her pleasure, she did.

   He recognized her. "Lady Ashen," he said, bowing. "How nice
to see you again."

   "I fear I have come seeking a little peace and quiet from all
the to-do in the castle," Ashen said, a little ruefully.

  "This is a good place to come to," the priest said.
  "Thank you—I don't know your name, or your title."

  "Call me Esander. We don't set much store by titles here,
where we are in the presence of the Everlasting."

  "Then, thank you, Esander."

  "You do not have your companion with you."

   "No. He is—busy elsewhere with his own part in the
preparations."

  "You did not quarrel?"

    Ashen felt herself blushing. Esander saw far too keenly into a
person. Perhaps it was a part of his calling. "No, not exactly. But
it is better that we be apart, at least for a while."

  "Keep your secret as long as you want to. But remember that
part of my duty is to help people with certain personal problems.
When you are ready to tell me about it, I will be here. In the
meantime, would you like to see more of the Great Fane?"

  "Indeed I wouldi" Ashen exclaimed. "But I thought you
showed it all to us—I mean, to me—earlier."

   "We barely scratched the surface. For example, did you know
that there is a huge library, down in the depths of the mountain
on which Rendelsham is built?"

   Ashen blinked. A library! Riches untold. Zazar had taught her
her letters, of course, but there had never been anything to read
just for the sheer joy of it. "No, I had no idea."

   "Nor do even the great ones in the castle, I'll warrant. I only
discovered it myself recently. The cobwebs were thick across the
door. At any rate, it is there, and it is accessible only from a
certain chamber here in the Fane, through a secret passage and
a steep stairway down."

  Ashen was reminded of the tunnels and stairways beneath
Gal-inth, the ruined city in the Bog, where there had also been
stored-up tablets containing lore of forgotten times. "Would it be
possible for me to see it?"

   "If I thought you were not one with whom this secret would be
safe, I would not have entrusted it to you." The priest smiled, and
a network of wrinkles formed around his kind eyes. "Come with
me."

  Willingly Ashen followed the holy man through winding
pas-sageways until they came to a half-hidden door, which he
opened for her. "Later, you will learn the way yourself and not
have to rely on me to guide you."

  " 'Later'?"

   "Yes, Lady Ashen. You will return, and not just to relieve the
tedium of your days here in the city, away from the freedom in
which you grew up. Sometimes it is given to me to glimpse
shadows of what I have no way of knowing, what no one has told
me. I see in you that you are someone who needs to read and
study and leam. 1 know also that our Dowager Queen is a student
of certain lore, and that some of the books that she was at great
pains to acquire, reside below as well. It was through us, indeed,
that she got what she has, for we searched other orders to fulfil
her desires. Had she been aware of the treasure that you are
about to behold, she would have removed it long since. But we
hold it safe instead."

  "I will try to be worthy of your great trust."

   "As well I know you will be." With that, Esander struck fire to
a closed lantern and, handing Ashen an additional flagon of oil,
touched a spring and opened the secret door. "The lantern will
last long enough to get there and allow you an hour of study
before it begins to flicker. There is enough oil in the flagon to
replenish it enough to show you the way back once more. It is
not wise to linger too long in the dark."

  "I understand."

  Then, with a mingling of fear and anticipation making her
pulse pound in her throat, Ashen followed the priest into the
blackness beyond the door.

   The next time she visited the Great Fane, Ashen tried, with
Esander trailing her, to find the hidden room on her own. She
took a couple of wrong turns, but the priest assured her that she
surprised him by how easily she picked up the route.

   "I was reared in the Bog," she told him. "Sometimes life itself
depended on remembering where one had been, and how one got
to that place." She did not mention a certain square of
spicy-smelling wood, the hearth-guide Zazar had given her. She
could have set it for the hidden room, of course, but somehow
she felt that this would be much too trivial a use for such a
valuable artifact. So she left it where she had put it early in her
sojourn in Rendel— the bottom of the little jewel coffer Harous
had given her. She tucked it into the lining, hidden under her
necklace bearing her family emblem, the mysterious bracelet she
had found on a dead man's arm in the catacombs of Galinth, and
other less valuable trinkets she had accumulated. "You need not
go with me. I assure you, I can find my way both in and out, and
your absence will surely be noted sooner or later."

   "You will find the lantern, along with flint and steel and the
flask of oil, each time you return. This I promise."

  "And again, I thank you."

  She lighted the lantern and ducked through the doorway.
Es-ander waited until she was out of sight, and then closed the
door behind her.

   Going surefooted in the near-darkness, Ashen fairly raced
down the stairs and along the corridor leading to the door,
recently cleared of the cobwebs, behind which waited a glorious
store of information. She passed other doors, almost hidden
under the dust and veils spun by spiders long since dead, but did
not give in to any twinge of curiosity. Those mysteries could
wait, possibly forever. She was not willing to let the ones already
discovered sit idle while she investigated less important matters.

   Esander had found a table in the depths of the forgotten
library, and a chair. He dusted them and set them up for her on
that first visit. On the table she had left for further scrutiny three
volumes of lore that looked interesting, and the oil in the lantern
would not last forever. She set the lantern down on the table,
adjusted the cover so that it cast a strong ray on the first book,
and settled herself to read.

    It looked like an earlier, more complete edition of one of the
tablets she had begun to decipher back in the ruined city. The
char-acters were clearly limned on the pages—real pages, that
could be turned, rather than clay plates. Ashen thought of
Weyse, the little furry creature who had been of such help to her
in the ruined city, Galinth. She wished she had Weyse, or a
creature like Weyse, for companionship. There were echoes in
the cavernous chamber, and in the corridors, which she was
certain she had not caused. One blessing, though, was that the
spiders seemed to have vanished long ago, perhaps because they
had eaten all the other insects and subsequently starved. She
remembered also the pieces of what looked like bone, which gave
off light. Surely, if Galinth had once been a part of Rendel, and if
all lore was centered here beneath the Great Fane, there might
be something similar—

   Ashen arose and took the lantern with her. With a start of
recognition, she found identical bones embedded high on the
walls, where their glow would illuminate the whole of the vast
chamber. But they were dark. How to activate them?

   Of course, Ashen told herself. The answer would be in the
books, if she were clever enough to find the spell or incantation
or trigger, or whatever it took. She returned to the table and
began to read once more, eager to know more about this kind of
Power. It was, somehow, refined and tempered, as contrasted to
the earthy magic she had been accustomed to, with Zazar.

   She thought she found what she was looking for in the third
volume. She checked the oil level in the light. It had not yet
begun to flicker so she dared to risk it.

   Hoping that she was saying the words correctly, she began to
intone them aloud. With suddenness that hurt her eyes,
accustomed to the dimness, all the bones burst into light. She
shielded her eyes, waiting for them to adjust. When she could see
again, to her utter astonishment she found Weyse standing atop
the table, staring at her.

   "Oh!" she cried. "How wonderful!" She reached out to touch
the little creature, hoping to hear an answering soft, loving purr,
but to her dismay Weyse scuttled away, out of reach. "Oh, please
come back. I have missed you."

   Weyse waddled back a few steps, and plopped herself down on
the open book, holding her paws over as many as possible of
those words that still could be seen around her plump bottom.
She glared at Ashen with what could only be described as a
baleful air, as if Ashen had committed an unknown
transgression.

  Ashen stood quite still. She knew that Weyse seldom did
anything without a reason. "Did Zazar send you?" she said.

  Weyse looked away, and made a soft trilling noise that would
have been lost anywhere but in the utter silence of the great
Ren-delian library.

  Ashen thought some more, remembering certain warnings
Zazar had given her about exceeding her capabilities. "It is the
magic, isn't it?"

  Weyse trilled again, but did not leave her station, blocking the
words on the book of spells.

   "I believe that is your message, sent me by my Protector. I
think she wants me to read, and learn, but not do. Not yet. Is
that correct?"

   For answer, Weyse moved off the book and let Ashen close the
cover. Then she allowed Ashen to stroke her soft fur. Even as the
girl caressed the strange, intelligent little creature, Weyse began
to fade and Ashen's hands went right through her, as if she were
no more than a shadow. Then she vanished entirely.

    Ashen found that her knees would not hold her and she had to
sit down. Fortunately, since she had managed to activate the
bone lights, she had time to think and collect her wits before she
had to brave the dark passageway back to the outside.

   The message had been unmistakable. Read she might, as
much as she liked, and study, too—even spells and the making of
magic. But putting the knowledge into use was forbidden. This
was, in a way, a relief to Ashen, for she had only reluctantly
employed a little of what Zazar had taught her or given her while
she was growing up.

   Very well. There were many other books to be read. One that
she had only opened and lightly turned through promised to give
the history of the great families of Rendel, and also the story of
the Great Rings, which were said to be articles of legend.

   Were they the same ones as the Dowager wore on her white,
elegant hands? If so, then much study was indeed called for, and,
apparently, as long as she did not try to work any spells she could
learn to her heart's content without being interrupted.

    Even so, Weyse's abrupt appearance and then mysterious
method of departure had unsettled the girl. She emptied the
little flask into the lantern, her hands shaking so that she had to
be careful lest she spill the oil, and quickly made her way back to
the entrance to the cavern. There was one last fitting for the
dress she would be wearing for King Florian's wedding, and the
wedding itself was a mere two days hence. Little as she cared for
it, the humdrum routine of life outside the secret places of the
Fane of the Glowing might calm her nerves. Also, it might put
her in a better, more receptive frame of mind to learn the next
time she ventured down into the cavern and the hidden library.

   The day of Florian's wedding to Rannore dawned cold and
clear. Obern was grateful for what warmth the velvet and samite
provided, though he found the dandified cut and ornamentation
of the garments more than a little distasteful. Also, the little
gilded boat he was expected to carry was merely silly.

   All the participants in the procession had been given brooches
of gold, the design being the Rowan yellow rose entwined with a
branch of yew. When he saw Lord Royance pinning his on his
hat, Obern did likewise. The women placed theirs according to
their fancy, on shoulder or bosom or on headdress. Pages waited
with baskets of similar ornaments, made of flimsy base metal
and painted gold, ready to throw to the crowds as souvenirs.

   The procession gathered in a room just inside the castle
doors. From there, they would walk through the outer ward, out
into the city along a specified route, and back again to the Great
Fane of the Shining. Only a small portion of the city's inhabitants
could hope to fit into this building. The rest would have to wait
outside in the cold, relying on word being sent out to them by the
luckier ones inside as to what was happening within.

   Obern craned his neck, seeking a glimpse of Ashen. Finally he
spotted her, standing a little apart from the other ladies. Her
hair was covered with a veil; today, only the bride's head would
be bare. She saw him and started to smile and wave. Then she
ducked her head and busied herself with the small pillow she
would be carrying, on which the marriage rings had been tied
with white ribbons.

    The bride herself, looking wan and pale and more than a little
ill, was supported by her grandfather, Wittern, and by Lord
Roy-ance. Obern thought the two men seemed to be old friends,
by the easy way they had with one another. Royance lifted one
hand, a page appeared as if by magic, disappeared just as
quickly, and presently returned bearing a tray with a flask and a
goblet on it. From the color of the liquid as the servant poured it,
Obern thought it must be neat wine. Rannore accepted a
swallow, and then another. A little color returned to her cheeks.

   Interested, Obern watched the Dowager pull the bridegroom
to one side and deliver a short but impassioned lecture in so low
a voice that no one save the King could hear it. Florian frowned,
looking at his bride-to-be, and then at Ashen, who did not seem
to realize that she was the object of a look of pure hatred. That
was interesting, and alarming as well. Obern had no idea what
was going on between the King and his mother, and even less
about how Ashen was involved. Perhaps this was part of the
reason for Ashen's being ordered to leave Harous's town house
and move into the castle. Then, to his further bewilderment, he
found himself the object of a moment of hard and merciless
scrutiny from both mother and son.
   Obern wanted to know more, but didn't know whom to ask.
His speculations were cut off abruptly by the ringing of a bell in
the hands of the Ceremonial Steward, who had begun to line up
the procession.

   "Here, here, and you there," the Steward said. He looked
har-tied and did not shrink from putting hands on those of the
high ones who were tardy and directing them to their places.
"We start through the door at the stroke of noon."

   Fortunately, Obern was stationed well back in the ranks, and
in any case his order of precedence was not at all important—at
least not to him—and so he continued to dawdle at the sidelines.
To his surprise, the Ceremonial Steward beckoned him aside.

   "You are Obern of the Sea-Rovers, are you not? Yes, I see by
the token you carry. Well, sir, I have news for you. Your father
and a company of some dozen men are in the city, and have
asked about you. And today, of all days! Well, never mind.
Somehow I found room for them, in one of the lesser buildings
inside the walls, and you will see them later."

  Obem blinked back his surprise. "Thank you, good Steward.
This is welcome news, indeed."

   The procession had already started and was winding its way
out of the great entrance to the castle. Obern checked to make
sure his cap was on straight, that his cloak hung properly, and
that his hose were unwrinkled. Later, he would find out why
Snolli had picked this day, of all days, to come visiting at
Rendelsham.


                             Four
   At last the wedding was over, the bride did not faint, the
bridegroom did not ruin the ceremony with some untoward
coarse comment, and a great feast had begun in the castle's
main Hall. There were too many people to seat, even in that big
enclosure, so food was set out on long tables, with platters so
that people could help themselves as they chose from the variety
laid out for them. Whole roast pig, haunches of beef, birds
without number prepared in various ways, and a table of
sweetmeats, for the King was known to have a fondness for
them—this day nobody went hungry. Nor did any go thirsty, for
kegs of wine and ale had already been broached. The sounds of
celebration filled the air. Musicians played from a gallery over
the Hall, and already some of the revelers had begun to dance.

   Obern followed the crowd into the Hall, not intending to stay,
for he was now free to go in search of his father. To his surprise
and amusement he didn't have to go far, because Snolli and his
men had happily invaded the party and were making great dents
in the food that had been provided for the wedding guests.

  "Obern!" Snolli bellowed when he caught sight of his son. "It's
good to see you, boy! For a while we thought you were dead!
Come and have some of this roast pig. It's excellent."

   Obern grinned. It was plain to see that Snolli had also been
making free with the ale-keg. Those with him—Kasai, Dordan,
Iaobim, others he did not see clearly in the press—gathered
around, pounding him on shoulders and back, shoving platters of
food at him, asking him how he had fared. Somehow he
managed to answer through the tumult.

  "Well enough. I broke my arm in the fall from the cliff. It's a
wonder I didn't break more, but I think I landed on my head. My
sword is gone, but it's safely hidden and I know where to find it.
And how goes it at New Void?"

   "Well enough, well enough," Snolli said. "We're here to make a
treaty with Her Majesty. She told us to wait until after the
wedding, but we chose not to."

   "What, and miss a good meal?" one of the Sea-Rovers
shouted, amid laughter from his companions. "And especially in
the company of one who is now known to be the luckiest man
alive?"

    Obern could not help but notice that the Rendelians were
giving the newcomers a wide berth, and he smiled. They did
stand out, in their rough garments over chain mail. They had
little pretense of elegance among the overly civilized, who did not
hesitate to look down their noses at the men from the south or
even, when they thought they were being unobserved, to hold
perfumed handkerchiefs over their noses. How he had missed the
company of his father and friends! He felt a big part of the
veneer of fancy manners he had had to put on sliding away and
let it go without regret.

  "You all look like you could use a meal or two," he said. "Have
you discovered that farming is hard work?"

    His father sobered. Then he drew Obern aside, to a velvet
upholstered seat in a window niche where they could have just a
little privacy.

   "I wanted to tell you this before we all met with the royal
lady," Snolli said, and Obern immediately gave his Chieftain his
full at-tention. "Things are not going well at New Void. The
weather is against us. I've never seen such a cold summer. The
local grain is dying, and even the winter-hardy seed we brought
with us is struggling. It will grow only if coddled under shelter
and given extra warmth. Some of our people also have died."

  "Anybody I know?"

   "The men may call you lucky, but this luck doesn't reach past
your arms' length. Neave is dead. She was sick when you last saw
her, and when we thought that you had died, she lost all her will
to live. I don't think she lasted a week."

   Obern pondered this news in silence. Sorry as he was to hear
that Neave had gone on that voyage from which nobody returns,
behind his dutiful regret a certain exaltation threatened to burst
through. Now there were no obstacles between him and Ashen]
To cover this unseemly response, he said, "And my son? How
fares the boy?"

 Snolli looked a little blank. "Boy? Oh, yes. There was a child.
What was his name?"

   "Rohan." Sea-Rover warriors were not Great lovers of
children, not until they were old enough to join the ranks of
fighters. Obem was more tolerant of them than most.
   "Oh, yes, I remember. The boy is doing fine. Left him in
fosterage, of course. With Dagdya. She raises healthy young ones.
Come to think of it, she fostered you, didn't she?"

   Obern nodded without comment. This was obviously the first
time Snolli had even thought about Rohan since the night he was
born, some six or seven years ago. Still, if the boy had died, Snolli
would have heard about it for he was of Snolli's own blood. Obem
dismissed any concern for Rohan, knowing he was safe enough.
Time enough to make provisions for him, later.

  "Thank you for teiling me about Neave, Father," Obern said.
"Did she die well?"

   "I didn't hear anything to the contrary."

   "Then there's an end to it." He looked up. One of the chief
stewards was coming toward them. "I think Her Majesty is going
to summon us to a meeting very shortly. Will you require my
presence?"

   "No, no, it's just dry and boring negotiations between our
people and theirs. We hope to get access to the food stores,
because I fear we'll need the help. You were just the excuse to
bring us here."

   "Then I'll take my leave of you. There is something that I want
to do."

   "Go, go, everything will be well for a lucky man such as you,"
Snolli said heartily. Both men arose from the window seat. "And
change your clothes," he added with a laugh. "You look
ridiculous."

   Obem laughed also, glancing down at the white samite and
velvet he had had to don for the festivities. "No need to tell me
twice, Fatheri 1 will look for you later."

   And with that, he moved off through the crowd, seeking
Ashen. He knew of her fondness for both music and dancing, and
though he had no great skill in it, he hoped she would favor him
nonetheless.
   Ashen had not gone into the Great Hall, for her natural
preference for avoiding crowds had been tested to its limit by the
wedding procession and the wedding itself. She knew that she, if
not the center of all eyes, was still on display much more than
was comfortable for her. And so she quietly made her way to the
building where her apartment was located, intending to ask
Ayfare to bring her a platter of food later.

   She didn't even reach the outer door. Five men, wearing King
Florian's livery, blocked her way. "Stand aside, please," she said,
summoning all the command she could put into her voice. "Let
me pass."

   "We've got orders," one of them, the leader by his manner,
told her. "King wants to see you."

  "For what?" Ashen said.

  "King'U tell you in his own good time. Now come along."

  "No—"

   But before she could protest further, a heavy cloth was thrown
over her, cutting off her muffled scream. She recognized a flash
of brocade, something fit for covering a window, before darkness
cut off her vision. Pressure through the brocade at arm and knee
level told her that she was being trussed securely. ¦

   She feared the worst. But none of the men seemed inclined to
take liberties with her. Perhaps they were under order—but
order from whom? Florian? If so, why? But there was nobody to
answer her. She felt herself being picked up and carried away, in
what direction she did not know though she felt the bite of cold,
even through the heavy cloth. Presently she was thrown, none too
gently, into what had to be a wagon, judging by the creak of its
wheels, and she began a jouncing journey to a destination
equally unknown.

  Obem, she thought despairingly. My friend. If only he knew
what was happening. He could help me…

  In the Council chamber, the Dowager Ysa and Lord Royance
met with the Chieftain of the Sea-Rovers, who was accompanied
by one of his number, a small man who, inexplicably, carried a
drum with him. From the moment she laid eyes on Snolli she
knew why her son's feeble efforts at negotiating a pact had come
to naught. This was a wily old sea-eagle. He had undoubtedly
been greatly amused at Florian's bungling.

   "Let us be frank with one another," the Dowager said. She sat
at the head of the table, her hands folded in such a way that the
Four Great Rings were plainly visible, and Royance occupied the
chair opposite. "You could be thought of as invaders of our land,
but we choose to welcome you as valued allies instead."

   "That's a sound decision," Snolli said. "So far, all we have
invaded is an empty keep and some of the land around it."

   Ysa had to acknowledge the truth in that. She noted also the
lack of title, and put it down to simply his not knowing how to
address her. "You are called the Chieftain, are you not?" she said.

   "People still call me 'Your Majesty' even though properly,
since I am no longer the wife of a King but only his widow, I
should be known as 'Your Highness.' "

  "Then 'Your Majesty' it is," Snolli said. He grinned. "D'you
happen to have something to cut the dust of the road?"

   Now Ysa's lips twitched with amusement in spite of herself.
She had seen how thoroughly the Chieftain and his companions
had sluiced down enough to cut weeks of road-dust just an hour
before, at the wedding party. Nevertheless, she gave a signal and
presently a page brought a pitcher and goblets.

   "That'll do for me," Snolli said, taking the pitcher. "Now,
bring some for Her Majesty and our friends."

   At this Ysa laughed outright and even Royance made a
muffled sound of amusement. "How refreshing! You remind me
of how artificial life has become here in Rendelsham Castle!" she
exclaimed.

  Royance spoke up, though he had been asked to the meeting
only as a witness. "Yes, I agree. I think we can bring much to
each other, your people and ours." He nodded at the Dowager.
"Pray continue, and forgive my interruption."

   The small man spoke up. "All that's as may be." He began to
stroke the surface of the drum as if unaware of what he was
doing. "We need to see what terms you're proposing. And how
they fit with the terms we're proposing. My lord. Your Majesty,"
he added, almost as an afterthought. He accepted the fresh tray
the page brought, and poured for both Ysa and Royance before
serving himself.

  Snolli turned to his companion. "This is Kasai, my Spirit
Drummer. He is one of my most trusted advisers for he can see
past the veil that separates this world from others."

   Doubtful of any such thing, Ysa thought of the little furred
flyer, Visp, tucked in its cage in the room high atop the tallest
tower in Rendelsham. This creature, summoned through Ysa's
successful invoking of a certain spell, served much the same
purpose for the Dowager. She nodded, pretending to understand.
"It is good to have help of this kind," she said. "For we never
know when we will need it most."

   "Just so, Your Majesty. Now, let's get down to business.
Perhaps it will be better if I tell you what the Sea-Rovers want,
and then you tell us what you're willing to give. Then we can
start bargaining." Snolli grinned, his strong teeth showing white
against his beard. "How say you, lady?"

   Vastly amused and diverted as she had not been since the day
she had forced a marriage proposal out of Florian for his new
bride, Rannore, Ysa inclined her head graciously. "Please," she
said. "Begin."

   First, ships. Rendel boasted but a handful of ships of war, and
those were falling to pieces. But a few merchants' vessels could
be commandeered and refitted to add to the Rendelian navy,
which the Sea-Rovers proposed to man. Next, full title to the old
Ashenkeep, renamed New Void Keep. This much land, reaching
from the southernmost shore to a slight narrowing between the
River Rendel and the Barrier River at the spot where the road
forked with one branch leading to the city and the other toward
the'Oakenkeep. Patrol of the road from New Void Keep to this
fork. The eastern stretch of land to extend from the spot where
the Rendel joined the Row-enstream and on south to the coast.
The western boundary the Barrier River. Southern boundary the
sea.

  It was roughly the area the House of Ash had called its own,
when it was still in its fullness of strength. Ysa glanced at
Royance, who nodded. "Agreed," she said.

   Reciprocal help, especially along the borders, to quell the
increasing number of raids by the Bog-men. "We can take care of
our own, Your Majesty," Snolli said. "In fact, we did so just a day
or so before we started our journey here. But we aren't horse
riders by nature. It goes hard with most of us to patrol the way
the lands need looking after, both yours and ours. Our backsides
suffer, if you don't mind my saying so." He grinned with perfectly
transparent cunning and again Ysa had to stifle a smile. "So if
we take sea and land patrols and your people take horse patrol,
between us we should be able to drive those raiders right back
where they belong, don't you agree?"

  "I'm certain that we can work out something along that line,"
Ysa said. "Royance?"

   "I will speak with Count Harous, who is the Lord High
Marshal of Rendel, and work out the details as I have heard them
discussed. Will this be acceptable?"

   "Of course," Snolli said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"There'll be fighting enough to go around, I'll warrant, judging
from what we've seen so far."

  "Is there anything else?" Ysa said.

   The Chieftain turned serious. "Food," he said bluntly. "Your
Majesty, if we do not have access to the storehouses here in the
city, our people will starve. What we brought with us when we
fled the north is gone. We hoped to be able to sustain ourselves,
but this unseasonable cold will not allow our crops to thrive, and
too much hunting will leave no meat for later. We have already
eaten more fish than we like."

   "We here in Rendel face the same problems," Ysa said. "We
have been prudent in laying food by, but even you must
recognize that the supply is not inexhaustible."

   "We don't ask for much. Just enough to keep us going until
the sun starts warming the fields again or we can figure a way to
use the shelters some farmers have invented. They keep the
ground and grain warm and let it grow, y'see. We are people who
once lived in northern lands, perhaps a little rougher around the
edges than the ones who call themselves Nordors, but they are
our kindred by birth even as we now seek to become your
kindred by adoption."

   Ysa suddenly remembered the nobleman who had come years
ago, seeking permission for his people to enter Rendel, and the
way she had turned him out over a slight involving the wretched
manners of the then Prince. Perhaps—no, doubtless—she had
acted in too much haste. But he had never returned, and she had
had too much occupying her attention to think about it.

  Snolli was still speaking. "Your Majesty has to be aware as
much as we are, that there is a great danger building in the far
North."

   A whispering sound filled the chamber and the hairs on the
back of the Dowager's head stirred. She knew Power when she
encountered it—but where was it coming from? Then she
realized that the small man, Kasai, was stroking his drum, and it
was from him that the Power emanated. She had not believed
Snolli, certain that he was merely boasting. Who would have
thought such a rough people could be possessed of access to
Power? And yet here it was, in her very presence, so palpable she
might have reached out and touched it. She shivered a little, and
touched the Four Great Rings, to comfort herself with the
knowledge of her own store of Power.

   "Aye, danger riding upon danger and no man can know when
it will come upon us, but it is sure to do." Kasai half spoke, half
sang, in rhythm to his drum. His eyes were closed, his face
perfectly devoid of expression. His words might have been the
results of drinking too deeply of the wine except that his goblet
was untouched. The Power surrounded him, almost visible in its
aura. "Perhaps a year, perhaps not until the son of the
Chieftain's son is a man full-grown. And yet they will come."
Then he seemed to awaken. He glanced at Snolli. "Pardon,
Chieftain."

   "No pardon necessary," Snolli said. "You speak true as always.
As I told you, Kasai is a Spirit Drummer, and he can see what
others cannot."

  "That is a great gift. Please, tell me more."

   Snolli took another pull at his goblet and refilled it. "Cyornas
NordomKing is the guardian of the Palace of Fire and Ice. What
he guards has begun to stir, and so he will face it first. He cannot
prevail alone. Nor can your southern land, not without our help.
The Great Foulness, as Cyornas terms it, will come down the
coastline, pushing Nordorn refugees before it. The Sea-Rovers
have fought minions of this Great Foulness, when we were forced
to flee as well. We know how it is done. Help us to live, Your
Majesty, and in return my fleet, and the command of whatever
fighting ships you possess, are at your service."

   Ysa sat back in her chair, impressed in spite of herself. Who
would have thought someone so rough and earthy could be
capable of such eloquence, let alone have a follower who could
tap into the Power simply by stroking his fingers over a drum?
She glanced at Royance. He seemed as much taken by Snolli's
proposal as she.

   He cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, we have heard true
words spoken by the Chieftain of the Sea-Rovers and by his
companion as well. As both have noted, he has fought what
presses down on us daily, and which we will not escape fighting
in our turn, however long it takes to arrive in our midst. There is
no doubt in my mind that the unseasonable cold that is plaguing
us currently is a harbinger of worse to come—like the breeze that
signals rain. So if I have advice to give you, it is this. Accept
Snolli's proposals in full measure, giving even more than was
asked, that both our peoples may survive the coming storm."
   "Then I accept," the Dowager said. "Send for a scribe, ink, and
seals." She arose. "Tomorrow, the treaty will be ready for our
signatures."

  "You're a fair woman, and smarter than most. Here, let's clap
hands on our bargain."

   To her dismay, Snolli spat into his hand and held it out to her
to take. She looked at Royance, appalled, but he was just sitting
there, head averted and eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his
nose and hiding his face as best he could. She thought she could
see his shoulders shake.

   Snolli was waiting. And so, summoning all the statecraft of
which she was capable and remembering that different peoples
had different customs, the elegant Queen Dowager of Rendel
summoned up a bit of moisture in her own mouth and managed
to spit it into the palm of her soft, manicured hand. Snolli
grasped it with enough enthusiasm to sway her on her feet.

  "You'll never regret it, lady," he said. "Kasai?"

  The small man likewise offered a spittle-laced, hard hand for
her to take. And then, both insisted on the same ceremony with
Lord Royance who had to stand and follow his royal lady's lead.

   The instant she could get away, the Dowager Ysa retired to
her own chambers. There she scrubbed her hands and then took
the secret stairway up to her private tower room, where her little
messenger Visp awaited her. She would stir it from its laziness.
For too long Visp had lounged idle in its silk-lined basket, dining
on dried fruit and nuts, doing nothing as Ysa was consumed by
the various details attendant upon a royal wedding.

   If Kasai, the Spirit Drummer, was correct, she had some time.
If her plans worked out and Obern and Ashen married, any son
of theirs would not be a man for many years yet. Still, she could
not afford to be complacent. The attack could always come
sooner, and without warning.

  In addition to wanting to verify Kasai's predictions, she
wanted to try a new element of her magical connection with
Visp. Heretofore, she had had to wait until Visp returned, to take
the information that Visp had gleaned. However, she had
discovered a new spell, whereby she might be able to catch a
glimpse of what Visp saw, while it was happening.

   According to her habit, she removed her cosmetics, dressed in
the simple velvet robe, and intoned the spell. Her preparations
thus accomplished, she drew the curtain and pushed open the
window. Then she took the little winged, furry creature from its
comfortable bed and held it up so she could peer into its sleepy
eyes. "Go," she told it, "and report all that you learn."

   Then she gave it a toss toward the north window of the tower
room. Visp flapped uncertainly, still drowsy, and righted itself.
Then it began to fly in the direction Ysa desired. Before it had
reached the curtains covering the window, it had become
invisible.

   Ysa took a few moments to touch up her appearance and
dress herself once more, and then settled into her red velvet chair
to wait. She would see if her new spell was having enough effect
to bother with strengthening or making permanent, and then,
whatever her decision, she would retire below to await her
messenger's arrival back to the tower room. She closed her eyes.

   A vision of the countryside began to form. She recognized
Ren-delsham Castle, even from aloft, as Visp circled it in flight,
seeking a direction. Then the little flyer began to head out over
the countryside, not due north as Ysa had desired, but more to
the north and west. She noted a cart moving along a road, and
noted also that Visp seemed to want to fly down closer to this
crude vehicle. The Dowager sent a mental command to her
furred servant and the little creature—reluctantly, or so it
seemed to Ysa—headed once more northward.

   The connection began to fade. But she could see the usefulness
of it. Later, when there was time, she would reinforce the spell
and make it permanent. Now, however, satisfied that she could
contact her messenger if the need were great enough, the
Dowager then descended the tower stairs. She wanted to write a
letter, for it was time and past time to renew negotiations with
the people of the North. Now she regretted the poor reception
she had given their envoy—what was his name—Count Bjauden.
He had never returned after that one unfortunate evening years
ago, when Florian had been so rude to him.

   In addition, she needed to show herself to those of the
wedding guests who were staying on for a few days after. And
also she wanted to keep an eye on her son. King Florian had had
a very satisfied look on his face when last she glimpsed him at
the feast following the ceremony, and she felt sure it had nothing
to do with his new status as a bridegroom.


                               Five
   Obern couldn't find Ashen anywhere, though he looked in all
the public rooms and even dared peek into some of the private
ones as well. He made his way outside and along the covered
walkway toward the building in which her apartment was
located. As if she had been waiting for him, a young woman
rushed out, weeping uncontrollably, and caught him by the arm.

   "You're Obern, of the Sea-Rovers, aren't you?"

   "I am."

   "Oh, sir, sir, please helpi" the girl cried. "My lady's been
taken—"

   "Calm yourself," Obern said. He gently disengaged the young
woman's fingers from his sleeve. She had it in such a tight grip
she seemed fair to tear the samite. "What do you mean, your
lady's been taken?"

   "Just that, sir!" To her credit, the girl wiped her eyes on her
sleeve, obviously trying not to create a scene. "Lady Ashen. She's
gone."

   "I know she's nowhere to be found, but—"

   "Come inside, please do, and I'll tell you what I know. I saw
everything."
  Willingly, Obem followed the girl into Ashen's living quarters.
Once inside, she began to talk even more freely, to the point of
babbling.

    "Oh, I saw it all—five men in King's livery, and they took her
and covered her over with one of the formal tablecloths that was
put away for the feast so they wouldn't be spoiled and plain cloth
put in their place, and she fought but there was too many of
them and I would have cried out only who'd tell what happened
if they took me too, and oh, sir, you must help her—"

  "Be sure of help," Obem said. His voice sharpened. "But you
must take hold of yourself. First, what is your name?"

  The girl gulped and wiped her eyes again. "I'm Ayfare, sir,
Lady Ashen's maid and her friend, too."

  "I can see that. Now, tell me why, if you know, should Lady
Ashen be abducted?"

   "I don't know about that, sir, but they took her. And the
brocade was thick enough so nobody could hear her screaming,
or maybe she fainted dead away. Oh, sir, can you help? Will you
help?"

   "My life and honor on it," Obern said grimly. His hand closed
on the hilt on the sword at his side—one loaned by the man he
had to consider his patron, Harous, and nowhere near as fine as
the Rinbell sword his father had given to him as his man's gift.
"But first I must know where these men took her."

   "As to that, I don't know. I was afraid to show myself, as they
went. But if they wore the King's livery, they must have taken her
to one of the King's houses. Such has happened before, with a
lady of rank."

  Obern frowned. "Then the question is, which house?"

   "Somebody who knows the King must be found to answer
that, sir."

  Obem nodded, thinking. Of those he was acquainted with
here in the city, the one most likely to be aware of the workings
of the King's mind would be Harous, but Obern knew he could
not approach the High Marshal of Rendel. Count Harous himself
had sporadically wooed Ashen. He would be sure to take
whatever Obern told him, give nothing back, and go off in
pursuit alone. Obern, cold with the anger of men from the North,
was determined that when Ashen was rescued, it would be by his
own hand and none other.

   Most of the Rendelians Obern had become acquainted with
were simple soldiers, not likely to know anything useful. Could he
go directly to the Dowager? Obern's lips twisted wryly at the
thought. All knew well the animosity that Ysa held for the
bastard daughter of her greatest rival. Any concern that might
be expressed by the Dowager publicly was, Obern knew,
prompted by politics and liable to vanish without much warning.
She would be highly unlikely to give him any assistance.

  Who, then? Obern scowled, trying to think, and then a name
and face swam into his mind.

   Royance of Grattenbor, head of the Council. Obern had picked
up the information that his family was ally to the House of Oak,
and in his youth he had been a close comrade to the old King.
Though past his prime, he had been a fighting man by choice
and this was clear in his manner and bearing. Obern could see
the resemblance between the burhawk that Royance had taken
as his personal badge, and the man. If some of the fierce nature
of that bird was his, then he would see the kind of injustice that
had been perpetrated and would help, if only to the extent of
aiming Obern in a likely direction. Making up his mind, he
determined to seek a private audience with Royance.

  "Stay here," he told Ayfare, "and try to act as if nothing
untoward has happened, that your mistress is off enjoying
herself at the feasting. I will return as soon as I am able."

    "Oh, thank you, sir, thank you." Ayfare made a visible effort at
control though she still shivered visibly. "My lady has spoken of
you more than once. I think that if anybody can bring her back,
it will be you, sir."
  Stifling a flash of impulse to discover what else Ashen might
have said in his favor, Obern set off to find the head of the
Council of Regents.

   He discovered Royance easily enough in the main Hall, in
serious council with a small gathering of older men, among them
the bride's grandfather. Obern knew that he himself could not
push, unasked, into that company but a servant well might. He
beckoned to a steward and sent him to Royance with the request
that he be allowed a few moments' private audience, and to be
sure to impress upon him that the matter was urgent.

   He watched the steward whisper discreetly in Royance's ear.
The white-haired noble glanced up, and Obern nodded
vigorously. Then Royance nodded in turn and the steward
returned with Royance's message.

  "Lord Royance said I should show you to his privy office," the
man said, "and he will join you in a few moments."

  "Thank you."

   Obern followed the servant up a flight of stairs. Beyond several
passageways they came to a door which his guide opened,
displaying a large, imposing chamber, with a smaller, private
one beyond.

  "Could I bring you something, sir?"

  "Whatever Lord Royance might desire," Obern replied. "For
me, nothing." The thought of such indulgence when he must
make plain Ashen's danger aroused further the anger burning in
him.

   The servant bowed. Almost before the door closed behind
him, Royance entered. To Obern's relief, he did not look irritated
though his manner was brusque.

   "What is so important?" Royance said. "We have made the
decision with your people—have you some second demand,
then?"
   Obern had no idea what this meant. His anger had control of
his tongue and he blurted it out his errand as bluntly as any
Sea-Rover might. "It's Ashen, sir. Lady Ashen. She's been taken,
and by what was seen, it's the King's doing!"

   Royance's snowy eyebrows rose. He gestured to the chairs by
the fireplace. "What kind of a moil is this, boy?" The door
opened and the steward re-entered with a tray on which were a
flask and two goblets. "Ah, excellent. Warmed wine. The good
vintage—not what we're serving below. Drink. This will do you
good, I promise." With a wave of his hand, Royance dismissed
the servant and poured for both.

   Reluctantly, Obern took the goblet the nobleman handed him
and sipped. Royance had been right, he discovered. The hot
beverage seemed to touch a spot that had been icy ever since
Obem had heard the maid's story. He strove to control himself,
to push back his anger—and his fear. "Thank you, sir. I apologize
for my lack of manners, but you must know that I am relatively
new-come to Rendel and—"

   "Yes, yes, I know all that. Now, tell me what is important. You
say Lady Ashen has been taken? And by the King? What kind of
tangled tale is this?"

   Obem repeated the maid's story, including the information
that the abductors had boldly worn King's livery.

   "Are you sure of the truth of this claim?" There was a snap in
the old noble's question.

  "She seemed very sure, sir. Royal livery is hard to mistake."

   And so it was, unless the witness was blind. Deep red the
uniforms were, and badged by a bear standing erect, on a
background of oak leaves, all circled with the motto, Strength
Prevails. Obern shifted in his chair, fighting a desperate desire
for immediate action. Useless questions would only delay
matters.

   "All the Court guards and servants would be clad so," Royance
said. He might have been musing to himself. Irritatingly, he
was— as far as Obern was concerned—not the least bit alarmed.
"Five of them, did you say?"

  "So the maidservant said. She was in great fear for her lady."

   Royance was silent long enough for Obern to drain his goblet
of the heated liquid. Then the older man stirred. "It is good that
you came to me, young Obern."

    "When I first met you, at Count Harous's keep the night the
old King died, I knew you for a man of honor," Obern said. He
still seethed to be out doing something. It was hard for a man of
action to maintain control among these too-tranquil courtiers.

   "Aye, honor binds me, and I fear you have brought me word of
less than honorable deeds. The King is here, to be seen with his
new bride. However, that does not prevent any issuing of orders
so his greatest rival"—Royance put a slight but unmistakable
emphasis on the words—"be taken away in secret, that she might
be dealt with later."

   Obern's hand went again to his sword hilt. He did not dare
ask in what manner Ashen would be "dealt with." Instead, he set
his goblet on the tray and tried to assume a confidence fast being
warped away. "Then we must bring her back," he said. "I mean, I
must bring her back. I understand that you, as Head of the
Council, could not afford to involve yourself in opening such a
coil."

   "You have a good head, young Obern. No, I could not because
part of my influence rests upon my being impartial to all. I can
offer you no open help. But what I can do is make as good as
guess as I can, as to where the lady has been taken."

   "Only give me a direction, and I will find her." Just let him get
started! He was all but in the saddle already.

   "It is best to believe that Florian has ordered her taken to a
remote hold, well away from any of his other known haunts.
Certainly not to the deserted Oakenkeep. Instead, he may well
have had her taken to a certain hunting lodge, which, if rumor is
to be believed, he has used for similar questionable projects in
the past."

  Obern swallowed hard, dreading the next question. Still, he
must ask it. "Do—do you think she will be harmed?"

   "I do not believe her in immediate danger," Royance said.
Despite his reassurance, a trace of frown showed between his
brows. "If I know our new King—and I have known him, from the
time he could toddle—any plans for the lady are not yet decided
beyond the fact that he wants her out of his sight and that of the
Court. He can't be planning what you fear—dishonor. She is,
after all, his half-sister. If he intended her death, he would have
ordered an assassin—not a company of five men to subdue one
slight girl instead. Therefore, if he intends her harm or disgrace
ultimately, he also intends to be witness when it happens. No,
the Lady Ashen is safe enough. But I would not tarry on the
road."

   Obern was already on his feet. "I will ride out at once, as soon
as I can find a horse."

  For the first time, Royance smiled slightly. "I think you might
want to change clothes first."

   Obern glanced down at the samite-and-velvet wedding
garments and his face grew hot. "Yes, sir, I forgot I—I mean, I
was in such a—" He stopped in confusion.

    Royance's smile widened. "Never mind, young Obem. Believe
it or not, I was in love once, too. Now. Can you read a map?"

   "Yes, sir. All Sea-Rovers learn the art."

   "Good. I will show you a map—I cannot give it to you, as I'm
sure you must understand—showing you the location of the
King's very private hunting lodge. You will have to memorize it
and then convey the information to your companions. Oh,
yes"—Royance held up a cautionary hand—"you must take with
you a force at least equal to those who abducted Lady Ashen. To
do otherwise would be romantic and heroic, to be sure, but also
utter folly. This is a matter for planning, and force to meet
force."
   Obern bit back a hot retort. The old noble was correct. "You
are wise in the ways of men," he said. "Indeed, I had pictured
myself bursting in and snatching Ashen away—"

   "And riding off with her on your saddlebow," Royance
finished, a little wryly. "Believe me, young Obern, she will be no
less grateful if you do not manage to get yourself killed in the
attempt. Listen to me, and learn thereby."

   "Yes, sir."

   Then Royance arose and took a map of Rendel from a long
drawer. He spread it out as Obern came to view it. "Here," he
said, pointing to a dot on the map, hidden in a fold of what had
to be mountains. "From this spot our late King used to hunt, and
even fish in the nearby streams. Later, Florian used it as a
hideaway where he and his current light-o'-love could cavort in
privacy. At least, such privacy as could be found with a royal
guard just outside."

   Obern was already thinking of whom he could enlist to
accompany him. Dordan, the archer, and Kather and Iaobim.
These would be enough, against mere Rendelians. All three of
these men had been with him at other times, when there had
been trouble brewing, and were to be depended upon. He moved
one of the nearby candles closer and studied the map, imprinting
each detail upon his memory. Though Florian might not be
planning Ashen's dishonor, there was nothing to suggest that his
servants might not attempt such. "If the lodge is the place where
they have taken Ashen, rest assured that I will find it," he said.
"And if she is there, I will bring her back." Without being fully
aware of what he was doing, Obern drew his sword a
hand's-breadth from the scabbard and drove it back with a
sound that echoed in the room.

    Half an hour later, before the first hints of a chill and gloomy
dusk were beginning to veil the western sky, Obern and his three
men were hurrying across the river bridge beyond the city. A
little beyond this, the road heading west branched, and Obern
turned that way.

   "Cart tracks," Iaobim said. He leaned forward in his saddle to
view the dusty road. "Theirs, do you think?"

   "Wouldn't they have horses?" Kather asked. "A cart would
slow them."

   "There are horse-tracks, off to the side. They'd use a cart for a
prisoner, seems like," Iaobim said. "And especially if the lady was
trussed up."

  "Any chance of us overtaking them soon?" Obern was
watching the sky dubiously.

   "Not likely." Iaobim squinted upward as well. "We can make
better time than a cart, but they can travel better after dark than
we can. They must know the road, and we can't risk laming a
horse if he stumbles over something like that." He pointed at one
of many big rocks littering the way ahead. "Road's not kept up
well. Looks like it's not been used, except for these tracks."

   "If we must cut speed, at least take care," Obern said, teeth
gritted. He urged his mount forward. "We've still got a few hours
of daylight to our aid. Make the most of it."

   The men with him nodded grimly. All were dressed warmly in
thick wool with fur-lined cloaks drawn over their familiar chain
mail, and Obern had another set of similar garments packed in
saddlebags for Ashen when she was rescued. The men quickened
their pace as much as they dared, but it was rough going. Full
night had closed about before they reached a spot where the
road became better. If Obern read the signs correctly, the ill-kept
road behind them was a ruse to discourage any uninvited
visitors when the King was at his pleasures. "We must be getting
close." He kept his voice low.

   "Aye. Wasn't that a flash of light just between those trees?"
Dordan had loosened his bow. "Good thing there's a moon
tonight so we can see where we're going."

   They dismounted and tethered the horses loosely so the
animals could crop grass as they would. Then they began to
advance as noiselessly as possible in the direction where Dordan
had spotted the telltale light.
   Dordan had been correct. Cautiously, they reached the brush
wall of a clearing. Beyond, in the open, stood what could only be
the lodge. Obern knew at once the expectable layout, from a visit
to one such establishment belonging to Count Harous. There
would be one good-sized common room on the ground level, and
four small bedrooms above. Probably only a single door, but
possibly another to the rear, leading to a second small building
used as a kitchen. This pattern depended on how much state the
King chose to keep when he visited here. By the looks and size of
the place, it was meant for the most-limited occupancy. The
chimney indicated a large fireplace, where game could be
roasted. A lantern candle shone in one window, and in the still
air, they could hear men's voices arguing.

   "I say we do what we please with the wench," one of them
said.

   "Not without the King's saying so, we can't. Can't you get it
through your thick head this one's special, for him to go to all
this trouble?"

   "Stupid, she's the King's sister. Half-sister anyway. He sure
didn't have her brought here for any games. At least not his
personal self, that is."

  A fourth voice spoke up, deeper, holding a note of authority.
"Wouldn't matter to the King, the way his mind sets these days."
Obern's hand went again to his sword hilt and he nearly drew it
but stopped just in time. The ring of steel would have given them
away immediately. He swallowed hard, to force down bile. "But
we keep in mind it's him as calls the tune. We just hold her here
until he comes. That's our orders."

   There was some general grousing from within, but no real
argument. Then, unmistakably, Ashen's voice, hoarse but with
no real quaver of fear.

   "If you know what's good for you, you'll take me back to the
city at once!" she said.

  "And who's to make us?" Deep Voice wanted to know.
"Nobody even knows you're gone, m'lady."
  "Plenty of people ivill miss me," Ashen replied defiantly. "It
won't take long for them to discover what's happened."

   "Even if they do," Deep Voice said, "they won't know which
direction to come looking." He sounded a little amused.

  "So? While we are waiting to see just who will come, you
might see to a fire. I'm not dressed for this venture. Also, I want
some water. I've been eating dust too long, no thanks to you."

   "Saucy wench. Very well. You, Nigal, go get some water.
There's a well out yonder. Savros, build a fire. His Majesty
wouldn't be pleased if his dear sister got chilblains." Deep Voice
laughed at his own wit.

   Obern glanced at his companions. They nodded in turn. They
didn't need to be warned that as easily as the guardsmen's voices
carried in the chill, still air, any noise those outside made would
be as audible to enemy ears. Dordan carefully nocked an arrow
to his bowstring. The well that Deep Voice had mentioned lay
between where the Sea-Rovers lay hidden, and the main door to
the lodge. Obern leaned closer to Kather. "See if there's a back
door," he breathed.

   Kather nodded and immediately began working his way
through the shadows, disappearing around the corner of the
lodge. He had no sooner gotten out of sight before Nigal came
out, pail in hand. He began to work the windlass on the well. It
creaked loudly—-not good for those in wait. If that noise stopped
too suddenly it would alert those within. But it did serve to cover
Kather's movements, so he could go about his errand more
rapidly than if he had to watch his step and avoid every twig in
the path. Dordan bided his time, waiting until Nigal had
finished drawing a bucket of water to the lip of the well, and had
poured the contents into the pail. A night bird hooted; at that
sound, the archer let fly his arrow and the King's man toppled to
the ground and did not stir again.

   Obern moved forward. In a few economical movements, he
had snapped the arrow short, stripped off the man's scarlet livery
coat, and pulled it over his own head. With any luck, when he
went through the door those inside would hesitate for a fatal
moment, thinking it was only their returning comrade. Then he
nodded to Dordan and Iaobim. The bowman slung his favored
weapon and, with Iaobim, drew sword.

   As Obern fumbled with the bucket, making as much racket as
he could while returning it to the well, the two men moved
forward to take up positions on either side of the door. Then
Obern left the pail where it was and returned up the path. He
drew his sword, took a deep breath, and sent the door flying
open with a well-placed kick. One man knelt at the fireplace, flint
and steel already laid aside, feeding kindling to the flames. Two
others stood watching. The fourth, probably Deep Voice, hovered
near Ashen. For one dangerous moment, Obern allowed himself
to look at her. Face pale, deep circles underlining her eyes, her
white wedding garments rumpled, soiled and torn, nevertheless
she was as beautiful as a fabled Seamaid in that instant.

  Obem uttered a war-cry and charged straight for Deep Voice.

   Dordan and Iaobim rushed to engage the two idlers and take
them down. Savros leapt up and hurled himself between his
leader and Obern. Precious moments were wasted before the
Sea-Rover had cut him down. But by that time, Deep Voice had
his hands on Ashen. One arm pressed her to his muscular body,
and with his other hand, he held a dagger to her throat.

   "So. Now what do we do, youngling?" Deep Voice said,
surprisingly genial. "How did you track us? Never mind, it isn't
important. It is all simple enough now. You come a step closer,
and this lady dies. Oh, you can kill me then, of course, but what
good will it do?"

   This kind of man Obern knew well. There were fighting men
in plenty, loyal to the man they served, who would be prepared to
follow through on such a threat. Outnumbered as he was, still he
represented a danger to them all.

   "And you there, with the bow. Don't even think about using it.
The lady would be dead long before you could let iy." Deep Voice
dragged Ashen to her feet and, without shifting the dagger from
her throat, moved with her toward the table. "I am Lathrom,
sergeant in His Majesty's private guards. And you?"
  "Obern, of the Sea-Rovers. With my friends."

   "I've heard of you." Lathrom forced Ashen into a chair at the
table. "So. Since we now have a situation where neither side can
win, what do you say we talk about it?"

  "What do you say we don't?" Kather stepped into the room
behind him.

    Even a hardened veteran like Lathrom could be taken by
surprise. Instinctively he looked around, startled by the
appearance of yet another enemy from an unexpected quarter.
Obern launched himself unhesitatingly at the sergeant. The sheer
momentum of his attack carried the both of them clear across
the room to slam into the far wall. The sergeant took the brunt of
it. Obern rolled over onto Lathrom, pinning him, and by the time
his opponent had shaken his head clear, all three of Obern's
companions were standing over them, swords drawn and ready.

   "On the contrary, Kather/' Obern said, panting slightly and
allowing himself to grin. "We really should talk about the
situation. Don't you agree, Sergeant?"

  "I yield," Lathrom said. "Oh, you can take my word on it. I
know when I'm overmatched."

   Obern cautiously got to his feet and, after a moment, so did
Lathrom. With great care, and making no sudden movements,
the sergeant unbuckled his sword-belt and dropped it. His
dagger was gone already, having been knocked flying when
Obern tackled him. "Find the dagger," Obem said.

   "I have it." Ashen had scrambled to her feet and retrieved it
The growing firelight shone on the bared blade. Though she did
not hold the weapon the way a trained warrior might, still it was
clear she knew the dagger's usefulness.

   Obern longed to reach for her, to make sure she was
unharmed, but this was no girl shaking with fear as he had
expected to find. She stood as resolute as any Sea-Rover. "How
are you, my lady?"
   "Unharmed, but cold and thirsty. Hungry, too. And—" Her
voice broke a little. "—so very, very glad to see you."

   "And I, you. Kather, please go and get our horses. There is
warm clothing for you in one of the saddlebags, my lady, and we
brought food as well. We would be foolish to try to retrace our
steps before morning, so we must stay here for the night. But we
will be on guard." Obern turned to Lathrom. "You will
understand, I trust, that we will have to tie you up?"

   Lathrom shrugged. "I've given you my word. But go ahead and
truss me as you will. It's no more than I would have done if the
circumstances had been reversed. You have no cause to trust me
overmuch."

   "Good. In a way, you might consider it a compliment to you,
seeing as how sorely you are overmatched."

   Iaobim crossed the man's hands behind him, preparatory to
binding him, but Obern stopped him. "Strangely enough, I do
think we can take your word. Just tie one arm to the table, and
make sure he can't unpick the knots. We wouldn't want you loose
during the night, word or no word."

   Iaobim grinned; a seafarer knew knotwork, and he was as able
as any. In a few moments, he had Lathrom's right arm lashed to
one leg of the table in such a way that he couldn't move without
dragging it along with him, and the ends of the rope were tied to
the opposite leg, out of Lathrom's reach.

  Obern inspected Iaobim's handiwork, and nodded approval.
"Good. You can still feed yourself. Now, Dordan, go and throw
another good length on that fire."


                             Six
   Within an hour, they were warm and well fed. The bodies of
the four dead guards had been dragged outside to be placed in
the cart for transportation back to Rendelsham in the morning.
The Sea-Rovers all unrolled mats and placed them around the
room, guarding the doors even as they slept, having no wish to
separate and occupy the rooms upstairs. Now all were snoring,
including Lathrom who had no mat, but who seemed not to
notice.

   Obern sat up quietly. Ashen, her back to him, was sitting close
to the fire that was banked for the night, on a rug made of the
skin of some huge beast, her legs tucked under her. He arose
from his mat and went to kneel beside her. "Are you still afraid?"

  She glanced up at him. "No. I just couldn't sleep."

   "Well," Obern said, trying to speak lightly, "you are
over-stimulated, like a child who has had too many sweets. It
isn't every day that one attends a wedding, then gets captured
and taken off to the King's hunting lodge."

  His attempt at joking was unsuccessful.

   "I know," she said. Her body was tense. Her hands were curled
into fists. "Why would Florian do this?"

   Obern shrugged. "You're a direat to him, Ashen. You may not
understand or listen to rumors, but already there is opposition to
the King. And you're the late King's daughter."

   "I am who I am. Zazar named me truly—Ashen
Deathdaughter. I want nothing except freedom to be what I
choose to be!" Ashen's voice was vehement, though she kept her
tone low.

   "I know you have no part in their plots. If you could be free of
this, you would. But it is happening anyway." He wanted so
much to take her into his arms and give her comfort. But he
knew that trust and need must be hers also, for her to accept it.

   There was silence for a while. Ashen picked up a bit of
kindling and stirred the ashes. The twig caught fire, and she
tossed it into the fireplace. "All I could think of, when they took
me, was how I wished you could come and find me. And then you
did."

  "How could I not?"
  "You have always been my friend." She smiled a little. "Even
when you were out of your head for a while, seeming to think I
would drop you for the underwater ones, back in the Bog."

  He smiled in response. "I don't even remember most of what
happened, from the time I fell off the cliff until I awoke with you
washing the blood off me. I thought I had died and a Seamaid,
one of the Sea-ruler's daughters, was tending me."

  "Your good sword is still back there, in the ruins of Galinth.
And your armor."

   "Armor is replaceable," Obern said. "But I admit that I do
miss my man-sword. It was Snolli's best, of Rinbell make. It
fights for me."

   She seemed not to hear. "You tell me that the King is jealous
of me. That means I must have a little power. When we return to
the city, I will see what I can do to have your sword returned to
you."

   "Thank you." There was another silence and he moved closer
to her. "Ashen, you know that as long as you are alone and
unprotected, you are vulnerable to another such incident as just
happened. And I might not be there to rescue you again
unless—"

  "Unless what?"

  "Unless you married me."

  She sat up straight then, pulling away from him. "I have told
you never to speak that way—"

   "I know, but there is news. Snolli, my father—he is the
Chieftain of the Sea-Rovers—told me how things are at New
Void. Crops are slow in growing, because of the unseasonable
cold, and many have sickened and died. Among them was Neave,
my wife."

  "Oh, Obern. I am so sorry."
   "Yes. She was a good woman. But we were handfasted without
knowing much of each other. She did her duty." He paused, for
the first time wondering what this ordered mating had really
meant to Neave. She had ever been a silent girl. "Snolli said that
she died well. That is high praise with my people. I hope that
they will say that about me."

   Ashen sat quietly; her fisted hands slowly loosened. But a flush
stained her cheeks. Obern dared to close fingers on one of her
hands, and held it. The flesh was icy-cold in his grasp. She raised
her head.

  "Obern, I know that you must have feelings which must be
understood. You must think carefully before you decide what it is
you really want."

   "I had plenty of time, while we were at Count Harous's keep,
and later in the city. My feelings have not changed except to
grow stronger. If you had given me the least encouragement, I
would have set Neave aside, which is another custom of my
people, providing for her for the rest of her life, if only I could
have you. That she died does not change my feelings, except to
feel sorry for her."

   "Obern, you must know that I do not love you the way that
you seem to love me. You are the one on whom I know I can rely.
My first thought, when they took me, was that I hoped you would
find me. But I do not think this is enough."

  He had hoped not to bring practical reality into this. But he
could see no other way. "This is a union that is good for our
peoples,

   Ashen. It cements the bond between the Sea-Rovers and
Rendel. And, perhaps, someday it might even serve to ease the
strain between Rendel and the Bale-Bog."

   Ashen blinked, and Obern knew that she had not considered
that side of the question. He pressed his advantage.

    "I know that you do not love me—not yet, anyway. But do you
at least see me as a friend?"
  The stain on her cheeks grew deeper. "Yes."

  "Then it will be enough. You will see." Gently he drew her to
him and kissed her. "Now, sleep. Nothing will disturb you, I
swear it. Nothing ever again."

   He settled her beside him on the fur rug and covered them
both with his cioak. As the warmth of the fire and of his body
crept through her she began slowly to relax. Presently she slept.

   Never again, he vowed silently. Never will I allow anything to
trouble you, Ashen, now that you are mine. My beloved.

   Next morning, before they started back to Rendelsham, Obern
drew Lathrom aside for a private conversation. The two men
spoke in earnest for some time. Then Obern gave orders that
Lathrom should not be tied again and, instead, be given his
freedom. His companions raised their eyebrows at this, but
made no protest.

   The return journey was much more sedate, less filled with
drama and danger, than had been the one to the King's hunting
lodge. Ashen, now mounted on one of the guards' horses, rode
with Obern, Dordan close beside. Lathrom drove the cart where
the bodies of the dead guards had been laid, and Kather and
Iaobim brought up the rear. They could all hear the buzz of
speculation from those townspeople who observed them as they
entered the city and rode straight to the castle.

  "What do you plan to say to the King?" Ashen said.

   "I confess, I have no plan. But do not fear. Thanks to you
saving my life, I seem to have gotten a reputation for being lucky,
and I will rely on that luck to guide me."

   Grooms and guards greeted them, taking charge of the wagon
and its contents. The driver, Lathrom, accompanied Ashen and
the Sea-Rovers at Obern's insistence. "You were fair and just in
following your orders," Obern said, "and I will try to save you
from being executed for failing to carry out your mission."

  "If you do, and I live, I will resign from the King's Guard and
become your liege man if you will have me."

  "Then all the more reason for me to try."

   Obern instructed a steward to go and request an audience
with the King, the Dowager, and Lord Royance. In a surprisingly
short time, they were escorted into what could only be the
Council chamber. Not only Florian and his mother and Lord
Royance awaited, but also Count Harous and two other members
of the Council— Gattor of Bilth, and Wittern, head of the House
of Rowan.

   The King, seated at the head of the table, looked up. It was
hard to read the expression on his face. He motioned to another
steward, who began handing around goblets of warmed wine.
Another goblet sat close at Florian's hand, and it was plain to see
that he had already made good use of it. "I am told that you have
returned our dear sister to us," the King said, "from where she
was taken away through no instructions of mine. And here she is.
Come, warm yourselves and know that we thank you."

  Obern took a step forward and bowed. "Our duty to the King,
and to the King's sister," he said. He glanced around the table.
"And our duty to you all as well."

   "You speak fairly," the Dowager said. She sat at the King's
right, her hands clasped in front of her so that the Four Great
Rings were plainly visible. "Pray, speak on and tell us the details
of this unfortunate incident."

  Royance, at his place opposite the King, shifted in his seat.
"Yes, please tell us what has happened so that we may reward or
punish, as the occasion demands."

   "As for punishment, four of the five who took Lady Ashen are
dead. And their leader, Sergeant Lathrom, whom I believe to be
a true and honorable man, tells me that he was acting under
orders he accepted as legitimate, though now he has doubts."

  "Legitimate orders. From whom?" Florian scowled.

  Obern knew he must tread carefully now, if he hoped to save
Lathrom's life. From the moment he had hurled himself at the
man and overpowered him, he had formed a liking for Lathrom.
That was the way with warriors sometimes, that in vanquishing
a worthy enemy one gained a friend. "He tells me that he
believed the orders came from you, King Florian. Otherwise, he
would not have dared raise a hand against the lady."

   There was a stir at the table, and a moment of almost
palpable shock.

   "But," Obern continued, "later he came to doubt this. Now he
believes that the person who instructed him merely pretended
that these were your orders, so as to discredit you in the eyes of
your enemies."

   Florian turned his frowning gaze on Lathrom. "Is this correct,
Sergeant?"

   Lathrom went down on one knee, his head bowed. "Yes, my
King," he said, his deep voice rumbling in his throat. "Obern
speaks truly. I do not say this to save my own life, but because
this is what I now believe."

  "This giver of orders. Does he have a name?"

   "I saw no one," Lathrom said. "The orders came in the form of
a note that passed through many hands before it came into
mine." He took a folded piece of paper out of his doublet and
handed it to Obern, who in turn gave it to the King.

    Florian merely glanced at it and tossed it onto the table.
Gattor, however, picked it up and read it aloud. " 'Take Lady
Ashen to hunting lodge at earliest opportunity. King's orders.' "
His eyebrows rose though his habitual sleepy expression
remained unchanged. "This lends a certain credence to the
fellow's story."

   Florian laughed, a braying sound that made the Dowager
wince. "If I had truly given such an instruction, I can assure you
there would have been no evidence later. Therefore, I choose to
believe you, Sergeant. Get up, get up. Your life is spared. But I
will find out who was at the bottom of this plot, and he won't be
so lucky."

   Gratefully Lathrom got to his feet, and as he passed by Obern,
he murmured, "Your luck seems to rub off." He grinned. "The
men were talking."

  Obern nodded. Then he bowed again to the King. "Your
Majesty is both merciful and just. I think Lord Royance made
some mention of a reward."

   "Oh, yes, yes, of course. How much do you want? I'll have the
coin brought at once."

   "The wealth I desire cannot be measured in coin," Obern said.
"I petition most humbly for the hand of Lady Ashen in
marriage."

   At that, the people around the Council table reacted in
various ways—the Dowager startled but not disapproving; Lord
Gattor looking even more sleepy; Count Harous frowning; Lord
Wittern looking surprised; the King saying, "No!" Only Lord
Royance hid a smile behind his hand.

   "I am of high but not royal birth," Obern said. "Further, I
represent a people who can be strong allies to Rendel. What
could be more natural than to cement this alliance with a
marriage between this lady and myself?"

  "What, indeed," said the Dowager. She turned and favored
her son with the kind of level stare that, had it been turned on
any other, would have reduced the recipient to a bundle of
shaken nerves. "And you dare disapprove?"

   "I spoke hastily," the King said. "After all, a member of the
royal family, and a Sea-Rover—"

   "Who, I must remind you, very likely saved your sister's life,"
Obern said. He had to raise his voice to command attention.
"Can you possibly imagine that the enemy who ordered her
capture had her ultimate safety in mind?"

   "Young Obern speaks truly," Royance said. "But I think we
should hear from the lady. After all, she does not strike me as one
who would go meekly submitting to her fate, whatever it might
be." He bowed to Ashen. "How say you, lady?"

   Ashen stepped forward. "I had thought not to marry until I

   found one who caught my heart. Now I understand that this is
most likely a childish dream. I know that marriage will protect
not only me, but also my brother, the King, from another such
incident intended to bring dishonor upon him and even upon
me. I have learned that marriage with Obern seals many
friendships important to the country. Obern is my friend, whom
I respect. Therefore, for all these reasons I will marry him if my
brother and those members of the Council here present agree."

  Though, strictly speaking, the Dowager had no real vote in
Council matters, she spoke up first. "It is a solution of which I
approve. And so should you all."

   Gattor nodded at once, closely followed by Wittern. Royance
gave his approval by saying, "Aye" in a firm voice. The Dowager
stared at Harous. Reluctantly, as if the movement hurt and after
a long silence, he nodded. Then the Dowager turned to her son.

  "You see how it stands We could go ahead without your
approval now, but it will go better if you agree."

   Florian made an impatient gesture. "Oh, very well. I'll even let
the wedding take place here in the castle. Only not too soon after
my own."

   "Done," Royance said. He turned to Ashen and Obern, who
now held her hand tightly. "Four seven-days from now. That will
give us all time to prepare. And may I have the honor of being
the first to kiss the prospective bride?"

   The time flew by for Ashen. She had thought herself busy
before, with the King's wedding, and herself only a minor
participant. This, though much smaller in scale, occupied almost
her every waking moment with this detail and that needing her
attention. If she had not been able to slip away for an hour or so
each day to the quiet of the hidden library, she felt she surely
would have gone mad. Ayfare's delight in having her mistress
returned to her unharmed was almost swamped as well, for she
found herself in charge of what didn't need Ashen's personal
approval.

   Ashen thought at first to wear blue, the Ash color, but
delicacy forbade that she wear the dress Harous had given her
when first he had brought her out of the Bog. She would,
however, wear the Ash badge necklace he had also given her. She
had been somewhat apprehensive about Harous's reaction to her
actually going through with the marriage to Obern, but he
seemed to have accepted the inevitable with good-enough grace.
Lord Royance's kind explanations helped.

   "The Lord Marshal has too much ambition," he told her. "One
day it may be his undoing, but not yet, thanks to your Obern. I
like that boy. He has initiative. He also had wit enough to turn
what could have been a very unpleasant situation into one where
the King's dignity was preserved. I can only hope that the King
has sense enough to know, and remember, what Obern did for
him."

    Royance also told her that an apartment was being readied
for her in the main building of the castle. "This is yours
permanently," he said, "for your use whenever you are in the city.
It is on the same floor, though in another wing, as the King's
apartments, and the Dowager's."

    Ashen nodded, her feelings decidedly mixed. She had enjoyed
living apart from Ysa and her son, but Royance assured her that
she could not flout protocol by refusing. And there would be
Obern to protect her. More and more she recognized that she
had made a wise decision in agreeing to marry him. However,
more than once, she wished they could just duck into the Great
Fane one afternoon and have the priest, Esander, say the words
over them and be done with it.

  Obern, she discovered, felt much the same way. "But this is
what I get for marrying a great lady," he said, laughing. "And I'll
put up with anything at all for the sake of thati"

  He, also, found his respite from the hustle and bustle of the
second royal wedding in one season, by taking some of the
Sea-Rovers—along with Lathrom, who had resigned from the
King's Guard and was now Obern's closest companion—and
going into the Bog. There, following his dim memory and aided
by a rough map

    Ashen gave him, they located the ruined city of Galinth, and
retrieved Obern's Rinbell sword. Expectably, the Bog-men
discovered the incursion and attacked. The Sea-Rovers fought
them off with only minor injuries to their number, and Ashen
discovered later that her heart pounded strangely in her throat
at the thought that Obern might have been wounded or even
killed.

   I must love him at least a little, she thought, to feel this way.
And so she turned to the preparations with renewed energy.
Feeling in some obscure manner that so doing would honor
Obern's bravery, she decided also to wear the opalescent stone
bracelet she had found in the depths of the Galinth catacombs,
on a man whose body had not been buried there.

   To nobody's great surprise, no culprit was ever found for
Ashen's abduction, and she put the incident aside, knowing that
the mystery would never be solved. From now on, Obern would
be there to protect her from anything untoward. Other various
comings and goings and news from the outside world passed her
by almost unremarked. She noted that the man who would be
her father-in-law, Snolli, was remaining in Rendelsham, not
caring to make the arduous journey twice in such a short time.
When she was introduced to him, he merely looked her up and
down at first. "I remember you," he said by way of greeting. "Saw
you when they took you out of the Bog. You were thin and pale
then, and you still are. But Obern wants you, and that's good
enough for me." Then he enfolded her in a hug that nearly
cracked her ribs, and went on his way.

   The small man, Kasai, was a little more forthcoming. "We
were tracking Obern, y'see, and watched while the Boggers
attacked them as was taking the two of you away. We had to
fight the leavings." He grinned. "D'you want me to look into the
future for you? I have that gift."
    Ashen considered his offer, knowing that it was one not made
lightly. Eventually she shook her head. "I think I would rather not
know what lay ahead. If I could change it, I might, and then who
knows what else would be disturbed because of that change? And
if I could not change it, and it was unpleasant, then I would be
even more unhappy than I would have been, innocent of any
foreknowledge. But I do thank you for the offer."

   "Smart woman. I don't often say that." Then Kasai bowed and
followed his Chieftain.

   The rough ways of the Sea-Rovers did not offend her, for she
had been brought up in the Bog where the crudity of their
manners would have been thought of as foppish affectations. In
fact, she felt more at home in their company than she did with
the Rendelians, even though she had come to like much of this
kind of life. However, she did begin to be disturbed because of a
certain change in Obem's manner toward her now that he was
among his own kind. Sea-Rovers, she surmised, thought it
unmanly to display open affection for their women. But, she
thought, perhaps that was only for display. Surely, in private, he
would be different, warmer and more loving.

   Others came and went at Rendelsham Castle, including a new
ambassador from the far northern lands. His name was Gaurin
and, it was said, he was the son of the other ambassador, Count
Bjauden, who had never returned from his mission. Ashen put
this information aside, concerning, as it did, things that had
happened long before she had arrived in the city. Perhaps she
would meet him at the wedding, and perhaps not.

   Before she knew what had become of the four seven-days
suggested by Royance, she was standing with Obern before a
priest of the Great Fane of the Glowing—not Esander, but one far
greater than he. She felt numb, a little disconnected from the
ceremonies, as she repeated the marriage vows. Beside her, she
felt Obern trembling and knew that he was affected likewise. And
then it was over, and the marriage procession left the Fane to
cross the courtyard and go to the Great Hall of the castle where a
feast—considerably smaller in scale than Florian's, but still great
enough to honor his sister— awaited the guests. Ashen hoped
that at least some of these guests were there to honor her and
her new husband, and not in hopes of getting a good meal in a
land where food was growing scarce.

   At least the weather had abated somewhat. Though not nearly
warm enough for late summer, at least the air was not so chill
that a fur-lined cloak over her white, blue-trimmed dress was a
necessity, if she were quick to get indoors again. Obern's dark
green doublet was trimmed with fur at neck and sleeves, and
bore silver-and-gold embroidery on it. A memory stirred. Green,
like that half-forgotten green cord Zazar had shown her once,
long ago, in another life. Obern's Rinbell sword hung at his side.
Ashen walked with hirrl hand in hand, and they exchanged
glances, smiling.

   "You are my husband," she murmured, and he squeezed her
fingers.

   "Not yet," he said. "Forgive me, but I cannot wait a moment
longer. The people celebrating won't miss us."

   They entered the castle. When they reached a spot where the
corridors branched, he swerved aside abruptly and, half running,
led her, to the accompaniment of much good-natured laughter,
raillery, and rustic jokes, out of the procession, down the
hallway, and to the new apartment that had been set aside to
them. Then he locked the door behind them and gathered her
into his arms.

   An hour later, with Ashen feeling as if her blushes would
warm the entire castle even better than the fires roaring in the
fireplaces, they joined the party in the Great Hall where the
feasters were already at work on the platters of food. The King
and his new bride apparently had made their appearances and
then left, but the Dowager was present and holding her own kind
of court. Harous was there, of course, with Marcala hanging on
his arm. He nodded at Ashen briefly, and murmured a
perfunctory congratulation. The other woman looked her up and
down, smiling knowingly at Ashen's late entrance, and her face
grew even hotter. She was afraid Marcala would come up to her
and make some untoward remark, but in-stead the lady clutched
Harous's arm more tightly, and turned aside.
   Ashen caught sight of Snolli and his retinue, crowded around
the kegs of ale, and laughing at some joke known only to them.
She hoped it wasn't about the—she had to admit it—somewhat
rude introduction to married life that she had just undergone.

   Obern's friend Lathrom was with them, his demeanor easy
and free. Obviously he had been accepted completely by them all.
In the loft, the orchestra struck up a tune. Nobody was on the
floor yet for, according to custom, the bridal couple led the first
dance.

  "One only, and then I'll beg off," Obem said. "But you enjoy
yourself. I know how you love it."

   He led her out to the middle of the floor, and other couples—
led by Harous and Marcala as befitted his rank—immediately
lined up behind them. Then they began to tread the stately and
sedate measures of a popular dance.

   Obern did well enough, but Ashen knew that he had no real
talent or love for it, the way she did. And so when the dance had
concluded, he bowed over her hand and went to join his father
and his companions. Another man immediately presented
himself.

  "May I have the honor?"

   Ashen saw that this one had chosen to dress himself top to toe
in spring green. Suddenly, unbidden, the entire memory of that
long-ago evening swam before her eyes. Her Protector, Zazar,
had brought out a knotted ball of cords, and pulled forth four,
seemingly at random. She had always wondered why. Now, with
a start, Ashen realized that Zazar had been seeking knowledge of
the future.

   "Queen," Zazar had said, indicating the brightest of the three
gold cords. "King." The dullest. "Prince." That was the thinnest
of them all, lacking many knots and none evidently intricate.
Then she had picked up the green thread. "Kin unknown."

  Ashen remembered the Wysen-wyf's next words so clearly she
could almost hear them. "The times swing us along more swiftly.
It is not your clan color, but you are green, yes. Untaught in
much, yes." She had picked up the green cord and begun
running it along between thumb and forefinger. It was slender,
hardly thicker than the one she had named Prince, and the knots
on it were also few. But of those several were doubled and
redoubled.

   As Zazar held each of those knots, for an instant, Ashen
thought she felt pressure at the nape of her neck as if those
strong old fingers had gripped her instead. A tingle of
excitement, faint but definite, had spread through her whole
body, and she felt a repeat of it now.

   The green should have stood for Obern, she thought. But it
did not. Why? What cruel joke of fate was this? "Who are you?"
she said, half-dazed.

  "I am the Nordorn ambassador and my name is Count
Gaurin. I already know yours. Please, Lady Ashen, will you
dance?"

   "Of course," she said through lips even number than they had
been during the wedding ceremony. He took her hand and the
tingle deepened. As if she were a jointed doll, she went through
the movements of the dance. Then she stumbled, for his presence
was making her dizzy enough to fear that she might faint.

  "Are you ill?"

   She glanced at him, blinking. "I—I don't think so. But the
crowds, all the commotion—"

  "And I daresay you have eaten nothing this day."

  "I couldn't."

  "Please. Let me find you a place to rest, away from so many
people, and I will bring you a plate and something to drink."

    She started to refuse him, but looking into his eyes, could not.
If anything, he was even more handsome than either Harous,
whom she had thought the best-favored of men, or Obern. Her
husband. A strong and comely man. She tried to summon up his
image, the red-gold hair and eyes the color of the sea, to set in
front of the vision of the man she was looking at, but the effort
failed.

   This one was lean of face, with chiseled, aristocratic features.
He had hair the shade of honey, darker than her own, eyes a
shade halfway between green and blue, and his skin was the sort
that turned brown under the sun. In spite of the unseasonable
weather, his face was burnt, most agreeably, darker than his
hair. There was a grace to his movements, strangely
complimentary to his obvious physical strength. She thought she
could never have enough of looking at him, and brought herself
back to reality only with an effort.

   "Yes, yes, thank you. A slice of cold fowl, and some spiced
apple juice, please. I gave orders to the chef, to have some made
for me."

  He led her to an alcove, half-hidden from the room, and pulled
up a couple of chairs and seated her in one. "I will return at
once," he said.

   Ashen stared through the bubbled and wavery glass of the
window, seeing nothing. Scarcely aware of what she was doing,
she ran her hand over her body. She could still feel the touch of
her new husband's fingers imprinted there, awakened by her
gesture. How could she look at this—this stranger, and know that
what she felt, seeing him, was only a pale imitation of the ecstasy
that awaited her when, if—

   She shut off the thought with an effort. No, she told herself.
No. This was a delusion, an effect of the strain of the past days
on an overheated imagination. Couple that with not having
eaten—she remembered now, for nearly two days—and the
brusque bedding of an hour previous, and what else could she
expect? She willed her breathing to calm, her heartbeat to quit
pounding in her throat. She hoped that the Dowager could not
see her. Or Lady Marcala.

   Then Gaurin was standing beside her, and all her resolution
trembled, ready to crumble at a word or even a glance. He sat
down and handed her a platter containing a slice of pheasant,
and several kinds of fruit. "You must eat lightly, lest you sicken,"
he told her. "You are very pale."

   "And you are very kind," she said. She accepted the goblet of
spiced juice and drank it at once. It helped. Then she began to
nibble on the fruit. The meat could come later. "Thank you for
taking me away before I could make a spectacle of myself."

    "How could I not? Lady Ashen, we have but brief
acquaintance, but somehow I feel that I have known you all my
life. May I speak freely?"

  "Of course," she said, both dreading and anticipating his next
words.

   "They say the Nordors are a cold people, but this is a claim
made only by ignorant fools. When I first saw you, I felt a shock
of recognition such as I have never known before. I know that is
ridiculous, but it is so. And that was even before I saw this." He
indicated her bracelet. "Where did you get it?"

   She stared at it, at first not remembering that she had chosen
to wear it this day of all days. "I found it." She described the
circumstances.

   "The man was not buried, you say."

   "No. He was only a skeleton by the time I got there. I saluted
his memory, and in some strange way he seemed to give me this
bracelet. It was the finest thing I had ever owned, up to that
time. I have kept it carefully, even though I do not wear it often."

   He caught her hand and touched the bracelet on her arm. "It
belonged to my father."

   She gazed at him, not trying to retrieve her hand from his
grasp. "Then it is yours, an artifact of your house," she said. She
took off the ornament and handed it to him.

  "An artifact of a mystery I may solve someday." He held the
bauble loosely, not looking at it. "Ashen—"
  He leaned closer. Another moment and their lips would meet.
Scandal} She tore herself away, forced herself to turn aside. "Sir,
you presume too much."

  "Do I? Or do I only recognize what is so clear that even a child
would know? The moment I saw you, I loved you, in the way that
songs tell about, when Fate has ordained the meeting. And I do
not think my love goes unrequited. Tell me, lady, is this true?"

   She could not lie to him, even if she wanted to. Recklessly, she
replied. "Yes. But it is folly, it is madness."

   "It is what my people call the sunburst at midnight," Gaurin
said. "Sometimes it happens to one, sometimes to the other,
rarely to both. But, as we know, it does happen. And it is neither
folly nor madness, but the coming together of two souls that have
loved each other throughout time and have been separated for a
while. I have known you, lady. I have known you."

  "And I have known you. May every power in this world and
any other help me, for this cannot be. I am married—"

   "Truly, lady? You do know what I am asking, don't you? If you
are not truly his wife, not yet, the marriage can be set aside. It is
easily done. As for any objections the King or the Dowager might
have, I rank even higher than does Obern of the Sea-Rovers, and
an alliance with our people is as important as theirs with the
Ren-delians, if not more so. And even if that were not the case, I
love you and know that you love me—"

   "I am truly his wife."

   Gaurin's words died on his lips, and with them all the
animation that had possessed him before. He just looked at her,
his heart in his eyes. "How is this possible?"

    Ashen's face flamed hot. She stared down at her platter. The
slice of pheasant might as well be putrescent, for all the appetite
she had for it. Her body, where the touch of Obern's hands still
lingered—

   "It is possible," she said, and her voice was harsher than she
intended. "That is all you need to know."

   Where her face was hot and, she felt sure, very red, Gaurin's
turned pale beneath his tan. A muscle worked in his cheek.
"Then that is all that can be said—that must be said—about it.
Only know this, my Ashen, and you are, somewhere in the depths
of your being where only I can touch, mine and mine alone.
There will never be another woman for me, not in this life."

   Then he did something that, to anybody who had not grown
up knowing that some people had use of certain portions of the
Power, would have seemed strange. He put the bracelet to his
lips, breathed upon it, and returned it to her. It seemed to Ashen
that the opalescence flared briefly, and then subsided.

   "Let this be a pledge between us," he said gravely. "This has
brought us together, and that, too, was foreordained, as if my
father had arranged our union. If ever you are in need of
anything, put this on, think of me, and I will know, and whatever
separates us, even if it is half the world or I face an entire army
alone, I will overcome it to be at your side."

   She looked into his eyes, feeling that she could lose herself in
their depths. "Then never can I dare wear it, for I can never stop
thinking of you." Nevertheless, she slipped it on. It felt
unaccountably warm, even through her sleeve. "You have opened
yourself to me and I can be no less honest. Yes, I am yours and
only yours and I know you for my heart's own love—but my body
belongs to another. If only we had met earlier—a day, an hour.
But such regrets are for children. We are as we are, and I am
another man's wife. Yes, I love you, but I love and respect him
also and owe him much— my life, in fact, as he owes me his. But
I will not forget you." She had to look away. "I—I cannot."

  "Ashen." He kissed her fingers.

  Her entire body tingled again. "How shall we manage when
we meet—"

  "We will manage, because we must. You need fear no
untoward incident on my behalf, and I know your nobility of
heart would not allow you to falter from your vows." And yet he
yearned toward her.

   With a visible effort he mastered himself. He arose, and
helped her to her feet. "Now, come, Lady Ashen, and if your
momentary indisposition has passed, allow me to escort you
back to that most fortunate of men, your wedded husband,
Obem of the Sea-Rovers. If he has the least bit of poetry in his
soul, he has missed you sorely."

   And with that, he led her toward where Obem was still
enjoying himself among his companions, put her hand firmly in
his, bowed, and disappeared into the crowd of well-wishers.


                            Seven
   The Dowager Queen Ysa sat at her desk, pretending to draft a
letter. In reality, her thoughts were very much elsewhere, and
only a portion of her attention was given to Lady Marcala, who
paced back and forth in front of the fireplace.

   The little winged messenger had brought back only a confused
impression of what was transpiring to the north; all seemed
cloaked in a cold fog the color of dirty snow. Nevertheless, Ysa
got an impression of forces gathering, if not yet ready to
advance, and another impression, most curious, that these forces
thought themselves undetected. She had caught a distinct feeling
of someone or something being startled when she grasped Visp
and drew from it what it had gleaned. Ysa thought it was not
coincidence that, from that moment, the unseasonable cold that
had gripped Rendel began to loosen.

  If only in this, Visp had proven invaluable once again. Of
course, with winter the chill would descend once more, but
knowing that there was at least a little time when that unseen,
unknown force began to move southward, was a comfort. Still, it
would be unwise to fritter away what time they all still had. She
made a note to reinforce the flyer's loyalty to her and her alone.
That little swerve when Visp had flown close to what she now
knew was the cart, unlawfully carrying Ashen away in that sorry
adventure Florian had arranged—
   Something Marcala was saying cut through the Dowager's
musings. "And did you see how that Nordorn ambassador was
dancing attention on our Bog-Princess? She didn't seem the least
bit averse, either, and her married only an hour or so before."

   "I did notice," Ysa said. In fact, when Marcala broached the
subject, the Dowager's pen had slipped, making an unsightly blot
on the drafting paper. "And yet, nothing untoward occurred.
Perhaps you are imagining things, Marcala."

   "Perhaps you didn't see what I saw," the other woman
retorted. "He was holding her hand, and by the looks of them,
they weren't talking about what a nice feast it was."

   "Ashen was a little overcome with the strain. I understand she
had forgotten to eat the past couple of days." Ysa looked at
Marcala, wondering what was really behind her complaints. Was
she afraid that Ashen and Obern were not truly wed, and that
Harous might take up his suit once more? Surely not. The
sounds coming from their apartment, when he had all but
carried her inside, had reached the corridor and many curious
ears.

   "That is beside the point. I think that if there had not been
that little interlude—" She laughed a little, and even Ysa smiled.
"—she would have gone off with him straightaway."

   "Gaurin. He holds his father's title, and is of royal blood. In
some respects, it might have been better if we had waited when
bestowing Ashen's hand, but it is done. And the Nordors, in this
case, need us more than we need them. Not so with the
Sea-Rovers."

  Marcala sniffed. "We? Need Sea-Rovers? Nonsense."

    "Rendel has no fighting navy," Ysa said. "We have not had a
great need for one heretofore, and our ships have been reserved
for trade. But there are things that even you, my Queen of Spies,
do not know. There is danger waiting behind the clouds to the
North, and if we can delay it by sending the Sea-Rovers against
it, so much the better. They have fought it before, and some of
them lived thereafter. Snolli told me as much."
   Marcala bowed her head. "Forgive me, Madame. I fear that I
am so concerned about my lord Harous and where his affections
will settle, that I forgot about almost everything else. But you
must admit, that episode with Gaurin and Ashen was
suspicious."

   "Only to those who noticed, and who know about such
things," Ysa replied. "I think that you and I are the only ones."
Yet, she had to admit that Marcala was right. There had been a
tension in the air between those two, and it was not something
one would ordinarily sense with a bride and a wedding guest.
One might almost think Gaurin a suitor who had come to claim
his own and, too late, had found her bestowed upon another.

   Ysa sat very still, thinking, and rubbing the Great Rings on
her forefingers and thumbs. Marcala had been correct; those two
had behaved more like newlyweds than had Ashen with Obern.
Therefore, some spark must have ignited between them. But how
best to use this knowledge?

   For a moment she toyed with the idea of setting aside the
marriage between Ashen and Obern, and substituting Gaurin as
Ashen's husband instead. Then she discarded the notion. It was
as it was, and she had spoken truly; Rendel needed the
Sea-Rovers more than they needed the Nordors. At least for the
time being. Let nothing presently be disturbed. And who knew
what the future might bring?

   The Dowager spoke, letting instinct guide her. "Put aside any
thought of marrying Count Harous," she said.

   Marcala's face reflected her dismay. "Madame. Perhaps you
think me unworthy of him. But I assure you, I am of noble blood,
on my father's side at least. And I have heard that the other
lady"— she put an emphasis on the word—"has taken ill and
died."

   Ysa knew precisely what her Queen of Spies was telling her.
She controlled the expression on her face with an effort. So the
real Marcala of Valvager was no more and this one need fear no
discovery of her pretense. Her Queen of Spies had a long reach,
and if she hadn't done it personally, there were plenty of those
who would kill if they were paid. Ysa decided to soften her
statement. "This putting aside thoughts of marriage is
temporary, of course. And anyway, take heart. A mistress always
has much more influence than does a mere wife. You should
know that."

  "I do, Madame, but still—"

  "I know. I know. Only be guided by me in this matter. How
could I send you hither and yon, bringing me information that
only my Queen of Spies could learn, if you were tied to Harous's
hearth? No, believe me, your destiny is not marriage. Not yet."

   To Ysa's relief, the other did not seem inclined to argue. She
lowered her eyes, and curtsied deeply. "I will accept what you tell
me, my Queen," she said. "For I know that someday, when the
time is right, I will be well paid for all my efforts."

  'To be sure," Ysa said, repressing a shiver at the scarcely
concealed threat. "Well paid indeed."

   Obern proposed leaving Rendelsham immediately, to go to
New Void Keep. "That is the home of your ancestors," he told
Ashen, "and so you should live there. Not here, in this rat's nest
of courtiers and spies and ambassadors and nobles."

   Ashen's heart lurched. For a moment, she thought Obern was
referring to Gaurin, that somebody had told him of what they
had seen between her and the Nordor, at the party following the
wedding. But there was not a trace of dissembling in Obern's
manner. He had merely been listing aspects of Court life that he
had found burdensome. As did she.

   "Yes," she said. "I long to be out of this place as well." That
she would be trading one stone cage for another was a fact she
had to accept. That she would be going where she could not hope
to catch a glimpse of Gaurin even at a distance, she must think
of as being for the good. Obern was her husband, and it was to
him that she owed her faith, her trust, and her loyalty. Yes, far
better that she be a great distance from everything and every
place where something might remind her of the man with the
honey-colored hair, who made her heart pound in her throat
with just a glance across the length of Rendelsham Castle's Great
Hall. Sternly she told herself that Gaurin must never be a part of
her life, and so she must banish him for his good, as much as for
hers.

   If only she could order her dreams with equal discipline.
Nightly she roamed hand in hand with Gaurin through
unfamiliar landscapes, the two of them lost in the wonder of
each other, speaking of matters she never remembered later.
When morning came, and with it reality, she had to smother the
impulse to leave her husband's bed and run to the man she truly,
and without the shame she should have felt, loved.

  "How soon shall we leave?" she asked Obem. "Could it be this
week?"

   "I see you are as sick of this place as I am," he said. "Yes, this
week if you want it so. Set Ayfare to packing our belongings, and
I will go and arrange for a wagon to carry them."

   Ashen willingly fell to, helping Ayfare with the packing. She
would be accompanying them, of course, as would Lathrom and
a few of his men who chose to throw their lot with their former
sergeant and the Sea-Rovers.

   When it came time to take her leave of King Florian, the
Dowager Queen, and others of the royal Court, Ashen could not
help but notice that neither the King nor his mother seemed
particularly distraught at the prospect of her departure. Not that
she had expected anything less, of course. Actually, she was
grateful that Florian did not throw obstacles in her way just for
the perverse pleasure of thwarting her wishes. He was fully
capable of such mischief for the sport of doing it.

   "Be assured that your quarters here at the royal residence will
always be waiting you, should you decide to return for a visit,"
the Dowager told her. Her face was as expressionless as the
facade of a shuttered house, and Ashen could not divine what
Ysa was thinking.

  Florian was simply indifferent, though his new Queen,
Rannore, grasped Ashen's hands warmly. "I wish we could have
had time to become friends," she said. "Well, perhaps you will
come back often."

  "Yes, Your Majesty," Ashen said, curtseying the way she had
been taught. "Know that I will ever be your friend, if you want
me."

   "And so it is settled." Rannore pressed her cheek to Ashen's.
"Friends we are, for always."

   Both Harous and Marcala wished her a formal farewell, and
Harous kissed her hand. "Remember always your ancient
motto," he told her, indicating the necklace he had given her and
which she now wore openly. " 'Without fire, there is no Ash.' And
without Ashen, much of the fire will be gone from the Court."

    She dismissed this as just so much meaningless compliment,
but it was Lord Royance who presented her with the hardest part
of leave-taking.

   "I have come to have a great interest in you, Lady Ashen of
Ash, and now Lady of the Sea-Rovers," he told her. "You and that
daring husband of yours both. May you not be strangers from
the Court for too long."

   "We will meet again, and as often as I can arrange it," Ashen
said. Then, giving in to a daring impulse, she kissed the
silver-haired nobleman on his cheek. He smiled at her in return
and, remarkably, there was not even a touch of frost in it.

   Then she and Obern were off, with an entourage smaller than
what her rank might entitle her to, but more than enough to suit
her. She tried to ride side by side with Obem except that he had
a way of putting himself about half a length ahead of her. Once,
she tried to catch up, but he deliberately galloped ahead.
Lathrom and his men rode guard. Snolli and his followers had
already departed weeks before, and the dust from their horses'
hoofprints long since settled. The soldiers drew lots for who got
to drive the carriage, for that was where Ayfare rode with the
trunks and boxes, and every soldier vied for her attention.

  Though Bog-men still occasionally made their raids and
forays into lands across the Barrier River, the travelers were not
disturbed during the time they were on the road. Perhaps the
sight of Lath-rotn's well-armed soldiers caused any would-be
robber or raider to turn aside from anything beyond the thought.
The sight of a bride-groom traveling with his new bride caused
other people on the road to smile openly, and sometimes to wish
them well.

   Ashen was interested in the countryside through which they
journeyed. The road wound through low hills and when they
reached a fork that led from the east, Obern informed her that
they were now traveling through what had once been Ash lands.

   "We crossed the River Rendel close by Cragden Keep, and we
will cross it again close by where it empties into the Sea. When
we reach that point, we will be able to see the towers of New
Void, that once was the Ashenkeep."

   "Then we will live close to the Sea?"

   "Aye, and too close to the Bog for my comfort. When first we
came here, the devils stayed behind the Barrier River. Now we're
just as likely to meet 'em in the field where we're trying to grow
wheat for the winter, as if we'd gone hunting them."

   "Perhaps I can get word to the Bog-men, and they will leave
off their attacks against you. Against us."

   He shrugged. "It is a good thought, but, I fear, impractical. If
you ventured into the Bog they would be just as likely to try to
steal you as—as someone else was." He laughed. "But for a
different reason."

   Her heart lurched, and she thought of Gaurin. Then she
realized Obern was referring to her half-brother. She smiled at
him though he didn't return it. "We are seeing more and more
land that is growing a late crop," she said. "The coverings you
told of seem to be effective. Perhaps the coming winter will not
be as hard on the people as you have feared."

   "We were afraid, at first, that the land itself rejected us. But
the unseasonable chill has, for the moment, eased a little."
   True enough, they were coming upon fields full of crops of
new green plants already nearly knee-high even without the
shelter of the tentlike coverings, as if the land were trying to
make up for lost time. Also, the air was warm enough that Ashen
had put aside her fur-lined garments, and wore a light mantle
over her riding clothes. "Let us hope it stays so."

   Is there, she thought, nothing more between us to talk of than
the weather and crops? The things he murmured in her ear in
the night, when all were supposedly asleep, were not to be
repeated in the light of day, of course. But where had this
coolness come from? What had happened to the days when they
had been together and never knew the lack of subjects to
discuss? Did he behave lovingly toward her only when he was
seeking love for himself?

  Gaurin—

   No! Firmly, she put that thought aside. She must forget him.
Gaurin must be as one dead to her. Her life lay ahead, at the end
of this road, in New Void Keep. With Obern. Her husband.

   The first days at New Void Keep were a blur to Ashen. She
was given one entire tower for her residence, and there was
much fussing and running back and forth and moving her goods
in and stowing them to Ayfare's satisfaction. The arrangement of
the furniture did not suit the maid and all had to be placed here,
and then there, while Ashen fled the disarray until all had been
put to rights.

   Somewhat to her dismay, Ashen discovered that Obern was
not expected to spend each night with her if he chose to be
elsewhere. "It is the way of the Sea-Rovers," said one of their
women who had been assigned to her. "After all, if they were tied
to our beds, how would they go out and bring back treasures for
us? But you don't have to worry, lady. It's too late in the year and
we still have to prepare for winter. He'll often be there, to warm
your bed." She giggled and thrust out her belly. "He has some
work to do, to catch up. Most of our brides are full already by the
time they're wed. Best way to get a husband."

  The rest of the ladies joined in the laughter.
   Ashen suspected none of this was a real joke. The window in
her bedchamber gave her a fine view of the harbor and, beyond
that, a patch of the blue water she remembered from the time
she had gone through the caves, fleeing giant birds spawned by
the Bog. When she had found Obern, wounded, and needing her
care. The window had a strong set of shutters and could be
covered with oiled skins as well, but Ashen knew that the
pleasant sea breeze of today might turn into storms next week.
She was glad that the bed given her was hung with heavy woolen
curtains, to keep out the cold, and that each floor in the tower
was well supplied with fireplaces.

   In the course of settling in and getting her bearings, she was
surprised one afternoon the first month she was there, when
Obem came in, in the middle of her taking out clothing from one
of the chests to shake wrinkles loose, with a handsome boy
perhaps ten years of age.

  "Here's someone I want you to meet," he told Ashen. "This is
Rohan."

  "I wish you warmth and brightness of a good day, lady," the
boy said. He bowed stiffly and Ashen smiled. He obviously had
been coached.

  "Good day to you also," she said. "Are you a Sea-Rover?"

   "Not yet, lady, but someday." He looked up at Obern. "I want
to be just like my father."

   Ashen stared at Obern, startled. Only now did she notice the
resemblance. The same shape of face, same color of hair. "
'Father? Do you mean—"

  "Yes," Obern said proudly. "This is my son."

   A phrase that Ashen had been hearing all too frequently since
her arrival in New Void echoed in her ears whenever she would
do something that was the least bit different: "It is not the way of
the Sea-Rovers." Sometimes she thought she would pull out her
hair if she heard it just one more time. As she had during her
days at Cragden Keep, she strove to learn, to fit in. One of the
things she had learned was that a man's paying any great
attention to his children also was not the way of the Sea-Rovers.
And yet, here was Obem. And here was his son.

  "I—I didn't know."

  "Now you do. Rohan is being fostered by Dagdya."

  "Dagdya," Ashen repeated through stiff lips.

   "Yes, she is a wonderful foster. When my mother died of a
plague, Dagdya took over completely and I don't think I turned
out too badly. I hope that Lathrom will become one of his
teachers as well." Obern beamed at his son. "I did want you two
to meet, though. I hope you will become good friends."

  "Of course," Ashen said faintly. Fostering was, apparently,
another part of the way of the Sea-Rovers.

  "I hope we will become good friends, too, lady." Then Rohan
bowed again, and followed his father out the door once more.

   Ashen sat down, her knees suddenly grown weak. Why hadn't
Obern told her before now that he had a son? Because, she
answered herself, it was not the way of the Sea-Rovers. They did
not give their children any great notice—at least the men didn't,
any more than they danced attention on their wives. That much
she had gleaned, even from her short stay at New Void.

  She put her hand to her belly, wondering if this was going to
change, even a little, when her own child was born.

   "Obern, I must go to the Bog!" This argument had been going
on for several days, and Ashen was finding Obem as stubbornly
set against the journey as when she had first broached the
subject, over a week earlier.

   "There is no need," he said, again. "You are just experiencing
what every woman does, with her first child. I'll bring Dagdya to
talk to you."

  "I've talked to Dagdya, and even she has come to admit that it
is something more than that, something beyond her reckoning. I
want to go to the Bog. I want to go to Zazar. She is the closest
thing to a mother that I've ever had, and at a time like this—"
She pressed her lips together firmly. Obern had gotten that
closed look on his face that meant nothing further she could say
would have any effect on him. The beginning of a plan sprang
into her mind. "Very well," she told him. "I'll consult Dagdya
again, though I don't think it will do any good."

  "Women have been having babies since the world began,"
Ob-em said. "This one is no different from any other, even if it is
yours."

   She noticed he did not say "ours," but chose to overlook it. As
much as he loved her—and she was certain that, in his own way,
he did—still, he was a Sea-Rover. Now that he was back among
them, it was only natural that he thought like one.

   Four months had gone by since first she knew she was
carrying and there was a chill in her belly, where all should be
warmth and, by now, the first faint stirring of movement.
Instead, all she felt was a dull weight. And she felt ill such as she
knew was not normal for a pregnant woman. She had
experienced only a little of the morning queasiness that afflicted
so many. Nevertheless, she had no appetite and no energy,
either. When she picked up a tiny shirt she had once been
working on, for the newcomer, she had no heart to stitch on it.
She wanted only to lie in bed, thinking nothing, preparing
nothing, waiting only to die—

   No! To think such a thing was to will it to happen.

   At first, Ashen had not welcomed the news that she was with
child but she quickly changed her mind. A new life, a baby,
would surely bring Obern closer to her, and her to him. Also, it
would give her something with which to occupy herself, to keep
herself from thinking of the one whom she had sworn to forget.

  And she had tried to keep her oath. But still, Gaurin came to
her each night in her dreams, though of late his countenance had
not been smiling, but rather wore an expression of grave
concern. Sometimes he spoke, and his message, though blurred
and hard to decipher, was one speaking of her needing help such
as even he could not offer.

  Could she likewise be haunting his dreams? How else could he
know that all was not well with her?

  She put that aside. Perhaps later, when she had reached
Zazar, and the Wysen-wyf had put all to rights again, she would
dare consider it. But for now, she must focus all her thought and
what energy remained to her, on the task of leaving New Void
and going, alone, back into the Bog.

   She must confide in Ayfare. When she told the maid of her
plans, Ayfare nodded, though her forehead was wrinkled
dubiously. "Aye, lady, I see that you would want your foster
mother, especially tinder the circumstances. But to give Lord
Obern his due, isn't he right to urge you to talk to Dagdya?"

   "By his lights, I suppose so. But Sea-Rover women are a sturdy
lot and my guess is that Dagdya has never yet seen a woman in
such straits as I feel myself to be in." Ashen shook out a pair of
breeches she had filched from Obern's clothespress. "Bog-women
are different. Many are ill shaped and have other flaws in their
forming. Childbearing comes hard with many of them. More
than once I have been in the vicinity of Zazar's hut when she was
giving a woman the medicine that dislodges a dead child from
her body. She sent me away, always, but yet I knew."

  "Lady!" Ayfare's hands went to her mouth. "Don't say it—"

    "I must face facts. I feel cold, where there should be warmth.
If the child is not dead, then I surely will be, before long, for
there is none here to tend me. I must go to Zazar."

   "Then go you shall, with my help, though I will worry myself
sick, not knowing what is happening. What if some Bog-beast
eats you? Or even worse? I have heard stories, and bad ones, too.
I will come with you."

   Ashen grasped the maid's hands with her own, grateful for her
loyalty. "I will be better, just knowing I am on the road to the
Wysen-wyf," she said. "I know the Bog and its ways, and you do
not. You must stay here. You would just slow me down."

   "And you think that I was born in a rose garden? I can take
care of myself, and you with me if it comes to that."

   Again Ashen demurred, but the maid was stubborn and
eventually she gave in. "Very well," she said, "but you must go
and get your own breeches. Skirts will just hamper you in case
you have to run for your life."

    Ayfare grinned. "I'll be ready within the hour, and will get us a
little bundle of food to take as well. All you have to do is say the
word, and we'll be off."

   Secretly, Ashen was gladder for the maid's company than
wor-ried about her safety. She dressed herself quickly in Obem's
garments. Both breeches and shirt were much too large for her,
of course, but she belted in the garments high over the coldness
in her belly and laced thongs close together over both arms and
legs. When she was finished, she felt they would do, though she
wished for the shell leg-armor she had always worn in the Bog.
Once she had braided her hair and put a hooded cloak over all,
with Ayfare doing likewise, perhaps they would be mistaken for
two young men going about an errand, by any watchers on the
wall of New Void Keep.

   She knew the paths to follow in the Bog, and could lead them
to Zazar's hut without incident. That is, providing they avoided
serpents' stings and the Deep Dwellers—the giant luppers such as
the one that had very nearly been her doom—were not on the
prowl. That day, she had learned that they had a taste for live
meat as well as Bog dead. It had surely eaten one of three young
Bog-men who had once tracked her with less-than-honorable
intentions. She rummaged through her jewel coffer, bringing out
the small square of wood polished with age and much handling
she had hidden under the lining. She held it to her nose; it still
bore a faintly spicy scent. This was a hearth-guide.
Unfortunately, though, she had set it on Galinth, the ruined city
in the northern part of the Bog, where Zazar had left her to
pursue the store of knowledge, and she had no other. She had not
had the chance to set it on Zazar's dwelling again before Obern's
arrival and her subsequently being taken by Harous and leaving
the Bog. She put it back into the box. By the time she was ready,
Ayfare had returned, already dressed for the road and bearing a
bundle of what smelled like fresh bread.

   "Aye, I filched it from where it was cooling on the rack," the
maid said cheerfully, "and some cold sliced meat to go with it.
Also, I have a flagon of ale as well as water bottles and half a
pastry." She held up a wrapped bundle which she then strapped
to her back. "Now, with a cloak over all, I look like a hunchback."

    "You have done well," Ashen said, smiling. "Nobody would
ever recognize you. Bind your legs with thongs as I have done, for
there are those that sting and we must do what we can to avoid
it. But be quick about it. We need to get started. I want to be in
the Bog before night falls."

   "I'd rather be at your Wysen-wyf's hut by the time dark sets
in," Ayfare said, quickly doing as Ashen directed. To her credit,
she showed no sign of shrinking from the adventure before them.
"Perhaps, if we put a good foot under us, we can get close."

   "If we're lucky we will be there by full dark. And if not, there
are plants in the Bog that can make a light for us." Ashen drew
the other of the treasures from her former life from the jewel
coffer. "And if all else fails, I will try to put you inside the shadow
of this."

   Ayfare eyed the circular stone, pierced so it hung by a cord,
with some doubt. "Is it a weapon? Do you throw it at an enemy?"

   Ashen laughed, wondering how to explain the magic. "No. It—
it makes a noise when I whirl it overhead. And it puts a shadow
over me. It has allowed me to get away from danger more than
once."

   "Then let us hope it works well enough for us both. Now let us
be off!"


                              Eight
   Despite the fact that Ashen could almost hear the cry of alarm
being raised from the walls of New Void Keep, the two girls
managed to make their escape unnoticed. They took the road
across the river and then cut straight west, over open ground,
toward the Barrier River. Once in sight of it, Ashen had little
difficulty in finding the waterfall and the cave where she had
once taken refuge from giant birds. Close by, she knew, was a
ford and the girls made their way to the spot. Here, though the
river ran shallow, it ran swiftly and they had to watch their
footing as they waded across. The sun was a little less than
halfway down in the sky.

  "My village—I mean, the village where Zazar lives—lies almost
due west of us. If we keep the sun to our faces until it disappears
behind the mountains, even a stranger could find the way. And I
am no stranger. Also, the paths are clear to see."

  "Some of them. But others, I daresay, are not."

   "There I will guide you. Now, follow me and be careful. You
are, after all, an Outlander." As am I by now, Ashen thought. But
she did not say it aloud. No need to frighten the girl
unnecessarily.

   They stopped at intervals to rest, and to eat the provisions
Ay-fare had brought. As the afternoon drew on toward evening,
the kippers began to awaken and take up their evening serenade.
Mostly it was the cheeps and peeps and croaking Ashen had
known from childhood, but every now and then, a deeper bellow
could be heard from the depths of the Bog beyond the path, and
once in a while a wild cry arose to be as quickly stifled.

   Ayfare reached out to take Ashen's hand. "It's only to help you
in case you stumble," the maid said. Her voice trembled slightly.

   "Have no fear. We have made remarkably good time and,
unless I have forgotten all my Bog-lore, the village is just around
the next bend, and over a small hill."

  Now that they were almost at their destination, the store of
energy Ashen had drawn upon for the journey vanished, leaving
her faint. She willed herself to go forward, for she knew that
Ayfare, good as her intentions were, would not fare well if she
tried to go alone into the village where Joal was headman.

    Once they had topped the rise, they waited hidden behind
such shelter as reeds and mossy branches could provide while
Ashen observed the activity in the village. There seemed to be
little, which might mean that most of the men were out hunting.
Good, she thought. We can most likely get in by the back way.

   She led Ayfare, who needed no admonition to move with great
care and stealth, along the edge of the clearing where the village
was located, toward the back of Zazar's hut. There, a much
smaller path had been worn where the Wysen-wyf was
accustomed to heading into the Bog, though this quickly
disappeared in the sodden ground, for Zazar had seldom gone
the same direction twice.

   "Now," Ashen said in a low voice.

   The two girls hurried across the short stretch of open ground;
and around the hut to the door. Without giving the customary
identification whistle or the call of "Zazar hearth," Ashen pushed
the curtain aside and stumbled over the threshold. Strength
entirely spent, she went to her knees and then, with black sparks
buzzing and blurring her sight, she collapsed.

   She floated in a dream-world, but one in which Gaurin did
not visit her. Shadows moved back and forth just out of her
range of vision, and once she roused just enough so that Zazar
could lift her head so she could drink a potion the Wysen-wyf
held for her. It was bitter. Feebly, she tried to wave it away.

   "All of it, Ashen," Zazar said sternly. "Drink it quickly and
then you won't notice the taste."

    Then she did as she was told, after which she remembered
little except pain when the muscles of her body contracted. Then
something small, sharp, and very cold slipped out. She floated on
a quiet lake of relief. How easy it would be to let go entirely, to
sink down and down…

  Her head snapped abruptly to the side and her cheek stung.
She opened her eyes to see Zazar hovering over her, hand raised
to strike her again if necessary. "No, you will not die, hard as I've
worked to bring you back!" The Wysen-wyf's words were like
flung stones, each one hitting its mark. "Here, I've got broth for
you. No, it isn't like the medicine. Drink it."

   Ashen knew that Zazar would drag her back by force if she
had to. The girl had to gulp from the cup Zazar held lest the hot
liquid spill down her neck and scald her. Ayfare appeared on the
other side of her, propping her up with one arm while with the
other she took the cup and held it more gently, so Ashen could
sip. "Thank you," she said weakly.

    "That's better," Zazar said. "I made it from some of the meat
you brought, with plenty of salt in it. Now, when you can, kindly
tell me why you waited so long. You were nearly dead when you
got here."

  "My lady complained that she did not feel well. But her
husband wouldn't listen to her, and the midwives knew nothing."

  Zazar grunted. "So you said earlier. But I want to hear it from
Ashen."

   "Ayfare speaks truly," Ashen said, and was astonished at how
much that short speech cost her. She could feel a little strength
returning to her, with the warmth of the broth. "No one wished
me any harm. They simply didn't know better."

   "Well, they nearly killed you anyway." Zazar sat down on a
stool beside the bed—Zazar's own, Ashen realized. "The baby had
died inside you, but your body couldn't expel it naturally.
Instead, you were being poisoned by it. One more day, and I
wouldn't have been able to do anything. As it is, you have a long
recovery ahead of you and you must do it elsewhere. It isn't safe
for you to stay here, even in my house."

   Ashen closed her eyes. Ayfare nudged her with the cup, and
she drank a little more broth. "Why?" she said, dreading the
answer.

  "Joal is not headman any longer. Tusser challenged him and
beat him. Then Joal disappeared. I don't think he went to the
pool voluntarily."

   " 'The pool'?" Ayfare obviously had no idea what Zazar was
talking about.

   "Where the Bog-people put their dead. For the underwater
eaters. The Deep Dwellers."

   Ashen felt Ayfare shudder. "It is the custom," she told the
maid. "Tusser is Joal's son. I know him, grew up with him, and
he hates me for various reasons. Anyway, the dead feel nothing."

   "But Joal wasn't dead, not yet," Zazar said. "We had
differences, but that fate was a bad one and I would not have
wished it on him."

  "Then you are right," Ashen said, "and my presence here can
only bring you danger. I must go back to New Void."

   "And how?" the old woman demanded. "You're too weak to
get out of bed, let alone go where you'll surely die without
competent people to help you."

   "I'll manage. I must."

   Zazar snorted through her nose. "You'll manage nothing, not
without my help. Just lie easy. I have an idea."

   But Ashen could get nothing further from the Wysen-wyf. All
she knew was that, after a brief, whispered conversation with
Ay-fare, both left the hut after providing her with food and a
bottle of water. A few hours later, Zazar returned alone.

   "How're you feeling now?" she asked.

   "Much stronger," Ashen said. "I got out of bed and walked a
few steps, though it tired me."

   "You shouldn't have done that, but no harm done, I suppose."

   "I wanted to see if I could run if I had to."

   Unexpectedly, Zazar smiled. "You'll do," she said. "But you
needn't have bothered. All the able-bodied men are out hunting
for meat to salt for the winter. Now, we wait until your man and
a troop of armed soldiers show up, to take you to Rendelsham.
The Nordor, isn't he?"

   Ashen started. "I suppose you could call him that, though he
is not really a Nordor. He's the son of the Chieftain of the
Sea-Rovers. His name is Obern."

   It was Zazar's turn to be startled. "But he was not—Never
mind. What's done is done, and the Weavers must have a reason
for it though we do not know it yet. I gave your maidservant a
hearth-guide here, after I left her beside the ford. They'll be here
in another day, if your Obern has the least regard for you."

   Ashen closed her eyes. "He will," she said. At least that much
she could count on. He might blame her for disobeying him and
entering the swamp—he might even blame her for losing the
child—but he would come for her.

   She had been wrong. The first thing Obern did, once he was
inside the hut and his men stationed outside, was to blame
Zazar. "If it hadn't been for your meddling—" he said, his voice
dangerous.

   Zazar had never been one to overlook foolishness. "If it hadn't
been for my 'meddling' as you put it, your wife would not be alive
today," she snapped. Quickly, sparing no grim detail, she
outlined the situation for him. "She was more dead than alive
when she got here, and that was thanks to your keeping her from
me."

   Obern tempered his anger, if only a little. "And yet, women
have children all the time. What did you do, Ashen, that the baby
died?"

  "I did nothing," Ashen said. "Nothing. I wanted the baby—our
baby." Everything, she thought, depended on his next words.

   "And yet it died. And you ran away, into the Bog. Perhaps that
is why it died."
  Ashen looked away. This rift between them, she thought,
would be hard to bridge. Perhaps it never would be. And yet this
was her husband, to whom she was bound for life. Worse, it was
possible he was unaware even that a rift existed.

   She had to make things plain, once and for all, or be lost
entirely. "If you believe that I was acting in any way but in an
attempt to save the baby, then perhaps we should agree to live
apart," she said.

  Obern had the good grace to look abashed. "Of course I could
never believe anything but good about you," he said.

   "Then believe this," she said. Her voice was harsh in her own
ears. "Perhaps I spoke true and we should separate. But that
would shame you in Sea-Rover eyes. 'A man who cannot keep his
wife in her place,' they'd whisper behind your back. Always you
and no thought for me. No consideration of my welfare. I did not
desert you. I was dying, Obern. Zazar said that another day and
even she could have done nothing to save me. I only went for help
that you couldn't or wouldn't recognize that I needed."

  "I know you had your reasons. And yet it was hard to bear,
when I found that you would leave me."

   She looked away. "Yes. I know." Her words were false in her
own ears. It was as if she talked to a log. He still had not grasped
her meaning, and perhaps never would. If he had, he would have
brought her to the Bog himself, rather than come for her later,
and when sent for.

   "I am a Sea-Rover, and we treat our women differently from
the way the land men do."

   "Make your apologies later," Zazar said. "You are apologizing
to your wife, aren't you?"

   Obern nodded, if a little slowly.

   "Good. Now, did you bring a litter, as I told you?"

   "I did. It can be rigged so horses can carry it, once we get
across the Barrier River." He turned to Ashen. "Lathrom is in
charge of the men," he told her. "And we'll be taking Ayfare to
tend you as well. I still don't understand why it wouldn't be just
as well to return to New Void rather than make the long journey
to Rendel-sham—"

   "You don't have to understand," Zazar said bluntly, clearly out
of patience. "Just do it. Obey me!"

   "Very well, we will go to Rendelsham," Obern said, with a nod
in the Wysen-wyf's direction, "and live once more in that
madhouse of a capital. But once you are healed, we return to
New Void. Agreed?"

  "Yes, agreed," Ashen said. She had no more wish to be near
King Florian and the Dowager than he, but she recognized
Zazar's wisdom in sending her where there were skilled
physicians to oversee her recuperation.

    Then Obem picked her up and, despite her protests that she
could walk at least as far as the litter, carried her outside. He
held her for a moment, gazing at her, and only then could she see
the deep concern in his eyes, a concern that had come out as
anger. "I really was beside myself with worry about you," he said.
"If anything ever happened to you—"

   "I will be safe now that you are here," Ashen said. She put her
head against the hollow of his neck. A faint hope flickered that
perhaps they could still salvage some of what little they once had
between them. Perhaps he would learn other ways of behaving
with a woman who was not of the Sea-Rover kin.

  "I'll guide you once more to the Barrier River/' Zazar said.
"And then who knows when I'll see you again."

  "Surely not under the same conditions," Obern said. He
hugged Ashen tighter before putting her into the litter.

  "You're a good man for all your hot temper," Zazar said. "Too
bad that—Well, never mind."

  "How can I get in touch with you, to keep you informed of
Ashen's recovery?"

   Unexpectedly, the Wysen-wfy smiled. "I'll find a way to get in
touch with you. Now, go." Then she put her hand on Obern's
sleeve. "Wait. You have a son, don't you? The child of the wife
you once had."

   "Yes. His name is Rohan." Obem sounded puzzled, as was
Ashen. She had not told Zazar about the boy. Or perhaps she
had, while she was temporarily out of her head. If so, perhaps
she had told her Protector about Gaurin as well, and how she
loved him. That would explain some of Zazar's cryptic remarks.

   "Send for him while you are in Rendelsham," the Wysen-wyf
instructed Obern. "He will be a comfort to Ashen, being as how
she lost the child that would have been her own."

   "Yes, I will," Obern promised. Then the little group of
travelers started across the open land to where they could pick
up the road and make traveling easier for Ashen.

   Even with the improved conditions and the way Ayfare had
tried to pad the horse-litter to make it as comfortable as
possible, Ashen was exhausted to the point of wishing she had
died, back in the Bog, when Rendelsham towers finally came into
view. They passed by Cragden Keep without stopping, going
directly to Rendelsham Castle. There, under Ayfare's direction,
stewards rushed from every direction to help her to the
apartment that, true to the Dowager Queen's promise, had been
kept ready for her when she chose to visit. Others scurried off to
find the physicians, while still others went to notify the King and
the Dowager of Ashen's arrival.

   She fell into a deep slumber the instant she had been put to
bed, and woke late the next morning, feeling considerably
refreshed. Master Lorgan, the eldest and most experienced of all
the physicians employed at Rendelsham Castle, sat at her side.

  "You have had a narrow escape," he told her, "if half of what
your maid claims is true."

  "My guess is that she left half of it out of her story," Ashen
said. She yawned. "But 1 am here, and I am alive, and my
instructions were to stay until I was well again."

   "Ah yes, the Wysen-wyf." Lorgan smiled. "It was no surprise to
me that she sent you. We have had dealings with one another,
she and I, over the years. She sent me also this." He showed
Ashen a scrap of bark paper with some incomprehensible
scribbles on it. "This is the recipe for a particular tonic that I am
to brew, and your maidservant is to give you daily. It should have
you on your feet before long, unless there is somewhat amiss that
Zazar did not detect." He smiled a little wider. "But that is
unlikely."

   Ayfare appeared at that moment, bearing a tray on which
were several covered dishes and a crystal drinking-cup
containing something green. Even from a distance Ashen could
smell its pungent aroma. "Breakfast, my lady," Ayfare said. "Or
dinner, whichever you prefer. But you are to eat all of it and
drink the tonic down to the last drop. I prepared it myself."

   "I see you are in good hands," Master Lorgan said, as he arose
from the chair. "I always like it when my patients have someone
to look after them who will bully them into doing the correct
thing. And so I give you good day until I see you again
tomorrow."

   Ashen managed to tell him farewell just before the door closed
behind him. Somehow Ayfare had her propped up in bed, a
napkin tucked under her chin, and the tray set across her lap
before she quite knew what was happening.

  "First, the dish of eggs," Ayfare said. "And then some bread,
and fruit if you can hold it, and then the tonic." She stepped
back and folded her arms, obviously willing to stand over her
charge until she had performed satisfactorily.

   Knowing better than to argue, Ashen removed the cover from
one of the dishes. Inside were three coddled eggs cooked to
perfection, on rounds of toasted bread. More bread, untoasted,
with butter and a slice of cheese, waited on another plate and yet
another bowl held fresh fruit peeled and sliced. "How can I ever
eat all this?" she said. "It has been so long—"
   "All the more reason to eat now. You are so thin the covers
scarcely rumple over you."

   Obediently Ashen started in on the eggs, cutting them and the
toast to bits with her spoon. The combination tasted surprisingly
delicious and before she knew it, she had eaten almost all of it.
There was none of that sugary sauce that, to Ashen, spoiled the
dish and she smiled her gratitude at Ayfare's remembering her
preferences. She put the butter aside, and ate a slice of bread
with the cheese, as she nibbled on the fruit. "That was good," she
said at last, "but I'm too full to take another bite."

  "Not too full to drink the tonic," Ayfare said.

  "It smells like-—like—"

   "Like something from the Bog? I'll grant you that, but it tastes
fairer than it smells. 1 sampled it."

   Ashen saw no way out, so she took a sip. Ayfare had been
correct. Once past the strong, swampy odor—no doubt some of
the herbs and medicinal Bog-plants Zazar knew, the way Master
Lorgan knew his elixirs—the concoction was not entirely
unpleasant, though it had a bitter undertaste. Ashen drained the
cup and then lay back, tired once more.

  "Where is Obem?" she asked.

  "When he saw that you were in safe hands, he returned to
New Void to bring his son back with him, as that strange old
woman told him. Is that the one who reared you?"

   "Yes. She is Zazar, the Wysen-wyf, and she's quite famous. It
seems that most people in Rendel know of her. I think my
mother was trying to reach her before I was born. She died,
leaving me orphaned. I am only now becoming aware of how
lucky I am that Zazar fostered me."

  Ayfare had other news also—the comings and goings of this
noble and that, and, most interesting, the information that
Count Gaurin was not at Court.
   "Has he returned to his homeland?" Ashen inquired
cautiously.

  "For the time. He's gone to bring more of his people back to

  Rendel. From what I hear, things are going poorly up north."

   Much as she wanted to see him again, this was an
exceptionally poor time for them to renew their
acquaintanceship and so she was glad, in a way, that he was
gone. "Grant him safe journey." Then she yawned again. "Could I
be sleepy again so quickly?"

   "Yes. So go back to sleep, and don't worry about anything. I
am here to look after you, and soon your husband and your foster
son will be here as well."

  With a contented sigh, Ashen obeyed.

    In another part of the castle, King Florian was pacing the
floor, scowling, while his current mistress, Lady Jacyne, wife of a
minor court official, lolled on a long chair. She was eating spiced,
sugared nuts from a silver dish and was nearly naked, a light
robe carelessly belted around her waist. If her intention was to
appear seductive, Florian was unmoved by it. "I don't see what
all the fuss is about," she said. "Your sister is in no condition to
harm you, even if she wanted to."

  "That's not the point," Florian said impatiently. "She is here
and I am much happier when she is someplace else. Almost
anyplace else."

   "Well, you'd better get used to her presence," Jacyne said with
a shrug. "Because she isn't going anywhere until all the poison is
out of her system."

   Florian stopped in his tracks. "What poison?" he said
suspiciously. "Is someone trying to say she's been poisoned?" It
can't be, he thought. Someone must be spreading a rumor.

  "All perfectly natural, my love," Jacyne said, popping another
sugared nut into her mouth. "Sometimes things go wrong. She
was pregnant, it died, she couldn't push it out, and you don't
want to know the nasty details. But the Bog-witch saved her."

   She licked her fingers and Florian stared at her with some
distaste. She had been very amusing at first, but her coarse ways
were beginning to annoy him. Initially he had thought it an
affectation; now he surmised that she really was a common
wench who had married far above her station.

  "How very unfortunate," he said without inflection.

   Then he dismissed the matter as unimportant women's
business. He had other things on his mind, and to that end,
ordered Jacyne to dress and leave him alone. When she had
slipped out the private door, he sent for Rawl, the house servant
who had "helped" him some years earlier in the matter of that
Nordorn ambassador— What was his name? Oh, yes, Bjauden.
Rawl had taken care of the problem neatly and efficiently, with
never a hint of anything amiss, and since then, several similar
pieces of work as well.

   Now that his sister had come back to Rendelsham, after that
frustrating business with the Sea-Rover rescuing her and the
equally inefficient way Sergeant Lathrom had misinterpreted the
orders given him—Florian made a disgusted noise in the back of
his throat. Any fool should have understood that Ashen was to be
done away with at the earliest opportunity. The instructions in
the note—and that was something else that chafed him, that the
note had not been destroyed—were just a cover, in case
something went wrong. Well, he should be grateful that the note
existed after all, though he wasn't. Rawl, however, would not fail
him. Florian had to strike quickly, and permanently, before
another political faction could start forming around her.

   There was a quiet tap on the same private door Jacyne had
used, and then it opened a crack and Rawl slipped inside.

  "You sent for me, Your Majesty?"

  "That I did. I have another, um, special assignment for you."

  Rawl grinned. "I'm your man, as Your Majesty ought to know
by now."

   "Hmmm, yes," Florian said, a little sourly. His man had been
paid well enough. And would be again, once he learned what
Florian had in mind. "There is a certain lady newly returned to
the castle. She was taken once, and returned before anything,
um, permanent could happen. I want you to remedy that. You've
carried others to the Bog both living and dead. I think it would
be very fitting to return this lady to that place as well. After all, it
was once her home."

  "The Princess." Rawl looked very dubious. "Begging your
pardon, sir, but are you suggesting she be taken again?"

   "The very thing."

   "I'd advise against it, sir."

   "For what reason?"

   "If I may speak plainly, sir."

   Florian nodded. "This is no time to hold back."

    "Well, though I wasn't a party to it, I know that there was talk
all through the castle and out into the city that you waS behind
the Princess's disappearance. They couldn't lay it at your feet,
and that was lucky for you. But if the same thing happens again,
now that she's back under your roof—" Rawl shrugged
expressively. "You'd be the first one they'd come asking after."

  Florian pondered the servant's words, frowning. Curse it, he
was right. Ashen must be eliminated, but how to do it?

   As if he could read the King's mind, Rawl continued. "We got
to find a different way to do it. Servants' talk is the lady is ill."

    "Yes. She lost a baby, and had some kind of poisoning with
it."

   "Well, there you are, then."

   Florian blinked, not understanding at first. Then he
remembered what Lady Jacyne had said. "All perfectly natural,
my love," she had told him. And perfectly convenient. Surely his
sister was being given medicine. A dose of poison—more
poison—slipped into the brew, and she would slip away quietly
with no questions being asked.

   Furthermore, he knew who he could get to do this. Poison was
not Rawl's style, and furthermore, his duties would not bring
him near Ashen's apartment. Jacyne could do it, though, if he
could persuade her that she was doing nothing wrong. Also, he
could make her think that her station in life would improve
significantly. And then—

   He smiled as the rest of the plan took shape in his mind. It
was beautiful—lawless, even. And best of all, Rawl would still
prove useful. After she was dead, let him take his sister's body to
the swamp to be reduced to nothing by the hungry predators
there. And because there would be a body needed for the
elaborate—and carefully sealed—coffin, why, Jacyne would fill
that requirement. Once she realized how she had been duped,
she must be disposed of. She might be slow of wit, but eventually
she would understand what her part had been and she had much
too loose a tongue to be allowed to live on.

   "You are correct, Rawl. It was a moment's thought only and
you have shown me that such an impulse must not be acted
upon. Only stand ready, for I will have something else for you to
do later."

    "Depend on me, Your Majesty." He saluted awkwardly, giving
the King a conspirator's grin, and went out the way he had come
in.

  Florian smiled also, but it was not a pleasant expression as he
began contemplating the details of exactly how and when he
would arrange for both his sister's and his mistress's imminent
demise.


                             Nine
  It was common knowledge that there were people who made
their livelihood in brewing poisons both subtle and abrupt. For
that reason every noble employed a staff of physicians whose
duties included testing for such contaminations, even to articles
of clothing. More than one pair of gloves, or elaborately
embroidered shirt, presented as gifts, would have proven fatal to
the wearer. The wise among them were careful also of the cooks
they employed, and paid them well, lest they be tempted by
bribery. Still the danger existed. In a world where political
enemies would stop at nothing, the wise person took every
precaution available.

    Florian knew himself to be wise in this regard, and so he sent
for Jariad, who had apprenticed to Master Lorgan and learned
well his physician's trade. Further, while showing exemplary
loyalty to his royal master, Jariad had also shown some talent
not only in detecting poisons but also in collecting new and
unusual ones. A hobby, he claimed, but a useful one. If there
were such a court position as King's Poisoner, Jariad would have
filled it to perfection. But instead, he was known merely as one of
the staff of physicians maintained at Rendelsham Castle.

   Jariad merely raised one eyebrow when Florian told him what
he wanted, without, of course, mentioning for whom this potion
was intended.

  "I think it should be something slow and lingering, don't
you?" Florian said. "Then it would seem like an unfortunate
wasting illness. Quite natural."

   "I think I know exactly the preparation you need," Jariad said.
He bowed himself out, and Florian began to ponder how he could
make Jacyne add it to whatever concoction Ashen was being
given, thinking she was helping the Kings' sister.

   The Dowager Queen Ysa dismissed the last of the petitioners;
she had had a full day, taking care of the business that should
have been Florian's responsibility. When she was alone, she
would find out what was keeping him secluded this time.

   She had not performed this particular ritual in perhaps too
long. She brought the Ring on the forefinger of her right hand to
her mouth and touched it with the tip of her tongue. "Yew," she
said.

  As usual, her perception altered, and it was as if an invisible
part of herself swept through the castle, seeking to know the
well-being of the head of the House of Yew, her ancestral House.
This leader now was Florian. Ah. There he was.

   Of late, swordplay had become almost an obsession with the
King. There were actually classes held in the Great Hall, and
staged mock combats between students, in which sport Florian
engaged eagerly. He was so occupied now. Well, better that than
to be dallying with one or another of the string of mistresses he
kept, to his new wife's dismay.

   As an experiment, she then touched her tongue to the ring on
the thumb of her right hand. "Oak." The same tableau presented
itself to her eyes. That was interesting. And alarming. She must
try to keep from him the fact that, to the Rings at least, he was
now in command of two of the Four Great Houses of Rendel.
Always they had been allies, but to her knowledge no one person
had ever headed both at one time.

   Let Florian fritter his time away with swordplay and
wenching, and leave the management of the kingdom to her. She
was, after all, the one to whom the Four Great Rings had come of
their own volition. She was the one with whom the Rings
remained. Therefore, she was best suited to her task, as he was
to his.

   Then, knowing what she would find, she tasted the wood inlay
of the Ring encircling the thumb of her left hand. "Ash."

   Ah, there she was—the Bog-Princess, in Marcala's amusing
phrase—lying asleep and perhaps dreaming of one who was not
her husband. She did not look well. The rumors must have been
true. Ysa wondered whether she wished Ashen alive, or dead.

   Then she touched tongue to the last Ring—Rowan, ever the
weakest of the Houses, the one whose traditional ally was Ash,
even as Oak and Yew were allied.

   Two images, separate and distinct, yet one. Lord Wittern, and
also the new Queen, Rannore. This caused Ysa to stop again and
think. With Florian as head of both Oak and Yew, and with his
wife being at least as important as Wittern in the governing of
Rowan, this definitely had the potential of putting too much
sheer political power in the hands of one not fit to wield it.
Perhaps it was more fortunate than she had thought, that the
King was so caught up both in bed-sport and in play with sword.

    She tongue-touched the Ring on the thumb of her left hand
again, summoning the image of Ashen, daughter of her late
husband, and her bitterest rival. The girl stirred in her sleep, as
if aware of Ysa's shadowy intrusion. The Dowager withdrew
immediately.

   Perhaps she should try to overcome her aversion to the girl in
truth as well as appearances. Or at least until she had managed
to wrest some of Florian's power from him before he discovered
the true scope of it and began to use it in inappropriate ways.
And, of course, so much depended on whether Rannore's child
was a boy, or a girl. Ysa bit her lip, sharply aware that at this
juncture she needed allies from any direction she could get them.

   Ashen must live.

   "Of course it won't hurt her," Florian said. He pulled Jacyne
close and cupped his hand on her cheek, the way he knew she
liked to be caressed. "You know how doctors are—all so jealous of
each other that if one discovers a cure for some illness the rest
won't use it even if their patients are dying."

   'Tell me again what you want me to do."

   Florian led Jacyne over to a table and sat her down in the
chair next to it. He took the chair opposite and placed a small
vial on the table. "My sister has been prescribed a daily tonic and
Master Lorgan prepares it. You are to volunteer to take it to my
sister's apartment. This will be easy, as Master Lorgan is so busy
the morning often grows on toward noon before he gets around
to taking it himself, and it grows stale. Put six drops, no more
and no less, from this vial into the cup, and the lady's health will
be much improved in a matter of days. I am assured that this is
so."
   "It does seem an easy matter—"

  "Easy, and inexcusable that Master Lorgan hasn't seen to it
himself. But as I said, physicians are a jealous lot."

  "You must be very fond of your sister, to be so solicitous of her
health."

   "I have no other sister—that I know of," Florian said, with a
touch of malicious humor. "Of course I care a great deal about
what happens'to her."

    "Very well, I'll do it. I probably would have, even without the
title and house that goes with the deed, though I do appreciate
the gift. You are a generous King, sir."

   "Oh, I can be very generous to someone who pleases me,"
Florian replied. "As here."

   He placed a large purse on the table beside the vial. Jacyne
hefted it, and the clink of coins filled the chamber. She peeked
inside. "Gold!"

  "As I said, I can be very generous to someone who pleases me,
and when it pleases me to be so."

  She smiled. "Then I must take pains to please you more often.
And more completely. Tonight?"

   "Of course." He had promised to spend the evening with
Ran-nore, but he knew he could leave early, if he pleaded a
headache. And he might as well get what pleasure Jacyne had to
offer while she was still able to provide it.

   Though she was undoubtedly slow in her wits, she was not
completely stupid. Yes, eventually she would realize what part
she had played in the death of his dear sister and then Rawl
would have another assignment from the king. Almost, now that
Jacyne's fate was all but accomplished, he felt a glow of that first
attraction for her. He could afford to grant her a few evenings, if
that was all it took to keep her quiet. And compliant.
   When Obern returned to Rendelsham with Rohan, as
instructed by Zazar, he expected to see Ashen looking and feeling
much better. To his dismay, her condition seemed to have
deteriorated instead, though she welcomed him warmly and
bade Rohan sit on the side of her bed and tell her about his
journey.

   Ayfare drew Obern aside. "I don't know what it is that ails my
lady," Ayfare whispered, "but she fades daily, little by little."

  "Does the doctor know anything?"

   "No. He is as puzzled as the rest of us. I prepare my lady's
meals with my own hands, just to her hieing, and give her a cup
of tonic daily—"

  "Tonic?"

  "Aye, sir, as written out by that Bog-woman and prepared by
Master Lorgan himself. Though lately—"

  "What?"

   "He hasn't been bringing it to her himself, as he did when we
first got here, but one of the court ladies has taken up the duty."

  "Which lady?"

  "Jacyne, sir." Ayfare wrinkled her nose in a gesture of distaste.
"They say she's the King's light-o'-love."

  "Thank you, Ayfare. Tell my wife I have an errand. And let
Rohan visit her as much as she wants, without tiring her.
Perhaps that will cheer her up."

   Then, full of apprehension, he went in search of Lady Jacyne.
He found her with a group of other ladies, doing whatever it is
that ladies did of an afternoon with their needles and thread. She
looked up, startled when the steward announced his name, and
followed him to a spot where they could speak in relative privacy.

  "I've come to thank you for the gracious care you have taken
of Lady Ashen," he told her. "I heard that you offered yourself to
carry her tonic to her personally."

   "It was nothing, sir. I only did what I could to help. And is she
better, as our lord King promised? I only leave the cup with the
maid, at the door, and have yet to be admitted to see her."

   The King! Obern's apprehension deepened. So that silly,
dressed-up, crowned nobody Kasai never referred to except to
call him a catamite was mixed up in this! That meant no good.
Obern knew he could not afford to let his temper flare, not yet,
not without knowledge of what the details might be.
Deliberately, he decided to lie. "Yes, she is greatly improved. The
color is coming back into her cheeks, and the sparkle to her
eyes."

   "That is good," Lady Jacyne said with a smile. "His Majesty
was right, then. Physicians are jealous folk, and Master Lorgan
scorned to use the remedy that would cure her."

   Obern decided to gamble all on one toss. "Now that I am
back," he said to her as winningly as he could, "I am more than
willing to take over the duty of adding the potion to my wife's
medicine. Surely you can understand how I want to tend her
with my own hands."

   The lady nodded. "Of course, sir. Wait here, and I will fetch
the vial."

   He knew he was taking quite a risk, interfering with whatever
scheme the King had in mind, and his only hope had been that
Jacyne was being used as an unwitting dupe. If so, she would not
object. If she knew that what she had been dosing Ashen's tonic
with was, in fact, a noxious substance that was making her
worse, she would never have allowed him to take over the task.
Therefore she was innocent. Vaguely, this knowledge made him
feel better.

    Jacyne returned quickly. She placed a vial in his hand.
Holding it up to the light, he could see that it was still almost
full. He opened the vial, sniffed the bitter aroma, and recognized
it.
  "The dose is six drops, no more and no less," Jacyne told him.
"His Majesty was most explicit."

  "And how long has she been taking this?"

  "Five days only."

  That was a relief for it meant the King had not intended to
end Ashen's life quickly but rather let her fade away as if
naturally. She would undoubtedly recover.

  "My thanks, Lady Jacyne. Six drops. I will remember."

   Then he bowed, with as much courtier's grace as he could
summon, and returned to his apartment. There he hid the vial at
the bottom of his clothes chest, first making certain that the
stopper was tightly sealed with wax. If it seeped out onto a shirt
and then he wore it, he would suffer direly from it.

   There were many sea-beings whose weapon was poison, either
administered by sting or bite or hidden in succulent, tempting
flesh. The Sea-Rovers had long accumulated lore on poisons.
Obern knew this one—a concoction derived from certain
underwater plants encountered when diving for shellfish. Brush
against them once, and one only got stung for one's troubles. But
get entangled in them and the hapless victim was apt to die
before he could drown. Divers built up tolerance for the poison
by eating the leaves and Obern himself had done so. Ingested, it
made one ill according to the amount eaten. The stuff in the
vial—Yes, it would be serious if it touched the skin, deadly even
to him if it were rubbed into a cut…

    Bunding rage trembled behind Obern's eyes, and he dared not
let it burst out. He sat down, clasping his hands tightly to keep
them from rash action. He longed to seek out Royance's advice as
he had before, but knew that the stern old man would have to be
loyal to his King first, and at best would dismiss him out of hand.
At worst, Obern could be imprisoned or even executed for what
he longed to shout aloud, for what would be considered a
treasonous utterance—that the King was murdering his sister.

  What, then, would Royance advise, had this been someone
other than the King attempting to poison Ashen?

   He could not think. He only knew that if he did not act, and
act decisively, Florian would try again, and keep on trying, until
Ashen was dead.

   "Oh, I do feel much better]" Ashen said, a week later. She had
progressed to taking her meals at a table set up in her
bedchamber, and now this had become a merry occasion with
both Obern and Rohan joining her. "For a while it seemed that
the tonic Zazar wanted me to take was making me worse, but it
seems to be helping after all. That, and having my family with
me once more." She smiled on both of them, particularly Rohan,
and the boy beamed in return.

   Master Lorgan had not been surprised when Obern had
showed up at his door, requesting the potion. "Oh, yes, yes," he
had said, "it is very helpful that so many want to take over this
task of delivering it to her. And how does your lady?"

  "Much improved,' Obern had assured him.

   "And so shall I observe, when next I visit. I am much pressed
at the moment, but in seven-days' time, certainly."

  "You will be most welcome." And surely by that time Ashen
would have begun to mend in earnest, Obern thought.

   He did not want to consider how, later, Ashen's
unaccountable recovery could be explained to the King. But a
germ of an idea was beginning to form.

    Now Ashen took the goblet and drank it down. "Strange, but
it doesn't taste nearly as bitter as it once did. Master Lorgan
must be grinding fresher leaves."

   "Or he has taken to washing the mortar and pestle," Rohan
said mischievously. "Back at New Void, Dagdya would grind up
something bitter and then forget before she ground up
something sweet, like the sugar she sprinkled on my porridge.
The other women were always complaining about it and I did,
too."
  Ashen chuckled. "No blame to you!" she said. She looked up at
Obern. "Do you think we could leave the castle for a while? It's
been so long since I've been outside, in the fresh air."

    The plan that had been taking form in Obem's mind, once the
first flare of anger had subsided, needed only the doing to make
it into reality. He had examined it from every angle, and knew it
to be sound.

   Or, if not, he knew it would have to do. And if he suffered as a
result of it, then that was the price he was willing to pay for
keeping Ashen safe. Once he was finished with the vicious young
King, Florian would never trouble Ashen again. If all went well,
he would do it today. In anticipation, he had dressed himself in
his best—the dark green he had worn on his wedding day, his
doublet covering a frothy white shirt, and he had pinned the
brooch in the shape of a ship on his cap.

   "Content you to sit in the window this day, my dear lady," he
said. "Master Lorgan should be looking in on you today. I sent
word to remind him. And then, if he pronounces you fit, we will
go out tomorrow. I promise."

   "Can I go, too?" Rohan was at his father's elbow, looking up
pleadingly.

   "That you can, but in the meantime, you may go and search
out Lathrom, and tell him that I said you might ride out into the
countryside. You should enjoy that, after being cooped up for all
this time."

  Rohan whooped with joy and dashed for the door, not
remembering to take his leave properly. Obern would have called
him back, but Ashen stopped him. "He's just a boy," she said,
smiling. "Let him be one. Please do not scold him."

  Obem grasped her hand and kissed it. "I will only follow to tell
him to be sure and take his cloak, in case of rain."

  Once he was out of the apartment that had begun to lose the
smell of sickness and of medicine, Obern headed straight for the
Great Hall. He knew that Lathrom would look after Rohan
properly, and he knew also that now that he had set his course of
action he would not turn aside. Both Ashen and Rohan were
safely out of the way, and the time would never be better.

   As he neared the big doors, pulled almost shut, he could hear
the clash of steel from inside. Good. The class in swordplay under
Sword-master Sedem was still in progress.

   He opened the door and went in. The Sword-master had
paired his students and now wandered among them, correcting
this one's stance, that one's footwork. Florian caught sight of him
and lifted one arm in greeting.

   "Welcome, brother," he said, and, as usual, the nasal quality
of his voice made Obern think of a petulant child. "And how does
your lady?"

   "Not well, Your Majesty," Obern replied, feigning a sadness he
was far from feeling. "She is very like to die soon. I come here to
find distraction, if such exists, from my worries about her."

  "Distraction is yours. Will you match swords with any here?"

   "I might. I am out of practice, though. I could hardly ask any
of your fellows to indulge me."

   Florian laughed, or rather uttered that bray that passed for
laughter with him. Obern might as well not have mentioned the
gravity of Ashen's condition. "It's said that Sea-Rovers are born
with swords in their hands? Surely you are too modest."

  "My skills are nothing beside yours, I am sure. It is said that
you are the foremost swordsman in Rendel."

    It was an outright lie, but Obem was almost becoming
accustomed to dissembling in this place. He held his breath, for
all depended on the King's next words. He fingered the hilt of his
Rinbell sword; as a close kinsman of the King, he was allowed to
wear it in the monarch's presence.

  "I am passing good," Florian said. "But I have longed for the
opportunity to test my skills against someone who is not at Court
every day, and who does not have anything to gain by letting me
win. Somebody, in fact, such as yourself. Would you care to play
a match with me, my brother? A formal exhibition? First one to
give three hits wins?"

   Obern could not keep a smile from his lips. "Such would
lighten my mood most pleasantly, Your Majesty. But neither of
us is prepared for a formal match."

   "Oh, come, you have your sword. Remove your coat, take a
mask and a padded vest. Find one that suits you, and I will go to
my chamber and likewise dress me fit to be seen by the Court.
Also, my favorite sword is there, for I won't risk it in everyday
practice. Shall we say we begin when I return?"

  "Done and done, Your Majesty. Your hand on it?"

  "Of course."

   Then Obern spat into the palm of his hand and proffered it to
the King. After a few moments' hesitation, Florian did likewise.

   Then, the bargain being sealed, the King began issuing orders
that the mat be set up, that raised platforms be brought for
spectators, and that word be sent throughout the castle that
Florian of Rendel was matching his skills against those of Obern
of the Sea-Rovers, and all who wanted to watch were bid come.


                             Ten
   Florian rushed to his apartment, almost exulting. Not only
was his bothersome sister on the point of expiring, but also now
he had the opportunity of ridding himself of a brother-in-law
who could, he felt confident, be expected to become as much a
nuisance in his own way once he was a widower.

  Quickly he stripped out of his sweat-soaked practice gear and
put on a fresh shirt and deep red breeches, Oak's color. Obern
had looked quite dashing, in his dark green, and the King would
not be outdone. He took a moment to wash his face and hands as
well, and to run a comb through his air.
   He chose an unstained padded vest he had not yet worn in
practice. It was stitched in such a way that he seemed to have
rippling muscles across his chest, and Florian thought it so
flattering that he had had half a dozen made. The garment
offered considerably more protection than this occasion
demanded; still, the combatants would be fighting with weapons
that had not had the thin edge of lead applied to the blades, to
blunt them, and so there was an element of danger. The main
purpose was to remind both men where hits were not allowed.
He buckled on a long dagger, the secondary weapon for this kind
of contest. Then he got down the sword with the jeweled hilt and
unsheathed it.

   He was probably good enough to take Obern, but he was
unwilling to risk the possibility of not administering a killing
thrust. Rummaging in a cabinet, he drew out the bottle from
which he had filled the vial given to Jacyne and which she had
used to such excellent purpose. Carefully, he now touched the
edges of the sword with the poison, let it dry a moment, and then
re-sheathed the weapon.

   There. Now he need not run Obern through—by accident, of
course. Just a cut, and the potion would do its work, more swiftly
than it had done with Obem's lady wife, Florian's despised sister.
He needn't even treat the long dagger. Buckling on his sword
and, checking his appearance once more in the mirror, the King
of Ren-del left his apartment to return to the Great Hall.

   On arriving, he discovered that most of the preparations had
already been accomplished and some courtiers were beginning
to arrive, talking excitedly among themselves. His mother, the
Dowager, was not in evidence, and Florian hoped she would not
show up, as her presence would surely make him nervous. Nor
was his wife present. Probably sick, as usual, in her apartment.

   Nevertheless, their two chairs had been placed in the center of
the rows of benches being set up on either side of the Hall, down
the length of which ran a scarlet carpet mat, the ground on
which the combatants would fight. Stewards were setting
flambeaus on the walls and lighting them. There was a buzz of
anticipatory speculation among the watchers, and when Florian
came through the door, some of them spontaneously applauded.

   He noted that Obern had likewise been making preparations.
The deep green doublet and cap had been discarded now, and,
like Florian, he wore a padded vest over his snowy white,
embroidered shirt. His long scabbard also had been discarded,
and he had replaced it with one that held a dagger like Florian's.
Now he was taking practice swings with a sword that Florian
immediately de-cided was inferior to his. It boasted no jewels or
ornamentation of any kind that could be seen, though the blade
gleamed brightly enough and seemed forged of good steel.

   Obern, sighting Florian, advanced toward him, sword in one
hand and mask in the other. "Shall we wait a few minutes and let
more of those arrive who want to see their King display his
skill?" he said.

   "Of course," Florian replied. He smiled, feeling magnanimous.
He even clapped Obern on the shoulder in a comradely fashion.
"We've had too much doom and gloom around here, what with
women being sick and all the talk about some threat from the
North. The King and his brother shall provide good
entertainment!"

  "As you wish, sir."

   Obern gave Florian a deft swordsman's salute, and Florian
raised one eyebrow. The Sea-Rover handled that blade well
enough. Perhaps too well. But then there was no cause to worry.
Even if he himself lost the match, he would surely score at least
one hit. And with that hit, Obern would lose everything.

   To Florian's mild surprise, the former sergeant, Lathrom,
stepped forward. Behind him was a boy whose resemblance to
Obern made it clear that he must be the son Florian had heard
about but not seen previously. He was an attractive boy, and
Florian disliked him instantly.

  "Obern will need a second, my lord King," Lathrom said.
"Would you allow me that honor?"

  "Yes. And Sword-master Sedern will second for me. With your
approval," Florian added, belatedly remembering the courtesies
of the sword.

   "No better," Obern said. He inclined his head in Sedern's
direction, and the Sword-master bowed in return. Then he
turned to his son. "Rohan, I had thought you absent. This is
something you do not need to watch. But now that you're here,
go and sit down and whatever happens, do not interfere. Do you
understand?"

  "Yes, Father. But I know you'll beat him!"

  Obern laughed. "That is not polite, boy. You're speaking of the
King."

  "I don't care, I—"

  Lathrom clapped a hand over Rohan's mouth and turned him
toward the rows of chairs. "Mind your father," he said, and the
boy obediently, if a bit reluctantly, complied.

  "My apologies," Obern said.

   Florian shrugged. He chose to be generous, though if the boy
had said much more he might have decided otherwise. "Children
will be children. I suppose it is good that he is your partisan."

  "Even as you championed your own father."

   Florian peered at Obem sharply, but the Sea-Rover seemed to
have no guile about him. Well, perhaps he didn't know the
uneasy relationship that had existed between the Prince and
King Boroth when that monarch had been alive. Florian was well
aware of the slight esteem in which Boroth had held him, and he
had returned the sentiment wholeheartedly, to the point of
wishing for the old man to go ahead and die and get out of the
way. Of course, all this had happened well before Obern had
become a prominent member of the Court upon marriage with
the King's sister. His illegitimate sister, but blood nonetheless.

   He decided that Obern had not been intending to rattle him
with that remark and so dismissed it.
   The seconds were already setting up small tables at either end
of the mat, bearing flagons of watered wine and cups for the
combatants so they could refresh themselves between rounds.
Physicians had been assigned to both sides, Master Lorgan for
the King, and one of his most talented assistants for Obern. Both
Lathrom and Sedern poured from the flagons and drank, to show
that the beverage was wholesome. Then they wiped the edges of
the cups, and replaced them on the tables.

   They returned to the center of the mat and waited for the
contestants to approach. By that time, most of the chairs were
full and the whispering among the courtiers, particularly the
ladies, filled the air like the sound of whirring insect wings.

   The Sword-master stepped forward, and the Hall grew silent.
This will be an exhibition match between our Most Gracious
Majesty, King Florian, and his esteemed kinsman and brother,
Obern of the Sea-Rovers, for the edification and entertainment
of all," Sedern proclaimed. "You will fight three rounds, timed
thusly." He held up a miniature hourglass. "First round shall be
fought with masks and vests, second round with masks removed,
and the third, should the bout last that long, without vests, the
combatants using sword plus long dagger. The first man to
bestow three hits upon his opponent will be judged the winner. If
at the end -of three rounds there are equal hits between you, the
combatants will fight until a winner and a loser is decided. Is
this clear?"

  Both men nodded.

  "Are you ready to begin?"

  "I am," Florian said.

  "Yes," said Obern.

   Then they took their stances on the crimson carpet, blades
crossed. Lathrom stepped forward, his own blade drawn. He
glanced from one to the other, and then, with a swift upward
movement dashed their swords apart.

  Immediately Florian pressed to the attack and Obern gave
ground. Then they began taking each other's measure with an
occasional feint and parry, testing to see where the other man's
weakness might lie.

   Obern attacked, and it was Florian's turn to give way. They
prowled around each other. Behind his mask, Florian's smile
vanished, to be replaced with a look of intense concentration.
Before he realized that much time had passed, Sedern
announced the first round over. The room filled with applause
and the sound of excited voices. Somewhere, wagers were being
offered and accepted. The next round would surely offer more
action, with the vision-blocking masks removed.

   Florian and Obern returned to their places at either end of the
crimson mat. The King watched while Obern removed his mask
and merely wiped his face on a towel, refusing the wine.

   "Later," the Sea-Rover said, "when we are finished." He looked
at Florian and raised his voice so he was sure to be heard. "Then
we will celebrate the winner together!"

   "Agreed," Florian said. He lifted his cup in salute, but took
only a swallow. Then he, too, wiped his face and scrubbed his
hands as well. Unaccountably, his palms were sticky. The
Sea-Rover was a better swordsman than he had thought. Florian
was accustomed to the mask and Obern was not, and still he had
not been able to get through the other man's guard. But this next
round should remedy that. Florian resolved that, by fair means
or foul, he would inflict a hit upon Obern even if that meant he
had to endure one himself.

   Once more, the combatants met in the middle. Again, when
he was sure that both were equally ready, Lathrom knocked their
blades upward and leapt back as both men tried to press forward
an attack. Florian began to get the proper sword rhythm.
Abruptly he stepped outside of time, and everything slowed for
him. Other men had spoken of such a phenomenon, but this was
the first time Florian had ever experienced it.

  Knowing himself in complete control now, he let himself be
pushed almost to the end of the mat, hoping to draw Obern into
overextending himself. He dropped his guard for an instant, and,
just as he had hoped, Obern lunged and, as if in a dream, scored
a hit on Florian's left upper arm, In that same instant, but
leisurely, just before Obern's second could declare a temporary
halt, Florian gave Obern a similar wound. He could hear the
fabric of Obern's shirt tear, thread by thread, as the blade
pierced it.

  "Hits on both sides!" Sedern cried.

  "Agreed," Lathrom said. "But the King's came late."

  Their voices echoed distorted and hollow in Florian's ears.
"Not too late," he said, with a laugh. "No foul. Shall we rest a
moment and let the physicians bind our cuts?"

   Slowly, slowly, Obern glanced down at the place where blood
was staining the spotless purity of his sleeve. "I've had worse
hurts going through underbrush," he said. "I'll rest when you
will." It seemed to take him forever to say the words.

   "Brother, I like you well," Florian said, and meant it. He was
almost sorry that this man of whom he was so fond was going to
die. Now he could afford to feel affection for him. "Let us
continue, pray."

   He floated, weightless, in this strange, timeless world.
Without waiting for Lathrom to give the formal signal, he
attacked once more, ignoring the spot of royal blood that seeped
onto his own shirt. He scarcely felt the hit. It was nothing, and
less than nothing, and Florian knew himself to be brave and
manly to endure it without flinching.

   Full of confidence now, invincible, he pressed forward and, as
the watching crowd gasped, inflicted a second hit on slow,
awkward Obem, a finger's width from the first.

   A woman gasped and another cried aloud, from where they
were standing in the doorway, and involuntarily Florian glanced
back in that direction. Royance stood there with two women.
Impossibly, one of them was Ashen, who should be dying, and
with her, Rannore, the heavily pregnant Queen—
  Abruptly the bubble of time in which he had been wrapped
shattered, and everything snapped back to its proper course.

   Obern looked in the direction of the doorway, startled as well.
He turned his foot and stumbled on a wrinkle in the mat, his
sword still raised. Florian was in the way and the point went
through his body.

   "No!" Obern cried, his face and voice registering horror at the
realization of what he had done. "It was an accident] Forgive
me!"

   Florian stumbled in turn, with Obern still holding fast to the
hilt, and the sword pulled out again.

   How strange, Florian thought. Obern's sword pierced my vest
as easily as a knife goes through cheese. The blade must be
better than I thought. Then his knees gave way and he sagged to
the floor.


                           Eleven
  As swiftly as she could, Ashen raced across the polished floor
toward the tableau that had transfixed all others in the room.
"Obern," she cried breathlessly. "Florian—"

   By that time both physicians and the seconds had reached the
wounded King. The doctors ignored Obern, to tend to Florian.
Florian coughed, and a bloody foam stained his mouth.

   "Your Majesty, I fear this is a mortal wound," Master Lorgan
said. He sounded profoundly shocked.

   Awkwardly, Rannore knelt beside her husband. He sprawled
on the mat, writhing in pain. "Ashen came to get me when she
learned of the duel," she said. "We wanted to stop it. We never
thought—"

   "That Obem would be so clumsy he'd trip over his own feet
and run me through?" Florian groaned. "Give me something for
the pain, Master Lorgan. Quick!"
   "If I can, Your Majesty." The physician's hands shook as he
fumbled a vial open and shook its contents into the cup that the
other physician offered him.

  "Neat wine, none of that watery stuff." Florian coughed again.

   "Oh, sir, Your Majesty, it truly was an accident—" Ashen was
close to fainting. "Please! You must believe it!"

  "Believe it?" Florian said, his voice a hoarse croak. "Does it
matter?"

   "Yes, Your Majesty, it does," Royance said. "I saw it all. He
turned his foot and—Pardon Obern or he will surely die for
today's misadventure."

    Rannore propped Florian's head on her lap, heedless of the
blood soaking his shirt and her dress, and began to weep. She
took the fresh cup of undiluted wine in which Master Lorgan had
mixed the medicine and offered it to the King who drank it down
eagerly. Almost at once he seemed easier; it must have been a
powerful dose. "It doesn't matter. Obern will die anyway,"
Florian said. He managed to smile, if a little lopsidedly. "Look
you at the hits. If I had given him only one, still he would have
died." He glanced over at his shoulder at his sword where it had
fallen from his hand.

  Obern's eyes grew wide. He dropped the bloodstained Rinbell
sword and clutched at his left arm. "I am poisoned!" he said. "I
am killed."

   "Surely not," Lathrom said. Nevertheless, he went and picked
up Florian's sword and examined the blade. "There does seem to
be something on it besides blood—"

   "Touch it not," Obern said. His face was very pale and a
grimace of pain crossed his features. Ashen, still weak from her
own illness, nevertheless slipped under his arm to support him.
"I know what it is."

   Members of the Court had now clustered around and someone
slid a chair against Obern's knees. He collapsed into it gratefully
and Ashen, strength gone and unable to stand any longer, sank
down at his feet. Lathrom began tearing the linen of Obern's
shirt so he could look at the wounds.

   "What are you saying?" Royance demanded. "Are you
accusing the King-—"

  "Yes, I accuse the King. He spoke truly. I am dying. He has
poisoned me with the same mixture he caused to be given Ashen.

   Except when it is swallowed, in small doses, it kills more
slowly. And with less pain."

   Another woman pushed through the crowd. "Sir, sir, Lord
Roy-ance, it is true!" She was deathly pale. She stared down at
the King, the dawning realization plain on her face.

   "And you are—who?" Royance said.

   "Lady Jacyne," she said, and a buzz of whispers went through
the watching crowd. "Florian—I mean, the King—gave me a
potion to add to Lady Ashen's daily medicine. He swore it was to
heal her—Oh, forgive me! I didn't know!"

  "You were used," Obern said, "as were we all, in our own
ways." He bared his teeth in what was intended to be a grin.

   Ashen, beside him, only stared, horrified. Events were
progressing too rapidly for her, in her weakened condition, to
take in all at once. "Husband—" she said.

   He pushed himself to his feet and managed to bow to
Royance, though the movement brought beads of sweat to his
forehead. "I used the King's pride to tempt him into crossing
swords with me. I plotted all along to pretend to stumble and
thus kill him for what he had tried to do to his sister, my wife. I
had thought to do it more cleverly, though. This was truly an
accident and my clumsiness was real." He looked around at the
shocked courtiers. "I planned beforehand to beg the King's
pardon, even as Lord Royance did for me, and I would have
accepted it, too."
   Ashen struggled to her feet. He turned to look at her.

  "I had not reckoned on your being here. I wanted to spare
you."

   "If only I had come sooner. If only we—"

  "I was to blame," Rannore said, her voice faint. "I was ill and
had to be persuaded to leave my chamber."

   "You are all to blame!" Florian said angrily. "And you deserve
what you got. Death for Obem, and if not for his meddling, death
for Ashen, too—"

   "Say it not, Your Majesty!" Royance cried.

   "Am I supposed to make a good ending?" Florian coughed
again. "At least, thanks to the physician, I am spared a lot of
pain—which is more mercy than you will have, Obern. You will
die in agony. Lorgan, I command you. Give him none of what you
administered to me."

   "Give the medicine to him," Royance said. "If he desires it."

   Obem straightened, and Ashen recognized the pride she had
seen before, when he was hurt and trying not to show it. "I will
not need your medicine," he said. "Nor will I have it said that
Obern of the Sea-Rovers fell to treachery by anybody, even the
King of Ren-del." He looked at Ashen, reached out and touched
her cheek. "Give the Rinbell sword to Rohan, when he is a man.
Tell my father that I died well."

   Then, before she could stop him, he drew the dagger that
hung at his side and plunged it into his heart. Even as she
reached out for him, he crumpled and fell at her feet, dead before
he reached the floor.

  A wheezing noise made her turn around, even at such a
moment. It was Florian, trying to laugh.

   "It's all too funny. Don't you see? If I had not had the poison to
use, I would have been the one pretending to trip and run Obern
through before he got me. But he is dead anyway. I won the
contest," he said, twisting his face into a sneer. "I won—"

  And then his face relaxed. He took a breath, let it out, and did
not take another.

   Royance gave orders that both Ashen and Rannore be taken at
once to their bedchambers and that Master Lorgan and his
assistant give them draughts to make them sleep. "Neither of
these unfortunate ladies should have been called upon to witness
what we have seen this day," he said. "Now, send for the
Dowager—the older Dowager, that is. Do not let her into the Hall
until this carnage is cleared away, and the bodies laid out
decently. Just tell her what has happened and that it is by my
orders and for concern of her that she not come beforetimes."

   By the time the Dowager was allowed in, the room had been
set to rights and the blood wiped off the floor. Both Florian and
Obem had been washed and dressed in fresh garments, and
placed on twin biers before the dais on which the throne sat.
Their features were composed, and their hands clasped over
their chests, holding the swords with which they had slain each
other.

   "That it should come to this," Ysa murmured, for once
shocked to the core of her being. Forewarned, she had changed
into black from her accustomed green or dark red. Her necklace,
earrings, and bracelets were made of glittering jet.

  "Indeed, Madame," Royance said. "It is a dark day for
Rendel."

  "Rannore. How does she? And the child?"

  "Well enough, Master Lorgan tells me. She does not seem in
any immediate danger of losing it."

  The Dowager nodded. "And Ashen?"

   "She, like Rannore, is prostrate with grief. She has taken the
guilt for not stopping the contest before it began."
   "I doubt that she could have done anything. Not when even I
was not aware—" Ysa fixed Royance with a penetrating look.
"You know more than you are telling me. Let us go somewhere
private, and there you will inform me of what has happened
when my attention was elsewhere."

   Royance bowed and followed the Dowager to her apartment,
where he had conferred with her so often. As they moved
through the corridors, past clusters of sympathetic courtiers, he
could not help but wonder what would become of a realm with
two Dowager Queens and no King. If only Ashen's child had
lived. And if only Rannore's would live, and be a boy…

   When they were safely behind closed doors, Ysa sent for wine
and drank two cups for each one that Royance consumed. Not
that he blamed her; it was not every day that one lost a son who
was also a King. She did not stop questioning him until she had
every scrap of information Royance had to offer.

   "You said that Obern had sought your counsel before," she
said.

  "Why, if he suspected my son of—of what he thought Florian
was doing, did he not seek your advice again? Surely you could
have turned him from this folly."

   "And, indeed, I would have, Madame. But he did not ask."

  The Dowager stared at nothing, rubbing the Rings as if
unaware of what she was doing.

    "Ashen cannot succeed, any more than can Rannore." Ysa's
voice was flat. "I have looked at the records. It is against all law
and custom. There is no precedent that a woman has ever ruled
in her own right and surely not one related by marriage, or by
illegitimate connection. There was no need to consider the
possibility, until now."

   Royance forbore to mention that Ysa herself had as good as
ruled for many years, first by will alone, later by virtue of having
the Four Great Rings on her hands, and hers was only a
connection by marriage. As if she read his thoughts, she held up
her hands.

   "These," she said, "chose me, as you well know. And so, I have
acted as Regent when necessary. But I never claimed sole power.
This you know well."

  "Indeed, this is so," Royance said.

   "Thus, with Florian dead"—Royance could almost swear he
heard the unspoken thought at last in the Dowager's
words—"and his child yet unborn, Rendel will once again be
ruled by the Council, as it was during my son's minority. This is
the only reasonable course we can take. Do you not agree?"

   "Yes, Your Highness," Royance said. "And let us offer prayers
that the new Dowager's child be a boy, and that he will be strong,
and thrive, and with the help of all of us—you most of
all—become a good King in the times to come. With the peril
from the North ever threatening us, this is no time for Rendel to
show weakness."

   "Aye, pray that it be so." The Dowager arose from her chair,
cool and calm. "We have a royal funeral to arrange—two of them,
I suppose, for we must not offer insult to our allies the
Sea-Rovers by slighting Obern, for all that he murdered the
King."

  "Your Highness—"

   "We are alone. We can speak frankly to each other. Obern
murdered Florian, and Florian murdered Obern. Let the funeral
therefore be equal for them both. We must send messengers to
New Void." She began to pace, clasping and unclasping her
hands—not in agitation, but as someone who is thinking rapidly.
"Ashen must not return there. She cannot. Her place is—where? I
know. I will give her the old Oakenkeep that presently lies nearly
vacant with just a token force to keep it from falling into ruin.
That should be close enough for me to keep an eye on her, and
yet far away enough to content us both."

  Royance dared ask a question. "To what end do you give the
Oakenkeep to Ashen?"
   Ysa stopped, and looked at Royance. She smiled, and Royance
knew she had begun to plot and plan once more. In her current
mood, and with the wine she had drunk, she might be coaxed
into telling him more than she intended. He waited, trying not to
show the curiosity he felt.

   "Gaurin will be returning soon, with some of his people. You
do remember him?"

  "Yes. Count Gaurin of the Nordors. I was impressed with him
when he was here before."

  "Well," the Dowager said, still smiling, "it seems that he was
more than impressed with our Bog-Princess, and she with him.
And on her wedding day, too!"

  "I had heard of no impropriety."

   "There was none. And yet there was an attraction that fair
made the air crackle around them. At the time, I wondered if I
should dissolve that marriage and arrange for another, with a
Nordom bridegroom with more than a little royal blood in his
veins."

  Royance tried to hide a measure of shocked surprise.

  "Oh, don't look so disapproving," Ysa said. She picked up the
wine-flask, poured the last measure into her cup, and drank.
Then she rang for more. "I just may get tipsy this night."

  "Surely Your Highness may do as she pleases."

   "And it may please me to marry Ashen to Count Gaurin, to
seal a pact between the Nordors and our people. What d'you
think of that?"

   "I feel it may be premature, with Ashen such a recent widow,
to be considering another marriage."

   "Well, I don't. Think, Royance, think. Our alliance with the
Sea-Rovers is firm. We need the Nordors, perhaps more than
they need us. They are the ones who are most likely to know what
kind of danger this is that is coming at us from their lands, and
even more important, how best to fight it. Even if Ashen and
Gaurin had hated each other on sight—which I assure you they
did not—I would be working toward this alliance now that Obern
is out of the way."

   The fresh flask arrived, and Ysa poured a cup for herself,
offering some to Royance as well. He declined, and sat staring
into the fire. He could not bring himself to admit that the death
of the King, Ysa's own son, and that of the son of the Chieftain of
the Sea-Rovers had had no more effect on the Dowager than to
galvanize her into the middle of another round of schemes and
plots. And yet this was the truth that he must face. Suddenly he
saw, in place of the black-clad woman in front of him, a
glittering spider in the center of a web, plucking now this string
and now another, making all around her dance at her will.

   "As Your Highness desires," he said. "Now, I beg your leave to
go. Surely you will want to mourn in private."

   "You mean, to get tipsy in private," Ysa said. "The way my late
husband did. And my son." She laughed. She was beginning to
slur her words. "Well, go. Go. Nobody is stopping you. Tomorrow
we will begin anew."

   Royance bowed deeply, and left the Dowager's apartment,
closing the door behind him. He beckoned to one of the
Dowager's women, Lady Grisella. "You and the other ladies, look
to your mistress," he said. "I fear she will be at the wine-flask
this night, and she will need your help."

  "And who's to blame her?" Grisella said sympathetically.
"Surely she's had enough grief and worry to drive a lesser woman
mad. Don't worry, sir. We'll take good care of her."

  Thus reassured, Royance went to his own quarters. But his
heart remained sorely troubled.

   Ashen awoke from the drug-induced slumber with her head
surprisingly clear. She had to remind herself of the events of the
previous day.
  "Obern is really dead, isn't he?" she asked Ayfare.

  "Aye, lady, that he is, and young Rohan is inconsolable. He
was there, you know, and saw it all."

   "No, I don't remember. My attention was ail on Obern." She
pushed the covers back and got out of bed. Though still weak,
she knew that she was mending. "When I am dressed, send
Rohan to me. I will do what I can to comfort him."

   "Aye, lady, I will. Now let me bring you food, and perhaps
enlighten you on what has happened while you were asleep."

   Ashen sat down at the small table in her room, the one that
had been set up for her while she had been so very ill, and began
eating the breakfast of fruit and fresh-baked bread Ayfare had
brought. She set aside a few pieces of fruit that she knew Rohan
liked, hoping to tempt him with it. The maid chattered on, as
usual a veritable fount of information.

   The Old Dowager, it was said, had taken to the wine bottle.
But nobody believed this was a lasting thing; she had had too
much experience with what it did to both her husband and her
son. It was, instead, the way her grief came out because she had
never cared for King Florian. His widow grieved in private, but
his latest mistress was indiscreet enough to let her own feelings
show to one and all. And other women, who had had liaisons
with the King, were now coming forward as if hoping for some
largesse in the King's will—

   In the midst of this, a thought struck Ashen. "With all this
dis-cussion of this lady and that," she said, as neutrally as she
could, "do you likewise speak of me when you are with the other
maids?"

   Ayfare put her hands to her mouth, shocked. "Of course not,
lady! But others will talk, and sometimes, if there's no harm in it,
I will give them the straight of the story. But to chatter idly of
you? I would never betray you. Never."

  "Thank you for that. Now help me get dressed, and send
Rohan in to see me."
  She offered him the dish of fruit when he had been brought in
and given a footstool to sit on. "Thank you, lady," he said.
Politely, he took a slice of pear and nibbled on it.

   They spoke of inconsequential things for a while, and then he
asked, "What's to become of me now?"

   Ashen thought a moment. The lad was truly an orphan, with
neither father nor mother living, his only blood relative the
Chieftain of the Sea-Rovers who seemed entirely indifferent to
him or any other child. "What would you like?" she said.

   "If I could have my way, I would like to live with you," he
replied. "But that probably won't happen."

  "It will if I say it will," Ashen told him. "With the exception of
Zazar, the Wysen-wyf of the Bog, I don't have anybody, either, for
my family is long since dead with only a few distant relatives who
have never heard of me, or I them."

   He thought about that. "So mostly, what we have, is each
other. Right?"

  "Yes. And that means there isn't anybody to tell us no."

   "Then that is settled. Now may I go out? I would like to be
alone for a while, or perhaps with Lathrom, if you don't mind. He
was my father's friend, and he is sad, too."

   "Of course you shall be with Lathrom. You are a good boy to
think of others at a time like this."

   Rohan walked to the door, his pace unlike his usual energetic
bounding, but not before taking another piece of fruit. Ashen
watched him go. He would, she thought, be all right. But would
she? Suddenly she realized that there were many people
depending on her—not only Rohan, but Lathrom as well, and the
men he commanded. Ayfare. The future yawned before her, and
what it held she could not even begin to imagine.

  Perhaps she would return to the Bog. But then, with Rohan
now her ward, this would be no place for him, not to mention the
others in her care. She did not look forward to going back to
New Void, for the customs and manners of the Sea-Rovers were
not to her liking, but the prospect of staying on in Rendelsham,
at the castle, was even less inviting to the point of being
intolerable. Worst of all was the possibility that she would be
bidden to go to stay with Harous. He had only been turned aside
from courting her because of the Dowager's orders, and Lady
Marcala would not welcome her presence.

   Well, she didn't have to face it just yet. There were still the
funerals to get through, and she was not entirely healed. But
once all that was past her, she must begin considering what she
was going to do with her life.

   She did not want to think about the fact that her mourning
for Obern was little deeper than what one would feel for the loss
of a dear friend. Certainly not the abject grief that a loving
widow was expected to display. She resolved to go and comfort
Rannore. Surely these two women, caught as they had been in
marriages that were less than ideal, would find much to say to
one another.

   Two days later, Rendelsham saw two state funerals, great and
elaborate to have been arranged so swiftly. Ashen retrieved the
Rinbell sword, Rohan's inheritance, and Obem was buried
instead with the weapon Harous had given him. Florian was
buried with the jeweled sword which had been decently cleansed
of the poison that had once edged the blade. Both coffins were
bolted shut, and then put into the royal crypt.

   A week after, a message came from the Old Dowager,
summoning Ashen. At the hour past noon she was to present
herself in the Dowager's sitting room. Ashen left her apartment
early, to pay a call on the Young Dowager, as she was already
being called. Ran-nore received her warmly enough, but her eyes
were red and it was plain she had been weeping. It quickly
became clear to Ashen that she was not weeping solely for
Florian.

    "Royal widows are the most useless commodity on earth," she
told Ashen. "Not like royal wards, such as you. Who is there who
is of high-enough station to marry me? Who will be a father to
my child?" She put her hand on her belly. "Who will protect me
from the warring political factions that are even now forming?
Some of Florian's followers—well, let us just say that they are up
to no good for anyone but themselves. Once my babe is born—"

   "If only I could offer you help," Ashen said. "But I, too, am
tossed by the wind and I do not know which direction it will take
me."

   Rannore caught her hand. "I am sure Ysa has something in
mind for you. But I do not know what it is. It may be good, and
maybe not, according to her whim. Please, whatever happens,
say that you will be my friend."

  "Of course I will," Ashen told the other girl. "There are never
enough true friends in this world, and I am happy to have you for
mine."

   Then, the hour past noon rapidly approaching, she had to
take her leave.

   She found the Dowager alone, for once. Immediately Ashen
was on her guard, for Ysa was always in the company of
someone— a maid, one or more of her court ladies, Lady
Marcala. "I am here, as you commanded, Your Highness," she
said.

  "Come closer. Sit by me."

  Even at that distance, Ashen could tell that Ayfare's gossip
had been correct. The scent of wine was heavy on Ysa's breath,
but she seemed to be in control of herself even if her manner was
considerably more blunt than usual. Ashen took the chair
opposite Ysa's, beside the fireplace.

   The Dowager leaned forward. "What would you say," she said
in a confidential voice, "if I told you that you were to marry
Count Gaurin? That it is my command that you do so."

  It had to be a dream. Ashen's heart lurched and soared
upward. As if she needed to be forced-—
   She shocked herself with her eagerness. Propriety demanded
that a decent interval elapse between Obern's death and her
marrying again. "Surely we should allow a period of mourning,"
she began. "And Gaurin has not been consulted."

   "To the contrary, he has. I sent word to him. He is even now
on his way back to Rendel with his followers. He knows that the
situation here has changed drastically. I told him you were now
free and that I desired to make alliance with his people by a
marriage between you. The answer was that he would make all
possible speed, and be here within two days to take your hand.
He is quite eager, but do not think too highly of yourself; it is not
entirely because of you. The fleeing Nordors must have a place of
their own, according to the preliminary treaty I have made with
them. Therefore I want you married, and Gaurin with his
Nordors settled in the Oakenkeep, a fortnight later. All the
revenues excepting the Crown's share go to you. Is that clear?"

   "Yes, Your Highness." Ashen's lips were numb and she had to
force the words out. "Perfectly clear."

  Ysa peered at Ashen closely. "Is there something wrong? Do
you not desire this marriage? Surely, from what I observed at
your last wedding—"

   Ashen's face grew hot. "Your Highness, I—"

   "Don't try to dissemble with me, girl. I saw you. And I know
that you had enough honor to go through with the bargain you
had made. But now, when I offer you what your heart must
desire, you balk? Why?"

  "Your Highness mentioned honor. I cannot honor Obern by
marrying another when he is barely in his tomb."

   "Very fine of you, I'm sure. If you like, it can be a quiet, very
private wedding. But marry Gaurin you will, and there's an end
to it." Ysa abruptly turned away, picking up the cup of wine on
the table beside her.

   "Yes, Your Highness." Plainly, the audience was over.
   Ashen arose from her chair, bowed, and returned to her
apartment. There she lay down on her bed, stunned. Ayfare, as
usual, knew all about it beforehand. Ashen wondered if the maid
had some way of finding out everything that went on in the
castle before the people involved were fully aware of it. She
chattered happily, already planning the wedding.

   "Your late husband, Obern, was a good man and no mistake,
and he loved you well in his own way, rough though it was at
times. But you two were not a good match any more than the
Young Dowager and the late King were, more's the pity. And she
doesn't even have a lover waiting to marry her, either."

  "Ayfare!"

  "Oh, yes, lady, I know. There was never anything between you
and Count Gaurin. But he was your lover nonetheless."

   Ashen let the maid talk on, without hearing her. Gaurin and
she, wed. And the Oakenkeep hers as well. Just a few days
earlier, she had been worrying how she would take care of all the
people who had come to depend on her.

   Gaurin arrived at Rendelsham Castle in even less time than
promised. He must have pushed his men hard, to cut his journey
so short. As commanded, he made his way to the Great Hall
where Ysa, Royance, Rannore, and several members of the
Council, Harous among them, waited with Ashen. Harous's face
was hard to read. If he had hoped to renew his suit for Ashen
now that Obern was gone, he was disappointed. However, he
showed nothing of what he might have been thinking. Lady
Marcala, who usually was as much a part of Harous as the
weapon he bore at his side as the Lord High Marshal of Rendel,
was conspicuously absent.

  The doors opened, and Gaurin, followed by half a dozen of his
men, entered, his cloak swirling about him as he strode forward.

   Ashen could not help drawing in her breath at the sight of
him. Like the rest of the court, he had dressed in mourning, but
his face was not sad. Indeed, his features became almost radiant
when he caught sight of Ashen.
  The Old Dowager gave greetings to the man from the North.
"And what news do you bring us?" she said.

  "The Great Evil, of which we as yet know little, is preparing to
move. It has sent out tendrils seeking knowledge beyond where it
has been pent-up for so many years. When it thinks it is strong
enough, it will come."

  "But not this year?"

  "No. And not the next, we can hope. But it will come."

  "With your help, we will be prepared for it. Now we shall
consider happier matters." Ysa turned to Ashen and beckoned
her to come forward. "To cement the ties between your people
and ours, will you, Count Gaurin of the Nordors, please state
openly before this company that you are willing to marry our late
King's half-sister, who is now a widow."

   He reached out and clasped her hand. "With all my heart," he
said.

   "And you, Ashen, royal lady of Rendel," continued the Old
Dowager, who, according to Ayfare, had resumed her sober ways,
"please state before this company that you are willing to marry
Count Gaurin of the Nordors."

   She wanted to shout aloud, but refrained. To display the
eagerness she felt would honor neither her nor her late husband's
memory. "You have commanded me, and so I agree," she said in
turn. She knew he could feel her trembling, for he squeezed her
fingers and, lifting her hand to his lips, kissed them.

   "Because we are still in mourning, it will be no great
celebration," Ysa said. "Will this content you, or would you
rather wait until the mourning period is ended?"

  "I would welcome any condition you might set, as long as
Ashen can be mine. Within the hour if possible."

  "Then go we all to the Fane of the Glowing, for a priest awaits
you there."
   Without further ado, they all left the Great Hall and walked
the short distance to the Fane. By Ashen's request, Esander, the
priest who had befriended her, awaited. As the great ones of
Rendel looked on, Esander took Ashen's and Gaurin's hands in
his and, in the simplest of ceremonies, married them.


                          Twelve
  It was not Ashen's opinion alone that Rohan was an engaging
young man, bright and attractive. His fears about his future
when his father died proved groundless. Before Obern's body had
cooled, Count Harous had petitioned for the boy to go into his
household as a page, but both the Lady Marcala and the Old
Dowager had firmly disagreed with this plan. Even Royance
admitted taking an interest in Rohan and likewise offered his
household, but again his offer was discouraged.

   Ashen could easily understand why Lady Marcala and the
Dowager wanted to keep Rohan from Harous; this would have
created a tie between the Count and Ashen, and that, Marcala
would not abide. But Royance's offer of favor held many bright
prospects for a parentless youngster. Gossip had it that the Old
Dowager was unwilling that her Head of the Council have in his
household what amounted to a hostage who could be turned to
her own advantage, and that she could not abide.

   Then, to Ashen's surprise and Rohan's as well, a message
came from Snolli Sea-Rover while she was still at Rendelsham,
bidding her bring the boy to New Void.

  "What can this mean?" she asked Gaurin.

  "It seems that our great Chieftain has belatedly realized that
young Rohan is now the heir to the Sea-Rovers," he said. "We
must go to New Void."

  "I will not give Rohan up to be reared as a—a near-savage!"

  "He has done well enough, being reared as a savage, up until
now," Gaurin pointed out. "And Obern as well. I confess, if it
hadn't been for his being your husband I would have liked him."
  "I grew not to like the Sea-Rovers while I lived among them.
Compared to Bog-men, they were civilized. But their ways are
not ours."

   "Well, we will settle the matter. Return a message to Snolli,
telling him that we will be in New Void as soon as we have
established ourselves in the Oakenkeep. That should keep him
satisfied for the time being."

   They got no answering summons, telling them to come at
once, and so Ashen and Gaurin moved from Rendelsham to the
Oaken-keep. The castle was situated on a spit of land where the
River Rendel and the Rowan joined. A channel had been cut to
create an island on which the Oakenkeep floated secure from
attack from any but the most determined enemy. The outer walls
did not look massive, but within, the keep itself boasted twin
gatehouses and ample room to house many Nordors and their
families with them. It was dirty and had fallen into some
measure of disrepair, and so Gaurin engaged masons and
glaziers to repair the walls and to install new windows in place of
the ruined shutters. For several weeks, the air smelled of fresh
mortar and of the strong soap used to scrub all clean once more.

    The Nordors whom Gaurin had brought as refugees from the
gathering forces in the North were absorbed easily into the vast
living quarters, and also Lathrom and his men. Generously,
Gaurin offered Lathrom the captaincy of the guard at the
Oakenkeep, and with gratitude Lathrom accepted.

   Likewise, Ashen elevated Ayfare to the position of head
housekeeper. "I accept, lady," she said, "but only if you take no
other personal maid but me. Only I can look after you in a way
that suits us both."

   "Hire staff as you see fit," Ashen said. "And arrange matters
as you will. I know that I cannot manage a place like this without
you, having no experience in such things."

   Mollified, Ayfare did as she was told, and in an astonishingly
short time had assembled the kind of staff that an important
castle such as this one required for its proper functioning. Ashen
found that her own duties were considerably lightened because
of Ayfare's efficiency.

    A season later, when Ashen had almost forgotten about the
Chieftain's demands, the second message did arrive from Snolli.
Ashen knew she could postpone the inevitable no longer. After
all, Snolli was Rohan's blood kindred, while she was merely the
one with whom Rohan preferred to remain.

   Gaurin accompanied her on the journey southward, with a
company of mounted and armed men. At first, Ashen had
wanted to go alone, not wishing to draw undue attention to the
fact that she had married again almost immediately after
Obern's death. But Gaurin demurred.

   "My presence, and that of our guard, will help them
remember to hold their tongues on that subject. At least until
after we are gone," he added with a wry smile.

   She had been very grateful that he had prevailed when they
walked into the Great Hall at New Void and saw Snolli's
glowering face and the grim looks his followers gave them. With
cold courtesy—which was to say, a manner that would have been
considered unbearable rudeness to anyone not of the
Sea-Rovers—he bade them sit.

   "Tell me of Obem's ending," he said.

   Ashen had thought he would immediately demand that Rohan
be turned over to him. Thankful that this was postponed if even
for a little while, she began telling of the duel between Florian
and Obern.

   "A treacherous blackguard as well as a catamite!" muttered
the Spirit Drummer, Kasai, when she came to the part about
how the late King had poisoned the sword he used in the duel.

  "And you say that Obern stabbed himself with his own dagger
when he learned that he had been poisoned?" Snolli said.

   "Yes. He gave me his sword for Rohan, and bade me tell you
that he died well. He deprived the King of his triumph."
  "Then all is not in ruin after all." Snolli sat long in
contemplation. "Yet you are at fault, and it is truly a grievous
one."

   The formal tone to his speech warned Ashen that she might
stand in peril.

   "Under Sea-Rover law, you bear great blame. First you lost
Ob-ern's child, which would have been my grandchild, and then,
because of you, Obem himself died. I will not mention the
disgraceful adventure in the catamite-king's hunting lodge. A
proper woman would have died before being taken."

   Ashen felt her face grow hot. "Your laws are no longer mine,
nor did they ever apply! Do you think I went willingly to the
hunting lodge? Sir, I was captured by force! Do you think I willed
myself to lose my child? Sir, I almost died! And do you think that
I had anything to do with the fight between Obern and Florian,
when he kept his plans from me until it was too late? Sir, I lost
my husband!"

   "And quickly found another," Snolli said sourly. "Too quickly,
by my reckoning."

   Gaurin arose from his chair and stood before the Chieftain,
his hand resting by habit on the hilt of his sword. His graceful
bearing dominated the room. "My Lady Ashen has a measure of
royal blood," he told Snolli. His tone and manner were not
challenging, and yet he commanded everyone's full attention.
"Because of that, she would have been a target for any
malcontent in the city—indeed, in the kingdom—who wanted to
make trouble for whoever came to rule. By marrying me, she
could be granted a measure of peace, even as she enjoyed while
she had your son to husband.

  There are larger matters at stake here, sir, than your own
wounded feelings."

  An almost palpable silence filled the Hall. Beside Snolli, Kasai
began stroking his drum.

  "You are in New Void, the Sea-Rovers' keep, given us by the
Dowager Queen," Snolli said. "That makes you subject to the
laws of the Sea-Rovers. Under these laws, if I choose, I may
execute Ashen for treachery."

   Gaurin tightened his grip on his sword hilt, though his tone
was as mild as before. "And under my own laws, those of the land
in which you live, and probably those of the Sea-Rovers as well, if
you try such an outrage, I may hinder you as I can."

  Snolli seemed to become aware, as if for the first time, that
Gaurin's men surrounded him and that more were stationed
outside the room. "You dare threaten me in my own Hall?"

   "I do not threaten, sir, and you know it. Indeed, if any threats
have been uttered this day, they were from you, against my lady
wife. We seem to be at an impasse."

   Kasai's drumming grew louder, and as all eyes turned toward
him, he began to speak, almost singing the words. "The peril
from the North grows stronger as we grow weaker. Let not those
who should be allies turn against one another. Mend your
differences and drink a cup of friendship. Yes, drink, drink, and
know that your quarrel is over before it is truly begun!"

  Then he fell silent. He seemed to be sleeping.

   Snolli fell silent also, thinking. "I have never known the Spirit
Drummer to have a false vision," he said at last. "He spoke of the
peril from the North. We gain nothing from being enemies.
There may never be true friendship between us, but I will do as
Kasai has said. I ask only that Rohan be returned to me, and to
his people."

  The boy spoke up for the first time. "I want to stay with
Ashen," he said, "for she has been kind to me. She was my
mother when I had no other."

  "You are a young whelp, whose opinion means nothing,"
Snolli said. "I do not propose to coddle you."

   "I don't ask for coddling. But if you try to make me stay here, I
will run away."
  "That complicates matters." Snolli turned to Kasai, who had
awoken from his trance. "What do you say?"

   "Let me talk it over with Gaurin. He seems to have the only
level head here. Excepting me, of course. You are too angry, and
Ashen is only a woman."

   Snolli nodded, and Kasai and Gaurin retired to a private
room. Lathrom moved up beside Ashen while they waited for the
men to return. He was unobtrusive about it, but there was no
mistaking his intent to guard his lady. He caught her eye and
nodded, and then she knew that he had transferred the loyalty he
had felt for Obern to her, and to Gaurin.

   In a surprisingly short time the Spirit Drummer and Gaurin
came back into the Hall and Kasai told the Sea-Rover Chieftain
of their decision. "Rohan will spend the warm seasons of the year
with his father's people," he said. "In that time he will leam our
ways and even, if you choose, go with us out to sea. He will spend
the winter months with Ashen, when there's nothing to do
anyway."

   Snolli didn't ask whether the arrangement was agreeable to
either Ashen or Rohan. "Done," he said. He spat in his hand and
gave it to Ashen to shake. Then he dismissed her and she knew
that there was no real warmth between them and probably never
would be.

   She kissed Rohan, assuring him that summers were short
these days and would pass quickly. Then, with her companions,
she left New Void, hoping never to have to return.

   At first, Ashen had been apprehensive that this arrangement
would only confuse the boy and perhaps coarsen him, but Rohan
seemed to thrive on it. Some quirk of breeding had given Rohan
a more complicated nature than that of the ordinary Sea-Rover,
and he seemed to draw sustenance from both her influence and
his grandfather's. Perhaps that was one of the secrets of his
charm.

   As the seasons passed, the Oakenkeep began to return to its
former state. Gaurin purchased fine furnishings for the living
quarters, and sturdy ones for the barracks. Also, he sent for
weavers and embroiderers to create hangings for the walls, not
only for the extra warmth they would provide, but also for
beauty.

   Nor did he neglect the land. As castellan, his duty was to
ensure that the people under his care prospered. He gave orders
that farmers erect coverings over their fields, as he had heard of
the Sea-Rovers doing. This measure met with success, even
greater when someone thought of substituting oiled paper for
the heavy cloth. Though much more fragile, the paper seemed to
gather even more warmth. The resulting crops, though far from
bountiful, were adequate with even a little excess to put away for
leaner times. Though life could not be said to be easy at the
Oakenkeep, under Gaurin's management it became comfortable.

   One chilly morning, Ashen awoke, got out of bed, put on a
warm robe, and looked outside. The first light snow of the year
was beginning to fall. Soon the man-made portion of the "river,"
sheltered as it was and with little current, would freeze hard
enough for children and adults alike to amuse themselves in
sliding on the ice. She rushed back and snuggled into the
warmth of her bed again, comfortable and content, reluctant to
arise, wishing that Gaurin were with her. Then she remembered
why she had roused earlier than she intended. This was the day
that Rohan was coming back from New Void and Gaurin would
be gone out hunting.

   A child wailed from the nursery wing of the residence in the
Oakenkeep. Little Hegrin was awake. She would be wanting her
breakfast and sometimes she would not let her nursemaid,
Beatha, feed her. The baby was long since weaned and eating
gruel, but also she was teething again, which made her cranky. It
was time for Ashen to get out of bed whether she wanted to or
not. The running of a household such as hers was not conductive
to laziness on her part, regardless of Ayfare's indispensable
presence.

   By the time she had dressed and reached the nursery, she
dis-covered Hegrin contentedly hugging a stuffed toy while
Beatha spooned gruel into her mouth. The nurse glanced up
when Ashen entered.

   "I warmed it some, my lady," she said, smiling, "and put a bit
of sugar on it. That seems to have made all the difference."

   The little girl clutched at the spoon, chewing on it. Ashen
could hear the tiny teeth clicking on the metal. She sat down
beside He-grin. "Want a nice crust of bread to chew on,
sweeting?" she said, offering the baby the tidbit. Hegrin
immediately abandoned the spoon in favor of the tough, chewy
bread. She favored her mother with a grin so wide and happy
that Ashen's heart turned over. How much she looked like
Gaurin, with the same honey-colored hair and blue-green eyes!

  "She'll turn heads for fair, when she grows up," Beatha said.
"Wouldn't it be nice if one day, she and Peres—"

   "We mustn't even think that," Ashen said. She put the baby
on her lap and tickled her under the chin, just to hear her laugh.
"The new little King's station is so much higher than ours that
we might as well be living on different worlds."

   "Aye, my lady, but still, with the little King's being born just
four months after his father died, and then Hegrin coming along.
You and Queen Rannore being such good friends and all, it
makes one to wonder."

   "Good friends or not, we all know who really rules in Rendel. I
am not sure that the Dowager Queen Ysa would be very happy
with the daughter of the Bog-Princess, as she calls me behind my
back, for her precious grandson."

  "My little Hegrin is good enough for any old King, aren't you,
sweeting?" Beatha insisted stoutly.

   Satisfied that Hegrin was thriving and happy, and well fed,
Ashen handed her back to the nursemaid. "I have a busy day
ahead of me. Rohan is expected back today, and I want you to
make sure that Hegrin is all washed and tidy and dressed in her
best. He'll want to see her."

  "Wonderful how he treats her like a little sister. Aye, my lady,
   I'll have her spotless and chuckling—if she doesn't get into the
jampot."

   Both women laughed, for Hegrin's appetite for sweets had
become legendary, since the time she had emptied an entire pot
of jam into her lap and was discovered happily dipping her
hands into the mess and sucking her fingers.

   The noise of a commotion coming from the inner ward told
Ashen that Rohan had arrived. She quickly kissed Hegrin and,
checking to make sure that the headdress every proper married
woman wore was in place, hurried down the stairs from the
residential apartment to greet him. He was just coming into
Oaken-keep's Great Hall when she reached the bottom of the
stairs.

   "Asheni" he cried. He flung his snow-spangled cloak aside and
covered the distance between them in a few great bounds to grab
her in a hearty hug.

  She returned the embrace and then held him at arm's length
while she inspected him with a critical eye. "You've been growing
again," she said. "You're taller than I am."

   "I'm supposed to be," he said, laughing. "Grandfather said
that my birthday in the spring will mark the beginning of my
Shield Year, so that means I am nearly a man. Where's Gaurin?
And my baby sister?"

   "Gaurin should be back at any moment. He has been occupied
in hunting meat to preserve for the winter, and wanted to get
something particularly fine for your welcome feast this evening.
As for Hegrin, she is finishing her breakfast. Then you're apt to
find her anywhere at all, since she's walking everywhere.
Running, actually. It takes every pair of eyes in the Residence
just to keep track of her."

   Rohan laughed. Then he waved his hand and a flower
appeared in it. It wasn't a real flower—just silk cleverly folded
into a bud— but the trick made her smile. "Here, Ashen," he
said, handing it to her. "I daresay that I can keep Hegrin amused
for a while." He waved his hand again and, even as Ashen held
the flower, it bloomed.

   "You should be wary of such things," Ashen said, sighing.
Behind them, servants were carrying Rohan's baggage up the
stairs to the rooms that were always kept ready for him, and a
maid was wiping up the puddle left by the melting snow he had
tracked in. "I do hope you didn't feel called upon to 'entertain' in
Snolli's Hall."

   "Of course not. Grandfather has little patience for
entertainments these days, let alone silly little magics that I can
do. I think he may be getting old."

   "Does he still carry a grudge against me for Obem's death?"

   By this time, they had climbed a different flight of stairs and
reached the solar where a table and three chairs were set and a
flask of warmed, spiced cider waited. Rohan poured for both of
them, sniffing appreciatively. "Ah, good! I've missed this. To
answer your question, yes, he does, even if it's mostly out of habit
by now."

   Gaurin entered the Hall at that moment, brushing a few flakes
of snow off his cloak, and Rohan set his cup aside to run back
downstairs and greet the lord of the Oakenkeep. Ashen went to
the railing, unwilling to wait to see him until he had come to her.

  "Welcome," Gaurin said. He smiled up at Ashen. "My lady has
been on pins and needles until you should arrive. Now she will be
merry once more."

  As they spoke, the two men climbed the stairs to where Ashen
waited.

   "Was your hunt successful?" Ashen knew the answer
beforehand; Gaurin was as skillful in this as he was in any other
enterprise he set his hand to accomplish.

   "We will have a good feast tonight."

  They smiled at each other. Ashen loved to see him smile, to
watch the lines at the comers of his mouth meet the ones at his
eyes. She touched the opalescent stone bracelet she always wore
when he was away from the keep.

   "I am thinking of taking Rohan to the Bog to see Zazar, before
heavy winter sets in," she said, pouring him a cup of the warmed
cider. "Will you come with us?"

  Gaurin had visited Zazar's hut several times, and always in

   Ashen's company. "Of course, my dear. Is there a purpose to
the visit?"

   "Rohan has told me that he will be entering his Shield Year
next spring. Long ago, Zazar told me that when this time drew
nigh, I was to bring him to her. She said that there was
something she must do."

   "And I would like to see Grandam Zaz again as well." He put
his finger beside his nose. "She pretends to hate when I call her
that."

   "Then go we shall," Gaurin said, "and we should make it soon.
The winters have steadily grown worse in this land, and I want
us all inside where it is safe and snug before the thundersnows
begin in earnest. Perhaps this time, Madame Zazar will agree to
return with us, to winter in the apartment you have set aside for
her."

   Ashen glanced through one of the windows of the Hall.
Indeed, she remembered a time when a snowfall like this would
have been thought of as heavy, with or without the crashing of
thunder and lightning that characterized them these days. It
seemed that most of the wan summer had to be spent in
gathering firewood for the winter; every wall, it seemed, had
wood stacked against it higher than a man could reach. All
would be gone before spring came and then the search would
begin anew, among the dwindling woods. Already they were
having to chop down living trees, instead of gathering dead wood
to preserve their sources. Some poor folk had turned to burning
blocks of peat, gathered at some risk from the edges of the Bog.
Not many more winters and others, including those who dwelt in
the Oakenkeep, might have to do likewise. Her thoughts were
interrupted by Beatha, bringing baby Hegrin into the solar from
the nursery nearby.

  "Rohan]" the child shouted happily. It was one of her few
words.

   She struggled out of her nursemaid's arms and toddled across
the polished floor toward him. Quickly he scooped her up in his
arms. "And you say that I've gotten bigger?" he said to Ashen.
"This child is half-grown already!"

  "Greet your father," Ashen told Hegrin.

   The little girl refused to let go of Rohan's neck. She merely
waved a few fingers in her father's direction as she gazed lovingly
at Rohan. "Da," she said.

  "If I were a jealous man, I'd say she loves you better than me,"
Gaurin said, laughing.

   "Fortunate for me that you aren't, so you won't be likely to
challenge me to a duel once Ashen gives me Father's sword she's
got hung up beside yours over the mantle in the Hall. I'm still no
good at all with the axe, though I'm passing fair with a
throwing-dagger—not that I could get to it with this marmoset
clinging to me!" He loosened Hegrin's grip. "There, that's better.
At least I can breathe."

   Hegrin insisted on staying with her idol all that day, and
Rohan amused her with his silk-flower trick and also, that
evening, by lighting candles without touching them though
Ashen frowned.

   "Tomorrow or the next day we'll set off for Zazar's house," she
said, "and I don't want you showing off."

   "In front of my Grandam? The Wysen-wyf? Not likely. She'd
laugh at how little Power I possess. And anyway," he said to
Hegrin, who had begun to whimper at the prospect of his leaving
again so soon, "the quicker we're gone, the sooner we will come
back, my marmoset. And I will bring you a new toy, and maybe
even a new trick to show youl'
   It had been, Ashen realized, an entire year since she had
visited Zazar—indeed, the last time Rohan had returned to the
Oakenkeep. "I do not know where the time goes," she told the
Wysen-wyf. "I will try to do better in the future."

   Zazar sniffed. She seemed little changed with the passing of
the years except that she had become sharper of tongue, if such a
thing were possible. "You have your own life now, and welcome
to it." She nodded at Gaurin. "Now that you finally had the good
sense to marry the man the Weavers intended for you."

   "Whether the Weavers did it, or some other force, I will
always thank you for the great boon of my lady," Gaurin said. He
took Zazar's wrinkled old hand and kissed the fingers. She took it
back with a shade less impatience than she would have shown to
another who dared such a liberty.

   "Now, Rohan. Come sit you down by my fire and while Ashen
and Gaurin make lovers' eyes at each other, I have something for
you." She rummaged in a woven basket and then brought out a
tuft of dried herbs and grasses. "Here. This is for you."

  Ashen recognized many of the sprigs that made up the tuft.
"No," she said, alarmed. "Surely not—"

    "Do not meddle! I have had this put away for some time,
waiting for Rohan to get close to his Shield Year. Oh, yes, I know
all about that. And that before long you'll be getting your father's
Rin-bell sword that was his father's before him. But here, take
this. You are to wear it in your helm instead of the usual bunch
of feathers or other useless trash."

  "Zazar, some of these herbs are deadly," Ashen said.

   "And others are for healing. I don't expect the boy to chew on
them, after all. Heed me well. Need drives, and there is a good
reason for this."

   Then Ashen turned away with a sigh. When Zazar was this
insistent, there was no arguing with her. The Wysen-wyf
wrapped the bundle of plant sprigs—some of which seemed
remarkably fresh for having been put aside so long before—and
set it into a basket of other items she would be sending back
with Ashen. She knew the basket contained salves and
healing-potions, and packets of dried herbs as well.

  "Do you still study?" the Wysen-wyf asked.

   "I do. The good priest, Esander, has given me several books
from the hidden library. He says they are duplicates. Others he
has lent me, and those I read and return. Every time there is a
traveler who has gone through Rendelsham, it seems that I
receive a fresh parcel from him."

  "Good. Only, remember—read, but do not presume to practice
what you learn."

  Ashen smiled. "And risk a return of Weyse, to sit on the
pages? Though I would be glad to see her again."

   To Ashen's surprise, Zazar actually chuckled. "That was her
own idea. I just told her to stop you from being a fool. Anyway, if
you and Gaurin will come back during the warm weather, if we
ever have a warm spell, that is, I'm of a mind to let you go to
Galinth again. I think there is something that may interest him."

   Ashen raised her eyebrows, thinking of the skeleton from
which she had received the opalescent stone bracelet that Gaurin
had recognized as a treasure of his House. "We will return," she
promised, "if circumstances allow. In any event, I want him to
see Galinth with you as his guide."

   "So now go you back to the Oakenkeep and be careful of the
ground. Even frozen, some of the places will still suck you down if
you are unwary."

  "I always remember your teachings. But I wish you would
come back with us. At least there it is warm—"

  "I do well enough here. You are in the place where you were
meant to be, Ashen Deathdaughter, even as I am in mine. And so
shall it be, until all changes in this world and we must do as
must wills."
                         Thirteen
   The Dowager Queen Ysa found herself in an awkward
position politically. Perhaps it was expectable, but the threat
from the North, so long in arriving, had receded in the minds of
most of the inhabitants of Rendel. The only overt sign of
oncoming trouble was the increasing cold of the climate, with
short summers and heavy winters characterized by
thundersnows, to which the people had adjusted and accepted.
Business for merchants and tailors and dressmakers had never
been better—coarse woolen clothing, sometimes mixed with
linen, for ordinary people; fine wools and fur-lined silks for the
nobles. Many of these fribbets had made of it a game of fashion,
seeing who could outdo the next in finery. Tunics were long these
days, reaching to the heels, made of the gaudiest colors the
dye-masters could devise and dripping with gold-and-silver
embroidery. To look at these preening peacocks strutting about
the Court, one would never dream that disaster loomed just over
the horizon. Ysa, however, knew that this threat was merely
delayed. She regularly sent her little servant Visp winging
northward where, under the cloak of invisibility, it observed and
then brought back information for the Dowager to ponder.

   She was preparing Visp for another such mission now, taking
the flyer out of its fur-lined home and instructing it on what it
must do. "Not to the southeast," she told it, for it was straining
in that direction, flapping its wings as if desiring to go contrary
to Ysa's command. "Later, you may go and look in on Ashen.
Now you must obey me."

   Sighing, the Dowager released the flyer and watched as it
winged its way northward, winking out when it was still over the
housetops of the city. Obedience she could command of Visp, but
she had never been able to overcome its inexplicable affection for
Ashen.

  Well, affection could wait upon necessity. And if it came to a
choice, Ysa preferred obedience. Perhaps she should seek
another servant, versed in the ways of Power. Instinctively she
knew that she must call on help from every direction, marshal
her forces, be prepared for whatever might come.
   She set out a dish of grain and dried fruit, and some fresh
water for when the flyer came back to its nest. She had not
lighted the brazier, so, rather than wait in the chilly, drafty tower
room for Visp to return, she descended the stairs to the
comparative warmth of fireplaces and braziers. There, as
acknowledged Regent, she would conduct the business of the
realm. She made a note to have woolen curtains made for the
windows in the tower, to replace the thin coverings that let too
much cold seep through the glass panes of the windows.

   The possibility of civil war was brewing, and this, Ysa knew,
must be avoided at all costs. She had been pondering how to
accomplish this, and believed she had come up with a plan that
would work, and even accomplish a dual purpose. Not only could
some of the bellicose posturing going on between this noble and
that be turned to a positive end, but also some of the young men
of Rendel, on whom the brunt of fighting would fall when it
came, could receive some sound training. There was no question
who should conduct this. Without a second thought, she had
determined to put Harous in charge of the project.

   Through her agents, she had caused a rumor to be put about
that she was expecting yet another strong Nordorn war party to
serve under her personal banner. It was false, of course, for those
men who were going to leave the lands to the north had already
come to Rendel. From them she learned that Cyornas
NordornKing, along with a small contingent of his
most-dedicated followers, remained behind. When the menace
finally began to move, it would be he who took the brunt of the
first attack. He was the guardian of the Palace of Fire and Ice,
wherein this Great Foulness, as it was called, had been
entombed. However, some years past, the Palace of Fire and Ice
had suffered great harm from the impact of a great thunder-star.
One wall—the one adjacent to the tomb that held the sleeping
body of this Great Foulness—had cracked. Inside the tomb, the
Foulness had now awoken and, it was feared, was even now
gathering its strength for a new assault upon the land of men.

   For Ysa to divulge to the nobles of Rendel what she had
learned was unthinkable. Therefore, once again she had had to
work in secret—she must take up the burden the Great Rings
had placed upon her, scheming and devising a new plan—to
accomplish what she knew must be done.

  On her table waited the proclamations to be sent throughout
Rendel, calling for a show of allegiance in the form of a levy of
men, of which some must be at least of the rank of minor
nobility, to receive training in the art of war.

   Ysa did not even attempt to conceal from herself what must
be apparent to all who would receive this proclamation. The
nobles among this levy would, if war came, become hostages to
assure further assistance.

  "That it should come to this," Ysa murmured to herself, "and
we must use such means to raise armies for our own defense."

   With some bitterness, she considered that the most loyal men
in Rendel were those who had fled from the first stirrings of
trouble in the North. The Sea-Rovers, now firmly in control of
the old Ash-enkeep, for example. But in their defense it could be
said that when their homes were destroyed they had had little
recourse other than to gather the remnants of those who had
survived, and move south.

   And the Nordors, under the overall command of Count
Gaurin, could truly be said to have fled only so that they could
fight again, in strength, when the troubles came. She was glad
that she had alliance with such stalwart people.

   Such, Ysa felt, as she seated herself and began putting
signature and seal to the proclamations, could not be claimed for
a good percentage of her Rendelian nobles whose names
appeared on the summoning papers. Gattor of Bilth, for
example. He had never been an open fighter, disdaining the
clash of arms as the proper way to settle a quarrel. Gattor looked
like exactly what he was—someone who was indolent and slow to
act. His very appearance underscored that fact, for he was thick
of body and round of face. Even his eyes looked perpetually
sleepy. But that was, in its own way, show. Gat-tor's warring was
always conducted in the shadows and seldom could men do more
than speculate about his part in the sudden collapse of someone
rumored to be encroaching upon his own holdings.
Unfortunately, Gattor was not alone. There were many who
chose to emulate him. with more or less success.

   Such was the overall caliber of the nobility of Rendel. Yes,
there was Royance, that old burhawk, loyal to the last drop of
blood in his body, and Count Harous, Lord High Marshal and
hereditary master of Cragden Keep, the castle that was
Rendelsham's primary defense. But men like them were,
unfortunately, rare. Though she would not hesitate to put this
army of unevenly trained men into his care, Ysa did not fully
trust Harous because of his onetime pursuit of Ashen and his
present involvement with Marcala. However, lacking no better to
replace him, and also to keep him too busy to think of any
possible mischief, she now allowed him to assume overall
leadership of the muster of Rendelian fighting men, even as
Gaurin led the transplanted Nordors.

   At least there had never been any doubt of Gaurin's loyalty,
nor that of the men he commanded. Though, years ago, Ysa had
summarily turned away his father, Count Bjauden, when he had
come looking for permission to emigrate with some of the
Nordorn peo-pie, she had since come to regret her hasty action.
It had all been Florian's fault, with his inexpressible rudeness to
the Count. Looking back on the incident, she knew that Bjauden
had been severely provoked, and that his offer of mending the
Prince's ways was one that she should have considered more
carefully. If she had, perhaps many things would have turned out
differently. To this day she could remember his exact words.

   "Your manners are worse than those of the lowest churl," he
had said, his voice low and pleasant, "and if I had but an hour
and a little privacy I would mend you of them to your mother's
rejoicing."

   Yes, Florian might still have been alive, and even a decent
King, had she heeded Bjauden's words. Perhaps, if she had but
known his lineage—But she hadn't, and there was no use wasting
time with regrets. Fortunately, Bjauden's son, Gaurin, seemed to
have much of his father about him. When first she saw him, she
had thought he must be Bjauden, with his youth renewed.

  Too late, she had learned of the close familial ties between
Bjauden and Cyornas NordornKing. He had been, though he had
not claimed the title, a Prince. That made his son Gaurin a
Prince in turn. He would be steadfast when the time came.

   Fleetingly she wondered how Ashen was faring, married to
such a splendid man, and then decided that she really didn't
care, as long as the Bog-Princess, that hateful reminder of her
late husband's infidelity, was well away from where important
matters of state were being conducted.

   She came to the proclamation intended for the Sea-Rovers.
Snolli, of course, was too high in rank to be summoned. Also, he
was probably too old by now for anything but symbolic
leadership. Who, then, would lead them? That son that Obern
had, surprisingly, brought to Court? Now, what was his
name—Ysa searched her memory. Rohan, that was it. He must
be of man's estate by now. There was something about him, as a
son of Obern, something that nagged at her memory, but she
could not remember what it was.

   As she wrote his name under that of the Chieftain, she hoped
that the sorry influence wielded by the Bog-Princess had not
ruined him entirely.

   Ashen fingered the paper covered with large, decorative
writing with Snolli's and Rohan's names and the capital letters
picked out in red and gold, looking at the unmistakable
signature and the seal at the bottom, in dark green wax over a
red-and-gold ribbon. She pulled her fur-lined mantle closer
about her, still necessary though the spring was upon them, and
gazed up at Rohan. "This is none of Zazar's doing," she said.
Rohan had just come from spending nearly a week in the
Wysen-wyf's company, being instructed in matters she had not
seen fit to divulge to Ashen.

  "No. I had it with me. Grandam Zaz found it interesting, and
gave me some pretty explicit instructions as to how I was to
conduct myself once I was in high company."

   "It is definite, then," she said to Rohan. "You must go and
take your place in the levy of the Queen's army."
   "My men are already with me, and they are finding places to
sleep with your own soldiers. Don't be sad, Ashen," Rohan said.
His eyes twinkled with suppressed mirth. "You could always
come with me and hold my hand, you know, if you think I won't
do well in Rendelsham."

   Ashen laughed, but not in amusement. "That snake-pit of
intrigue? Thank you, but I would much rather stay here, in the
Oak-enkeep. I can, however, add to Zazar's instructions and tell
you what I know of matters at Court, and the pitfalls that you
may encounter, though some of my information must be stale by
now."

   "I would appreciate that," Rohan said, sobering a little. "I
came to know a little of what you are referring to, in the short
time I was there. When my father—"

   "Yes. When your father was killed by the King. But remember
always, when Obern died, he took his enemy with him. That, I
believe, is important among the Sea-Rovers."

  "And not just them," Gaurin said as he entered the room
where Ashen and Rohan were deep in conversation. "Greetings,
my dear. I understand that you command a company of your
people, do you not, young Rohan?"

   "I do, though they can't exactly be said to be my followers.
Grandfather has seen to it—and I must say that I gave him
plenty of help—that the Sea-Rovers in general think of me as
being not of much account. I am not nearly serious enough to
suit them."

   "Let us hope that you do not lose your merry nature anytime
soon."

  Rohan gave the older man an impish smile. "Not much
danger of that, my lord."

   Just then Hegrin dashed into the room, a folded paper in her
hand. "Father, you forgot this!" she said, and then stopped dead
in her tracks. "Rohan!" She ran to him, her silk skirts rustling,
and flung her arms around his neck. "I thought you were on your
way back to New Voldl Are you going to stay with us a long
time?"

   "No, I'm afraid not." Rohan pried her loose and held her at
arm's length. "Let me have a look at you. Only a week and you're
bigger anyway. My, what a young lady you are growing up to be."

   "What is that paper?" Ashen said, past Hegrin's happy chatter
that filled the room.

  Gaurin looked abashed. "It is a companion to the one young
Rohan was just showing you, my dear."

   "Oh no—"

   "Don't fret, Ashen. I don't have to join the levy. At least not
yet."

   "Only minor nobility," Rohan told her. "Untried youngsters,
like me." He smiled again, and then allowed Hegrin to pull him
to his feet.

  "I don't want to see anybody go," Hegrin declared with some
vehemence. "Every time Rohan comes to our house, off he goes
again the next day, it seems to me."

   "Such are the times we live in, my daughter," Gaurin said.

   "I love Rohan," Hegrin said, gazing at him adoringly. "I want
to marry him someday."

  At that, Rohan burst into laughter. "Oh, no! You are as much
my sister as anybody could be!" he exclaimed. "People don't
marry their sisters!"

  "Oh," Hegrin said. "I didn't think of that. Well then, maybe I
could put on armor and ride with you."

   "As to that, sweet sis, you are too young."

   Hegrin's usual happy expression changed and a frown crossed
her brow. Her blue-green eyes clouded. 'Too young for this, too
old for that, too much a sister for anything else—whatever am I
good for, then?"

   Rohan laughed again and swept her up in his arms. "When
you are just a little older, you will find out, that I promise. Now,
come show me what you had in mind, and then I will show you
my latest feats of magic. Very small magic, I promise," he said,
looking at Ashen who was frowning in her turn. "Just the thing
to make pretty ladies smile once more."

   Ashen shook her head. "Alas, I fear that your grandfather,
much as I hate to admit it, might be right about you. Your
nature is very light indeed. Promise me that the warnings I give
you about the enemies you might find sitting at your elbow at
the Dowager Queen's table don't flit in one ear and out the
other."

    "Yes, Ashen, I promise, even though there's little chance that
I'll be brushing elbows with such high company." He picked
Hegrin up and settled her in the crook of one arm. "Now, excuse
me, please, but I am informed that there is something that I
absolutely must see this very instant. How did you two come to
have such a strong-willed child?"

   "Yes, of course, by all means, go," Ashen said distractedly. She
didn't wait for them to leave before she turned to Gaurin. "If not
you, then who will go in the Dowager's Levy?"

   "There are several who would serve the purpose. My young
cousin Cebastian shows a great deal of promise, and I had been
thinking of elevating him to a rank just under Lathrom's if he
takes to his training. He should satisfy the levy requirements
very well, and also gain more experience so he will be a real asset
to Lathrom, and to me as well, when he returns."

   Relieved that Gaurin himself would not be called upon to go
to Rendelsham, Ashen allowed herself to smile. "Does that mean
that you will never be called upon to serve?"

   "Alas, no, my dear. When the war comes—and it will come,
sooner or later—all must stand ready to do their part, lest the
world end, as we know it. But don't make such a long face. Let us
be merry while we can. Tonight, we will feast with Rohan and
Cebas-tian, and then send them both off with the Sea-Rovers and
our contingent of Nordors to keep our brave young warriors
company."

  "The trip to Galinth will have to wait," Ashen said.

   Outside in the corridor, she could hear Rohan and Hegrin. His
step was gay, almost dancing, as he carried the child down the
stairs. Hegrin's golden giggle floated back to her parents'
hearing, and Ashen feared that despite all her warnings, Rohan
was preparing to rush straight into intrigues he was ill suited to
deal with.


                        Fourteen
   Rohan urged his horse, Red, into a canter, impatient and
ea-ger to get to Rendelsham and back at Court. Despite Za-zar's
stringent warnings and Ashen's gloomy predictions, he actually
looked forward to the experience. Rumor had it that Count
Harous was going to be molding this ragtag levy from all over
Rendel into a functioning army, and Rohan wanted to learn from
a man who was considered one of the best at his trade.

    Nevertheless, when they came to a tiny village boasting a
wayside inn and, even more important, a smithy, Rohan decided
to stop there for the night. Red had developed a limp and though
he couldn't find anything amiss with the animal's hoof,
nevertheless he would lose little by tarrying on the road for a
night or two. He sent his Sea-Rovers on with the men from the
North, under the leadership of Cebastian, promising to catch up
with them as soon as his mount was healthy once more. Perhaps
all Red needed was a set of new shoes. One seemed loose,
anyway, and if there was one thing he had learned it was never to
ignore his horse's well-being.

  With Red safely stabled and the promise that the blacksmith
would quickly mend what had gone wrong, Rohan paid in
advance for a private room at the inn. As he was fishing the coin
out of his purse, he recognized the smell of good stew and his
appetite was immediately whetted. For a copper bit, the landlord
gave him a big bowl of it, heavy with meat and winter vegetables,
with newly baked bread as accompaniment. He finished by
wiping out his bowl with a crust of bread, ate it, and then sat
idly watching a Magician on the other side of the room as he
prepared to pay for his own meal and lodgings with a show of
Power and trickery. The other patrons had not yet come in to
dinner, and except for the innkeeper he and the Magician were
the only ones in the room. It was beginning to grow dark, and
without thinking, Rohan lighted a candle on the table the
Magician was using before he could strike steel to flint. The
Magician turned toward him, startled.

  "My apologies, sir," Rohan said. "That was rude of me. I
should have let you amaze me instead." He laughed, trying to
make light of an incident for which both Ashen and Grandam
Zazar would certainly have scolded him.

  The Magician returned to his preparations. The light from the
candle gleamed on his face—as it changed and became that of a
beautiful womanl The woman stared at Rohan, and he found
himself unable to look away.

   No, he told himself, I am but imagining things. This is a man,
a mountebank and an entertainer, and what I am seeing is only
one more of his tricks. I am not looking at a woman. I am not—

   With a wrench he broke the connection, at the same time
discovering that several patrons had entered the inn's common
room while he had been under the man's spell. From the tenor of
their comments, it was plain that none of the newcomers had
seen anything out of the ordinary. The innkeeper likewise went
about his business as if nothing untoward had happened—if,
indeed, anything had.

   Rohan ordered a mug of ale and found a place out of the circle
of light from several candles the Magician had lighted from the
one he had set flame to. From the shadows, he watched the show
closely. But the Magician, clearly revealed by the light, seemed
no more or no less than what he appeared—a traveling trickster,
pro-ducing flowers from his sleeve, passing a piece of silk over a
plate and making a rabbit appear, finding coins in the ears of
onlookers.
   By the time the show was over and those staying the night had
sought their beds, Rohan had almost convinced himself that he
had been seeing what did not exist. Nevertheless, he was glad
that he had paid extra to have a room and a bed to himself, and
that he could lock the door. After tossing and turning for a long
time, he fell into a troubled sleep.

   In the morning, when he made inquiry, he discovered that the
Magician was already gone. With a sense of relief, Rohan went to
the smithy to inquire after his horse.

   "Nabbut a stone hid under th' poor beastie's shoe, where you
couldn't get at it," the man said. "I fixed it up again, right as
raindrops."

  "Thank you," Rohan said. He gave the man his fee, a penny,
and then added another.

   The smithy grinned. "Thank'ee. I allus says a man is no better
than how he treats his animals, and I judge you a right 'un, sure
enough."

   "My gratitude," Rohan said. Then he saddled Red, put those
articles he had removed for his night's stay back where they
belonged, and got on his way once again.

   I was reckless, he thought, just the way Ashen has tried so
often to tell me that I am. And stupid and foolish to boot. I will
not do anything like this again.

   Red seemed renewed after having the offending pebble
removed from his hoof, and as eager to be on his way as Rohan
was to put this humiliating incident behind him. By pushing
hard, he caught up with the company of Sea-Rovers and Nordors
before they had come in sight of the blunt towers of Cragden
Keep, Count Harous's stronghold, where, he presumed, they
would be lodged.

  Count Harous's barracks were overflowing with young nobles
and their soldiers when they arrived. Rohan's head began to
swim from all the introductions. He recognized some of the
nobles as coming directly from the Four Houses of Rendel, and
others as being families allied to these Houses, or related to
members of the Council.

   Somewhat to Rohan's surprise, he and Cebastian were invited
that night to a banquet at Rendelsham Castle.

   "Don't give yourself airs about it," Cebastian advised. "Our
arrival completes the levy. My guess is that all the minor nobles
and lordlings will be there. And furthermore, I think they—that
means you and me as well—will find ourselves living in the castle
before long. They'll make over us and tell us that we are their
honored guests, but we're surety that our own lords will come
through with more men, when it should come to that."

   "You've been listening to Gaurin too long," Rohan said. He
adjusted the new deep green tunic of fine wool that had been one
of Ashen's parting gifts, and settled a pendant bearing the device
of a ship at sea around his neck. This he had had copied from a
brooch that had belonged to his father, and which he now
pinned on his cap. "Or Ashen. They are both convinced that we'll
be up to our necks in war before another year is out."

   "Don't forget, I was born in the North," Cebastian said. His
tunic and cap were of a lighter green, and his pendant bore a
device of a snarling snowcat, emblem of Gaurin's House. "I was
only a child when we left for Rendel and the Oakenkeep, but I
remember the talk. Cyornas NordornKing was the guardian of
the vault below the Palace of Fire and Ice where the Great
Foulness lay. He stayed behind, to delay its escape as he might,
but one day it will break free and come upon us. That much I
know."

   "I will take your word for it, my friend," Rohan told him, "but
please forgive me if I cannot be as serious as you are about
something I have never seen and possibly never will."

  "It is no crime to be merry while one has the chance."

   "That's the sort of thing Gaurin would say. Well, I agree—
though some might think me a little too merry."

  Cebastian smiled. "You make hearts glad when you are near.
It is a gift, my friend, and one not to be despised."

  "Then I will be grateful for it. Now, let us go and see how the
Dowager is faring these days."

   The young King and his mother were not present; this seemed
to be solely the Dowager's enterprise. As far as Rohan could tell,
the Dowager had not changed in the years since he had last been
in Rendelsham, on the sad occasion of his father's and the King's
funerals. Only her hands, adorned with the Four Great Rings
which he had heard held the secret of all Power in Rendel, had
grown thin and were now marked with pale brown spots. Always
interested in Power, he gazed at the Rings, wondering how
articles so plain and unprepossessing in appearance could have
such a reputation. He almost didn't notice the steward who
appeared at his side, murmuring a message.

   "Please, I didn't hear you," Rohan said.

   "Our gracious lady, Her Highness the Dowager Queen Ysa, to
demonstrate her gratitude to the Sea-Rovers and their loyalty,
desires to honor you by seating you at the high table. This I am
bid say to you, and to bring back your answer straight."

  "The honor is mine," Rohan said. He exchanged glances with
Cebastian. The other merely raised one eyebrow.

   "Also, the Dowager desires to honor the Nordors, and would
seat you as well at the high table. What say you, sir?"

   "Like my friend, I consider the honor mine," Cebastian said.
"Pray, lead on."

   The servant showed them to their places. Cebastian's
prediction had been correct. All the fledgling nobles gathered
thus far were, apparently, dining in the Dowager's company this
evening. With the help of some reintroductions and by reading
the familial badges the young nobles wore, Rohan marked Gidon
of Bilth, sent by Gattor his overlord. With him was Jivon, sent
from Rowankeep, and Ni-kolos, who proudly led Lord Royance of
Grattenbor's soldiers. Close behind Rohan recognized Jabez of
Mimon, Vinod of Vacaster, and Reges of Lerkland. A few others,
whose names neither he nor Cebastian could remember. Rohan
noted that of those levies that came from the common people,
none of the leaders had been invited to the Dowager's high table,
but found their places well below the salt.

   Only Steuart, who claimed kinship with the House of Oak, was
seated as close to the Dowager Ysa as Rohan was. The Hall was
crowded by now, with many young faces among those of older
courtiers. With the smoke and the noise, those beyond the table
where Rohan sat dissolved into a mass of nameless people.
Perhaps later they would become individuals for him.

  Ysa took her place, and with that signal, the banquet began.

   With the ease of long practice, the Dowager began to engage
each of the young nobles in conversation, leaning forward
graciously to address each in turn. How did their lords fare, how
were conditions at home when they left, were they pleased with
their housing?

   The back of Rohan's neck prickled a little at that. He
exchanged glances with Cebastian, who winked at him. Then he
became aware that the Dowager was now speaking to him.

  "And how goes life at New Void? Is all well there?"

   "Very well, both at the Oakenkeep and at New Void," Rohan
said. "As Your Highness must know, I live part of the year at one
place, and the rest at the other."

   "Ah, yes. I had almost forgotten. And your—what should we
call her?—your stepmother?"

   "Lady Ashen is well, as is Count Gaurin. Both Cebastian and I
left them in good health. And their daughter likewise thrives."

   "Ah. Their daughter. As token of my goodwill, accept from me
this goblet of wine, as is due your exalted rank."

   Then the Dowager signaled a steward, who stepped forward
and placed a goblet beside Rohan's plate. Smoothly, Ysa shifted
the focus of her conversation to Nikolos of Grattenbor.
   The back of Rohan's neck was prickling again. By right, if one
fledgling noble was to be so honored, then all should be. Both
Cebastian and Jivon of Rowan probably outranked him, at least
ac-cording to Rendel standards, and Nikolos of Grattenbor was
certainly his equal. But only he had received the wine.

   Cautiously, he brought the goblet close, inhaling the
fragrance. Something was wrong. Either the wine had gone sour
or—No! Rohan recognized the aroma. It was an herbal potion,
similar to one that Zazar used to befuddle the senses of someone
when there was painful work to be done, such as setting a bone
or helping a woman through a difficult birth. Grandam had
warned him of such a potion, saying that under its influence he
would be dazed and, for a while, liable to the control of others.

   For what reason would the Dowager want him drugged?
Rohan could not fathom it, but knowing that there was danger in
the goblet that he held, he shifted in his chair so that his elbow
seemed accidentally to bump that of Jabez of Mimon, seated
next to him. The wine splashed across the tablecloth.

  "My apologies, Your Highness!" Rohan exclaimed.

   "Entirely my fault, Your Highness," Jabez said. "I fear that my
clumsiness has resulted in a stain on your fine linen."

   "It is of no importance," the Dowager said, though Rohan
thought he detected a frown. A certain coldness came over her
manner. She gestured to a steward to come and mop up the
worst of the spill. "Later, we will have entertainment, and
dancing. May I recommend to you, Rohan, one of my
damsels-in-waiting? Her name is Anamara and I fancy that you
might have a great deal in common."

  "Thank you, Your Highness," Rohan said. He bowed his head
courteously. "It would be my honor and my pleasure to partner
Lady Anamara, if she would be willing to put up with my own
awkwardness."

  "Then it is settled."

  Again the Dowager turned her attention elsewhere, and again
Rohan noted that none of the other young nobles had been
singled out as a partner for any particular lady. What, he
wondered, was the Dowager scheming now? He began to
appreciate Ashen's characterization of the Court as a snake-pit
of intrigue.

   The sweet arrived, was devoured, and then the center of the
Hall was cleared, with tables pushed aside and benches lined up.
In the solar above, musicians began playing. A lovely young girl
came and stood in front of Rohan, obviously shy. Slim and wispy
the way all Ash women were, according to Ashen, she possessed
not the light blue eyes one expected with pale blonde hair, but
eyes such a deep, brilliant, vibrant sapphire they were almost
black. Her face was a perfect heart shape. She curtseyed, and to
his amusement, blushed quite charmingly.

  "You must be Anamara," he said.

  "Yes, my lord. I am bid to come and present myself to you."

  "Our gracious lady, Her Highness the Dowager Queen Ysa,
has done me great honor. Lady Anamara, will you dance?"

   "Yes, my lord." She blushed again as Rohan took her hand to
lead her out onto the floor where couples were already lining up
for a galliard.

   Intrigued, Rohan tried to draw her out in such conversation
as could be managed, during the dance, and discovered that she
was a distant relative of the Ash family, who had been left an
orphan. This, then, was the commonality that Ysa had
commented upon. Perhaps the Dowager was not entirely given to
scheming after all, for, unless appearances were misleading,
Lady Anamara was as fresh and innocent as any girl he had ever
known. By the time the galliard had ended, Rohan felt himself
quite smitten with her.

   The dancing was interrupted, however, by the arrival of the
formal entertainment for the evening. To Rohan's astonishment,
this proved to be the very Magician whom he had seen, so very
mysteriously, at the inn where he had stayed. His caution
aroused anew, he conducted Anamara back to the place where
she had been sitting, now pushed into the shadows by the
clearing of the Hall, and instead of returning to his seat at the
high table, sat down beside her.

   No sense, he thought, in creating trouble. Who knew what
this Magician might take it into his—or her—head to do, in front
of the Court? One thing Rohan definitely did not want, was that
his small ability with tricks be revealed to all.

   But the Magician seemed not to notice Rohan or, if he did, he
gave no indication of having seen the young man before. He went
through a more elaborate exhibition than he had presented for
the common people at the inn, culminating in producing white
doves from nowhere, to fly freely into the rafters of the Hall.
Then, with a mighty burst of fire and smoke, the Magician
himself disappeared as the people applauded and cheered.

   Rohan turned to Anamara, hoping to dance with her again
before the evening ended, only to discover that sometime when
he had been distracted watching the Magician, the girl had
slipped away.

  Next morning, he went searching for her and finally found her
walking in a small garden located outside the castle, close by the
walls.

  "Ah, here you are!" he exclaimed. "I missed you last night."

  "I do not enjoy big entertainments the way the rest of the
Court does," Anamara said. "And so I left."

  "Is this your special place?"

   "You might say so. I come here in the mornings, for exercise,
and also I come here when I want to be alone. I used to enjoy the
flowers."

  "There are still a few left. Hardy ones."

   "But all the best have faded. They say it is the unnatural cold
that has killed all the others."
  "Then I might suggest that you go back inside, lest the
unnatural cold blight you as well, for you are the best of all the
sweet ladies here at Court and, yea, even in the world."

   Anamara blushed crimson. "Sir—"

  "I'm sorry. But you are so lovely, I find myself saying things I
never thought of before."

   She turned away, and to Rohan's astonishment, he knew that
ihe was weeping. "What is wrong, dear lady?"

   "Nothing. Please go away."

   "Not until you tell me what I have done, that you should shed
a tear."

   "It isn't you. Well, in a way it is. I feel I can talk to you, as I
cannot with others."

   "Then pray tell me what troubles you, and I will find a way to
mend it. Come and sit, and draw your mantle close around you. I
will sit near and warm you with my presence, and you will tell
me what is in your heart. Then you will feel better."

   "You are kind, but there is nothing you can do," she said
wanly. But she allowed him to lead her to a small bench set
where what sunlight there was could reach it. There, as he asked
a few careful questions, she unburdened herself.

   She was but lately come to the Court, and hated it. She longed
for her home, but as her father had been killed in a skirmish to
the North and her mother had died shortly thereafter from grief,
she was in no position to object to the Dowager's summoning her
to Rendelsham Castle.

  "I suppose some would envy me, supposing I am lucky, but I
am not. The Dowager has complete control over me, and I find it
hateful. She treats me as if she owns me and so, I suppose, in a
way she does. She could, if she wanted to, marry me off to
anyone she chose—even someone old and ugly—if she thought it
would bring her any advantage."
   "I agree that Her Highness enjoys an unrivaled reputation for
intrigue and scheming. But it does not seem that she is going to
be marrying you off to someone old and ugly today, at least. I am
with you. Why not find such enjoyment as you may?"

   She blushed again and, valiantly, dried her tears. "It is as you
say. I won't be wed at least until noontime."

   Both laughed.

   "Did you enjoy the performance last night?" she said. Her
voice was a little too high-pitched, and Rohan realized that she
was trying to change the subject.

   "The Magician was quite talented. I have seen him before."

   Then he told her about his journey to Rendelsham, and the
inn.

  "I think I might have liked that better," Anamara said, "a
show in a small room, with not so many people."

   "There are not many people around now. And so I can show
you this." With a flourish, he produced a rose out of thin air. To
his surprise, it was not one of the folded silk ones he was
accustomed to creating, but a real one, soft, pink, and fragrant.

    "Alas, I have bungled it, when I thought to amuse you!" he
exclaimed. He turned aside, made the rose wither, and dropped
it under the bench. "Please pretend that you did not see me
make a fool of myself." Concentrating, he tried again and this
time, held out a silk rose to her. "Blue," he said. "The traditional
Ash color, though not so glorious as your wonderful eyes."

   "You remembered my family connection."

   "Yes. As to the color of the great Family, my stepmother,
Ashen of Ash, taught me about it. I hope my silly little gift
pleases you."

   "Very much." Anamara took the blue rose, smiling at him. "I
will cherish it always."
   "Now, dear lady, though nothing would please me more dian
to stay here with you all day, playing the fool and covering you
with blue silk roses—"

  "And saving me from being wed against my will—"

   "Yes, that, too. But I cannot stay past the hour. My duties
draw me elsewhere. But surely I will see you again."

   "Surely," she said, blushing again. Her shyness returned and
she lowered her eyelids demurely over her wonderful, remarkable
eyes.

  "Until then." Rohan remembered Gaurin's graceful gesture
when he greeted or took leave of a lady, and brought Anamara's
hand to his lips.

   "I will count the hours." Her voice was so faint he could
scarcely hear her.

   Reluctantly he left the garden to go back to where his men
and the rest of the Dowager Queen Ysa's Levy waited, to receive
his first full day's training under Count Harous, master of
Cragden Keep and Lord Marshal of Rendel.

   When Rohan had disappeared, Anamara bent and retrieved
the withered rose he had dropped beneath the bench and put it
with the blue silk one. She kissed the petals and placed both
flowers in the bosom of her dress.


                           Fifteen
   For a long time, people had been aware of the fact that the
Dowager commanded Power that was not within the province of
ordinary folk. It was widespread knowledge that she was
accustomed to shutting herself up for extended periods in her
own apartment, or in the tower where only she ever visited. Now
it was not at all rare for someone to glimpse a tiny flying
creature winging its way out of the topmost tower of
Rendelsham Castle, and then to watch it wink out of sight.
Formerly, this phenomenon had been glimpsed but seldom, and
had been easy enough to dismiss as imagination at work. Now it
was almost commonplace, and thought little on because it no
longer held the kind of mystery it had had at first.

   However, speculation now filled the corridors. All the gossip—
furtive, and in subdued whispers—centered about the probability
of even stranger new Power, either in the grasp of the Dowager
or soon to be summoned. Surely this must explain the more
frequent sightings of the flyer.

   Rohan listened to the tales, sifting out what was patently false
from what might be true. Eventually he went to the place and the
person upon whom Ashen had long relied—the good priest
Esander, in the Great Fane of the Glowing.

   "Why, yes, young sir/' Esander said in response to Rohan's
inquiry. "I know of several good books on the history of Rendel
and I will be very happy to see someone interested enough to
read them."

  "Not just battles and who did what to whom, if you please,"
Rohan said. "But I have heard a story about a certain King—"

  Esander smiled broadly. "I have heard the same stories, and I
know the reference. Here, let me search out the volume for you."

   Presently Rohan found himself engrossed in a book of archaic
lore. In it he learned of a highly talented King, the founder of
what later became the Oak Family. He was the one who had first
worn the Four Great Rings, and—most interesting of all to
Rohan—he was said to have met regularly with unearthly allies.
Rohan closed the book and sat thinking, tapping his finger on
the jeweled spine. It seemed entirely probable that the present
wearer of the Rings also met with creatures not of this world.
Whether this was for good or for ill, Rohan did not know.

   It was interesting, however. And coincidental. Rohan decided
that he did not believe in coincidences. Therefore he must be
more careful than ever when dealing with the Dowager Ysa.

   He picked up another book that had been on the shelf beside
the book of lore, and opened it at random. The words on the
page where the book fell open riveted his attention.

  Though caution and common sense are certainly important,
sometimes a risk is called for.

  Intrigued, he read on:

   If you laugh, you risk appearing a fool. If you weep, you risk
appearing sentimental-Reaching out for another is risking
involvement. Exposing feelings is risking revealing your true
self. Placing your ideas, your dreams, before a crowd is risking
rejection.

  Loving is risking not being loved in return.

  Living itself carries with it the risk of dying.

  Hoping is risking disappointment.

  Trying is risking failure.

   Nevertheless, risks must be taken, because the greatest
hazard, pitfall, and danger in life is to risk nothing. If a person
risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing, that person becomes
nothing. He may avoid present suffering and sorrow, but he
will not learn, feel, change, grow, love, or live. Chained by his
fear, he is a slave who has forfeited his freedom.

  Only that person who dares, who risks, is free.

  Rohan closed the book, pondering the words he had read.
They touched something deep inside him, and he resolved to
have this passage copied out so he could refer to it in times to
come. Daring, he decided, was good, particularly when
compared to trying to live without risk.

   Donning his helm, in which he had fastened the bunch of
herbs and dried grasses in obedience to Grandam Zazar's
instructions, he left the Fane and stepped out into the courtyard,
on his way to go to the practice field. There he discovered
Anamara, apparently making her way toward the Fane, but
being hindered by a group of overdressed popinjays, all clad in
the height of fashion and none of them, in Rohan's judgment,
worth the cleaning of the steel if they were to be run through.

    By the badges they wore—deep red background, with a bear
standing erect, on a background of oak leaves, all circled with the
motto "Strength Prevails"—Rohan recognized them as members
of the late King's faction. It had become a fashion with them, to
keep Florian's memory alive despite the presence of the young
King, Peres, even though he was still a child. Rohan had run into
them before, and for no reason that he could think of, they had
been hostile to him from the first moment though it could not be
said that they had actually offered trouble. These men were only
a little older than he, in their prime for training as warriors, but
apparently dedicated to idleness and heavily engaged in as much
mischief and troublemaking as possible.

   One of them reached out and brushed back Anamara's mantle
so he could finger her sleeve. "Fine clothes for a fine lady," he
said with just the suggestion of a sneer in his voice. "And where
does my fine lady go this day?"

   "Please get out of my way, Piaul," Anamara said, her voice
trembling.

  "But I want to talk to you," Piaul said.

  Rohan stepped forward. "The lady is making it plain that she
does not want to talk to you."

  Piaul looked him up and down insolently. "And who might
you be? I do not recognize your badge."

  "I am Rohan of the Sea-Rovers, and also connected with the
House of Ash."

  "And your business in Rendelsham?"

  "I lead the levy of my people the Dowager has ordered."

  "Oh," Piaul said. The sneer was very evident now. "Now I
know who you are. Your father was responsible for the death of
our late King, wasn't he?"
   "There was an unfortunate accident, and if you will recall, my
father died as well. I was there. Perhaps you were, too." Rohan
did not see anything to be gained by dredging up the old scandal
of the King's poisoned sword.

  "In any case, you're just one more soldier among many. A
minor noble at best. Next thing to a hostage."

   "You were never so high in the late King's favor that he
granted you status beyond what your birth entitled you to,"
Anamara said.

   Rohan glanced at her, a little startled at the sharpness of her
statement. Her face was pale, and a spot of color tinged each
cheek. "Let me deal with this matter, my lady," he said.

   "There is no matter," said one of Piaul's companions. "We are
just leaving."

   "Yes," Piaul said contemptuously. "You aren't even amusing.
How fortunate we are that we do not have to associate with the
likes of you." He pulled a scented handkerchief out of his sleeve
and waved it ostentatiously under his nose. "The smell of fish, I
am certain, must be one of your chief weapons of war."

   The group of courtiers strolled off, laughing among
themselves. Turning a corner, they were quickly out of sight.

   "Thank you, Rohan," Anamara said. "Please do not allow their
insults to nettle you."

  "My only concern is for you."

   "Would you escort me to my apartment, then? I do not trust
that Piaul. I think he is up to no good where I am concerned."

  "I will do so with pleasure, my lady."

   He offered her his arm and together they made their way to
one of the outlying buildings of Rendelsham Castle. "My
stepmother, Ashen, preferred having her quarters outside the
castle as well," he said. "She liked living apart, even though, I am
told, this very isolation led to her being captured and spirited
away."

  "She was taken? Why?" Anamara said, startled.

   "Nobody knows for certain. But it was very romantic. My
father went and rescued her, and they were married shortly
thereafter."

  "What a nice story. I'm so glad it turned out well—"

  "This one won't," said a muffled voice.

   A group of men, faces hidden in the folds of heavy cloaks,
stepped out from where they had obviously been lying in wait.
Two of them grabbed Rohan, pinning his arms, while a third
knocked his helmet off and began raining blows on him. A fourth
man opened the door and roughly shoved Anamara through it.

   "If anybody asks about the Sea-Rover, you are to say that he
tried to take undue liberties with you," he said. Then he turned
to the ones still pummeling Rohan. "Blindfold him and tie him
up. I'll give you your instructions then."

   Rohan thought he recognized Piaul's voice. But then someone
gave him a sharp rap on the head. Dazed, he was only dimly
aware of his arms and legs being bound and him being shoved
into some kind of bag, such as farmers use to bring vegetables to
market. He could smell the earthy scents, and also the pungent
odor of the sprigs of herbs and grasses in his helm. They must
have dropped it into the bag with him.

   Leaving no clues behind, he thought dimly. Then he was
picked up, to be carried somewhere, and consciousness faded for
a while.

   He roused a little at the sound of lapping water. That plus the
movement of the hard surface under him, told him that he was
on a boat of some kind—probably a small one, or perhaps even a
raft though the motion was different. Dimly, he could hear
voices.
  "When we get just a little closer, then's when we knife him,
understand?"

  "I still don't understand why we have to do him in. Just taking
him off to where a Boggins will get him should be enough."

   "The lord what's paying us says 'knife him/ so knife him we
will. Do it right, and there'll be no hint of who really done it
'cause they'll think it was Bog-men."

    The man to whom this one was speaking sniggered. "That'll
take Their High and Mightinesses' minds off things, now won't
it? Keep 'em right busy. Leave the rest of us alone."

   Rohan forced himself to think. These were no gentlemen,
though the one who had shoved Anamara through the door and
instructed her to say Rohan had tried to take liberties had
undoubtedly been Piaul. Therefore Piaul must be the one paying
for the current situation in which Rohan found himself. But
why?

   The why of it could wait, he thought wryly, trying to ignore
the thumping pain in his head, in favor of the which. He had
better extricate himself from this, and fast, or he'd surely be
taking the Long Boat out on the journey from which no man had
ever yet returned.

   They had mentioned a "Boggins" and feeding him to it. That
meant they must be headed down the River Rendel toward the
Bog. How long had he been unconscious? It felt like a long time,
judging from how stiff he was. Well, he found one consolation in
his plight. They most likely wouldn't be trying to stab him until
they had reached their destination, so that gave him time to
concentrate.

  Zazar. Grandam Zaz, he mouthed silently. Come and save
your wayward grandson] Or dose enough to grandson. I need
your help. Please.

  Nothing. He tried again, and yet again, to no avail while the
boat journeyed on. He could hear the creak of oars. Then the
boat stopped abruptly, going to ground against the mud of a
shore—there was no mistaking the syrupy sound of it—and he
sensed someone fumbling at the sack in which he was trussed.
Any hope that it had all been an elaborate joke faded when the
man untied the top and began shucking it off Rohan. The three
men facing him had put back the hoods on their mantles, and he
could see their faces clearly. Nobody would do that in these
circumstances, unless they expected to leave no witnesses.

   "Here, turn 'im over," one of the men said. "It has to be done
just right. Lucky I have one of their shell knives. Nobody will ever
know the difference."

   Grandam Zazar! Rohan pleaded silently. Mighty Wysen-wyf
of the Bog! If ever you thought well of me, help me now!

   Something large and terrifying erupted from the river,
soaking everyone in the boat and throwing them into confusion.

   "It is a Bogginsi" one of the men cried. "A Boggins! Push off
from shore! Push off from shore!"

  Rohan had a jumbled impression of something huge and
snaky, with water glistening off its scales, and perhaps vestigial
wings as well. It roared, its mighty voice making the leaves of
nearby trees shiver. And it bore a human—or nearly
human—face.

  I have gone mad, Rohan thought. Utterly mad. That is not
Grandam Zaz's face. It is not—

   The monster bowed its long, serpentlike neck, opened a
mouth full of sharp fangs, and plucked Rohan, sack and all, from
the boat. It reared even higher while Rohan's captors fumbled
with poles and freed their boat from the mud that had held it
fast. Then they used the poles as fast as they could to propel the
boat and get away from the horror behind them.

   "We've done our job!" one of the men shouted. "A Boggins got
'im instead of Bog-men, but it's all the same. Now, pole and row
for your lives, boys!"

  Rohan discovered that he was curiously calm, considering
that he was most likely to be devoured in the next few minutes.
But the way the monster was gripping him in fangs that,
inexplicably, had not come even close to piercing his flesh, did
not inspire in him the same stark, unreasoning fear that it had
in his former captors.

  "They're out of sight now," said a familiar voice, a little
muffled as if the speaker had its mouth full.

    To Rohan's surprise, the monster set him down gently on firm
ground and then began shrinking, its wings becoming arms, and
its tail disappearing entirely. The scaly skin softened and paled.
Then Zazar stood before him, looking remarkably annoyed.

   "Don't call on me to do that sort of thing again anytime soon,"
the Wysen-wyf said irritably, as she rearranged her clothing and
loosened her limbs. "It's confining in a shape like that, and hard
on old bones."

   "Grandam Zaz!" Rohan exclaimed. "I owe you my life! Oh, a
thousand thanks! I thought—"

   "I know what you thought." Zazar stared at him with a critical
gaze for a long moment, and then slapped him soundly across
the face.

   "What was that for?" Rohan said, gingerly feeling his stinging
cheek.

   "For your total stupidity. You are so lacking in wits it should
be against the law. My guess is there's a pretty face—and an
empty head other than your own—behind this."

  "Anamara had nothing to do with it. She wasn't bait, if that's
what you're thinking. These men jumped me, and I don't know
why."

   "Then tell me what went on before."

   Obediently Rohan recounted the story of the encounter with
Piaul and his toadies, including the passage in the book that had
impressed him, and then the way he had been captured. "And I
still don't know why they did it."

   Zazar snorted derisively. "As I said, you are stupid. Daring
and risk without intelligence is worth exactly nothing. Piaul
stood high in the late King Florian's favor, didn't he?"

   "I suppose so."

  "And by killing you, he and his companions might get some
small revenge for the late King's death, wouldn't they?"

   "But why me? I had nothing to do with it."

   "That wouldn't matter, not if there was trouble and dissension
to be spread."

  Rohan digested this in silence. "But why did the Dowager set
me up with the Lady Anamara?"

   Zazar stared at him with renewed disgust, and he was afraid
she was going to slap him again. "To keep you occupied, is my
guess, so she could keep her finger on where you were, and what
you were up to, and, as a result, what Ashen was doing."

  "But she hates Ashen." Rohan frowned, struggling to follow
Za-zar's explanation.

   "Just so. Don't you know anything?"

   "I was just trying—"

   "Never mind that. There is work to be done."

   "Yes, Grandam." Rohan's meekness was not a sham. He knew
that Zazar's irritation with him was justified. "I will follow your
direction, I promise. Just tell me what to do."

  "Go back to Rendelsham. There is where the real danger lies.
But this time use your head, if you can find it."

   "I have no idea how to get back. I was in a bag most of the
time." He rummaged in the bag, found his helm, and put it on,
hoping that Zazar would notice that he had followed her
instructions and put the sprigs of herbs and grasses in it.

  The Wysen-wyf looked him up and down, her expression sour.
"Well, you can't get back across the river unaided. Come with
me."

  "Where are we going?"

  "Back to my village, or close to it."

  "Why?"

  "To get a boat that will carry your weight."

  "A boat? But—but how did you get here?"

  Zazar turned and Rohan could swear that she almost smiled.
"You don't need to know the details. Just say that I swam."

   With Zazar as guide, it took only a little time to get through
the Bog to a place, just in sight of the village, where her boat was
moored. Then, with both of them poling, they took to the
waterways heading due north.

  "This isn't the route we came," Rohan said. "We're going
against what current there is."

   "No. They took you downstream quite a distance. That is why
I was late in getting there. I'm taking you back another way, so
you can get to the city in a short time. You'll be there almost
before the ones who bagged you."

  "That ought to surprise a few folks."

   "You need all the bolstering-up you can get, after the way
you've behaved. Sometimes I swear your head must be solid
bone. And you should remember that I will not always be there
to save your worthless hide."

  "Yes, Grandam," Rohan said. "I promise to do better."

  Zazar subsided into muttering under her breath, which, for
Rohan, wasn't an enormous improvement as he could well
imagine what she was saying.

   Nevertheless, the Wysen-wyf was as good as her word. She
took the boat into smaller and smaller streams that fed into the
River Rendel, stopping when they could go no farther. The low
mountains encircling Rendelsham were nearby.

  "Go now, and do not dare so much without thinking first,"
Zazar said.

   "Thank you again for my life," Rohan said. He bent and kissed
the Wysen-wyf on the forehead. Then he turned and scrambled
out of the boat and up onto the shore before she could do worse
to him than slap him for his—he had to smile—his daring.


                          Sixteen
   Squaring his shoulders, Rohan marched through the gate of
Castle Rendelsham. True to Cebastian's prediction, all of the
young nobles presumably leading their parts of the Dowager's
Levy had had their living quarters moved to the castle. It would
be a nuisance, Rohan thought, making dawn muster at Cragden
Keep, but it certainly would keep the men under Ysa's close
observation.

   Almost—the thought came unbidden—like a prison, albeit
with better and more luxurious accommodations than most
prisons afforded.

   Well, this was something he could think about later. Now
Rohan wanted nothing more than a change of clothing, a chance
to clean and polish what little armor he had been wearing when
he had been taken, and a long, steaming bath. A servant, face
carefully blank at Rohan's disheveled appearance, indicated the
door to the room he had been assigned. It swung open easily
when he pushed it and instantly he went alert: The door had not
been latched.

   A startled exclamation—which was not a greeting—stopped
him short. Two people looked up, caught going through Rohan's
belongings, and, equally startled, Rohan recognized one of them.
   The Magician!

   The man with him, a castle guard wearing the Dowager's
livery, started toward Rohan, drawing his sword. At a gesture
from the Magician, the man halted in his tracks. Curious but
unfrightened, Rohan approached the guard, studying him as he
drew nearer. The guard stood there unblinking, expression
blank, poised for another step, but frozen in place. What kind of
control was this? Magic? Rohan had not seen any sign of the use
of a paralytic gas or a drug. Therefore it must be a spell such as
he had never witnessed before. He wondered if he could
duplicate such a spell, if he needed to.

   With a laugh, the Magician stepped forward. By the time he
shrugged off his long cloak the person who faced Rohan had once
more transformed into the beautiful woman he had seen at the
inn where he had witnessed her—or his—skilled performance.

   "Not the least bit surprised, are you, young lord?" she said.
Her voice was deep and rich. "That speaks well. I marked you
when first I saw you, and that candle trick of yours. That you
were able to free yourself from a rather nasty predicament—oh,
yes, I know about how the late King's followers set you up for an
assassination— speaks well of your talents also." She stared at
Rohan in such a way as made him nervous. "Yes, I do believe
that you are the partner I have been awaiting. Or at least you
shall be, with just a little help. And all that without having to be
bribed."

   "Your meaning, Madame?" Rohan said. He tried to maintain
a cool and unruffled attitude. Best to learn what he could than to
make an instant rejection.

    With a swirl of her garments, the woman seated herself. She
flicked one finger, and a flagon of wine and two goblets appeared
on a table near her reach. "Come, sit. Let me explain. But first, I
will ask you a question. How would you like to have your small
and untrained talents magnified? Shall we say, ten times over."

  "Certainly, anyone would say yes," Rohan returned cautiously.
He accepted the goblet she filled, but did not drink. "What
payment would such a bargain entail, my lady?"
  To that she made no answer but continued as if he had not
posed a question in return. "I could increase your talents a
hun-dredfold. The only thing you would have to do is to join me."

   Now she favored him with a look more than half veiled by
thick eyelashes. The skin on the back of Rohan's neck began to
tingle— not, he was convinced, because he desired this Sorceress;
he had to admit to himself, he did. Rather, he sensed danger in
her. He decided to present himself as being just a little stupid
and had to stifle a smile at the thought that more than one
thought this already.

   "I think not, my lady." He replaced the untasted goblet on the
table. Not at all astounded, he saw it wink out as the Sorceress's
sultry expression became one of sullen disappointment.

  "You are making a big mistake, you know," she said.

   "Lady, I know nothing of you, not even the name you pass by.
Do I now guess, to amuse you? Perhaps you are in league with
the Dowager. There are stories—"

  "Whom I may be in league with is not your concern, young
Rohan."

  He changed the subject quickly. "Why did you find it
necessary to explore my possessions?"

  "That also is none of your concern."

  "In that they are my personal belongings, such an action
concerns me very much."

   The Sorceress's eyes glittered, as bright as gems. "Do not try
to match me in talent," she said, "or even to dare question what I
might or might not do."

   "Oh, I would never dream of such a thing. However, I can call
the guard in the hallway and have you and your servant here
removed from my quarters." Rohan was proud that he managed
to smile. "I'm sure that in his present condition he will make a
useful perch for the pigeons."
   The Sorceress frowned. "You certainly will not prosper, young
sir. Obviously you prefer green fruit to ripe, and folly to wisdom.
That little chit you seem enamored of is of no consequence. If
only you knew about her. But no matter. It will not be long before
you regret your decision, mark me well." She snapped her
fingers. The frozen guard came to life abruptly. He took a step,
and then another before he realized that the one he had been
moving to attack was now in conversation with the
Magician—for the one who commanded his service was again a
man.

  "I believe now we have entered by misdirection the wrong
quarters," the Magician said. "I apologize, young sir. Doubtless
we shall meet again, under more pleasant circumstances."

   Rohan nodded. "Indeed, I look forward to that happy
occasion. And so I wish you good day."

   The two were quickly gone with formal courtesy. Rohan rang
for a servant to bring hot water for his bath. While he luxuriated
in the steam and scrubbed the muck of the Bog from his skin, he
tried to puzzle out just what had happened—and why. That had
been too quick, and the Magician had been "vanquished" too
easily. And what about that remark concerning Anamara? Many
things he could not understand were left to puzzle him.

   Cebastian rapped on his door just as he was dressing for
dinner. "Where have you been?" he asked, a little sharply, when
Rohan had let him in.

   "I have been in the middle of a strange story," Rohan said. As
he pulled on his boots, he told his friend of the abduction and his
near-murder, and how Grandam Zazar had brought him back by
boat close enough that he could easily walk the rest of the way.

   "A strange story indeed," Cebastian agreed when Rohan had
finished. "You are lucky to be able to call on the Wysen-wyf of the
Bog in need."

   "I will introduce you, and others of our friends as well. She is
inclined to be gruff, but I think she likes having members of
younger generations around her now and then."
   "Not unlike Her Gracious Highness the Dowager Ysa,"
Cebastian commented dryly. "Incidentally, she has been
inquiring about you most specifically. I told her you were out
hunting."

    "Thank you. Do you believe she really was some part of a plot,
if plot it was?"

   "I don't think so, but with that one, you never can be sure.
Oh—before I forget. The Dowager has decreed that there is to be
an enormous tourney, to be held at the next holiday, about two
months from now. All the leaders of the Dowager's Levy are to
participate. The talk has been of little else."

  "That is very interesting."

  "Come now, or we'll be late. And one is never late for the
Dowager's table, if one is smart."

   They entered the Great Hall together. Cebastian had been
correct; everywhere the young nobles were raising voices about
the tourney. There was a great deal of discussion concerning the
main prize—a suit of exceptionally fine armor.

   Rohan took his accustomed place which Her Highness had
assigned him, trying not to call attention to himself in any way.
At the same time he tried to see any change in her which would
suggest astonishment at his appearance. But there was nothing,
or very little. Certainly not enough on which to form an opinion
on such a weighty matter. He could not be sure at present that
he could detect any awareness of anything of the untoward
events that had occurred and so he decided that she most likely
had had nothing to do with his abduction and near-murder.

   "How very thoughtful of you to arrange such a splendid
entertainment for us all," he said to Ysa. "The tourney, I mean."

   "It used to be a Rendel custom, in times past, to mark
holidays with such festivities. I know that training day after day
can grow tiresome," she said. "You deserve a respite, a reward.
And also, our people deserve to see how the best youth of Rendel
comport themselves, even in mock battle."
  "Do you think that we are ready for such an exhibition?"

   "Count Harous assures me that you are, or will be. And
further, he tells me that you show great promise, young Rohan,
far more than your heritage as a Sea-Rover might indicate. He
says you are fully as able to command on land as, presumably,
you are at sea."

  "Count Harous is too kind."

   Rohan was quickly growing bored with the stilted
conversations one indulged in at Court, where words were used
to conceal, not reveal. What, he wondered, did the Dowager
mean by arranging this tourney? He resolved to do some
investigation between now and the date of the event. Also, there
was time, if he could get permission from Harous, to make a
quick trip back to the Oaken-keep and confer with Gaurin. He
would know about this sort of thing.

   In the meantime, however, Rohan did nothing but pretend to
enjoy himself, as his fellows did, and to engage in flirtation with
the Dowager which, he perceived, she enjoyed very much. Later,
perhaps, he could dance with Anamara.

   The Magician, who seemed now to be a permanent member
at Court, entertained them after dinner. Rohan watched closely
but not even by so much as a raised eyebrow did the man—or
woman, beneath the man's appearance—indicate that he had
encountered Rohan earlier that day.

   Unfortunately, he could not find Anamara when the
entertainment was finished and the music begun. She was not in
the Hall, nor did anybody know of her whereabouts. He knew,
instinctively, that it would not be wise for him to openly search
for her.

   Another mystery to add to the growing number Rohan knew
he must investigate. He chose another partner for the opening
gal-liard, and, eventually, the Dowager arose. He would never
find a better moment to end the boring surface chitchat and
excuse himself and so the endless evening drew to a close.
   Harous, deeply absorbed by his duties, was unavailable.
Having chaffed at waiting for at least a six-day, Rohan started
unbidden for the Oakenkeep. He thought about taking Cebastian
with him but decided against it, knowing that he could go and
make it back faster if he traveled alone.

  He was pleased indeed at the time he made. After only a day
and a half on the road he arrived at the Oakenkeep and without
any hesitation made his way at once to Guarin's private office.

   There he faced both his foster father and Ashen, giving his
report as carefully and completely as he could.

  Gaurin spoke first. "Tell me what the others think about this
contest."

   "It is causing some rivalry, of course. Some of their sponsors
are said to be boasting their choices too warmly, even to the edge
of real quarrels. Gattor of Bilth, for example, has disputed
heatedly with Lord Royance of Grattenbor. Made a large wager.
But the worst, I think, is that company of lickspittles who once
formed King Florian's band of intimates. They will not take up
arms, but they are everywhere, pushing this one, whispering into
that one's ear. They are encouraging factions to form, and they
seem to take pleasure in setting one faction against another."

  "That cannot bode well for peace in the Kingdom," Ashen
commented.

    "No, it doesn't. As to the little boy who is King, Peres, he is
seen in public more often these days and it is said that a faction
is even forming around him. It makes being at Court a lot more
interesting, but I cannot think that anything good can come of
it."

  "How does the young King?" Ashen asked. "And Rannore, his
mother?"

   "Well enough, though he seems a little on the frail side. As to
the Young Dowager, she is little more than a living ghost,
creeping about when someone lets her out of her apartment, but
kept hidden away much of the time."
   Ashen frowned, and Rohan changed the subject, knowing of
her fondness for Rannore. "Anyway, all this talk about the
tourney, and which side will win and who will back whom, was a
blessing in one way. It took the attention off me, and my
adventures with some would-be assassins—a part of one of the
factions, I am convinced."

  "Assassins?" Ashen was startled. "You never mentioned that."

   "Oh," Rohan said, more than a little abashed. "I thought
Gran-dam Zaz would have told you the story, when next you
visited her."

  "We have put off a return trip into the Bog," Gaurin said.
"Perhaps that wasn't a good idea."

  "Grandam Zaz is the one who saved me, you know. Turned
herself into a Bog monster the likes of which you couldn't even
imagine, and plucked me out of the assassins' hands as neat as
you please. Then she slapped me for being a fool."

   Both Gaurin and Ashen had to laugh. "She's slapped me for
the same reason," Ashen said. "Or, sometimes, even less." She
turned to Gaurin. "Would it be possible to go into the Bog?"

  "Yes. We've had a break in the weather, and all is quiet at the
moment. I think we need Madame Zazar's wisdom to help us
decipher what may be going on at Court, and the best way to
advise Rohan, when he has to deal with it."

  Thoughtfully Ashen turned the heavy stone bracelet around on
her wrist, but kept her own counsel.

    The next day, with Rohan shouldering a large pack of food
and warm clothing as gifts, the three of them made their way to
Zazar's hut. Ashen cautiously called on her Bog upbringing to
make sure they were not discovered on the way. Down in the
village, not as many mud-plastered reed chimneys were smoking
as might have been expected, indicating that the men, at least,
were out and on the hunt. A spiral of smoke rising from Zazar's
chimney signaled that she was at home.
   "Good," Ashen observed. "I would not have liked for us to have
stayed out here, waiting for her to return from what might be a
long errand."

    Without any sign of surprise, Zazar met them at the door.
"Hot soup's on the fire," she said by way of greeting. "The broth
is a little thin by now, because winter is pinching hard. However,
it'll warm your bones."

    "Here is dried meat and I will arrange to have a haunch of
fresh fallowbeeste sent to our usual supply point," Gaurin
promised. "Though I think it might freeze before you can retrieve
it."

   Zazar rummaged in a woven reed box, drew out an amulet,
and handed it to him. "Leave it there and I'll be glad to have it.
This will keep away predators—or thieves." Then the Wysen-wyf
set the newly brought supplies aside and dipped out bowls of
soup made more filling by the addition of tart, edible grasses and
thick noodles.

   "I remember these noodles from my childhood," Ashen said.
She sipped from her bowl with obvious pleasure. "I always liked
them."

  "Well, you didn't come all this way just to compliment my
soup," Zazar said. "What did bring you?"

   Gaurin and Rohan told her of the oncoming tourney, and the
fracturing of the political harmony in Rendelsham, and of the
appearance of the mysterious Magician and how the man—or
woman—had tried to tempt Rohan. By the time they had
finished, Zazar's lips were turned down in an expression of
disgust mingled with contempt.

   "The Dowager's a fool," she said. "But I knew that from long
ago. I know of this Magician. Sorceress, really. Her name is
Flavielle. Calls herself Flavian, when she travels in a man's guise,
but she's a woman, right enough. She is up to no good, you can
safely wager on it. And you say you turned her down on her
so-kind offer, Rohan?"
  "I did. Something about her put the hair up on the back of my
neck."

   "Hmph. For once you used your head for something other
than to perch your helmet on. Well, with this news I need to do a
few things, and that means a trip to Galinth. You three might as
well come with me."

  "I had been hoping to show Galinth to Gaurin on this trip,"
Ashen said, "and I want to see Weyse again as well."

    "Don't count on much of her company. She'll be helping me.
Now, take that pack of food and I'll prepare more, for we'll need
it while we're there. No need for shin-armor—all the snakes are
in deep sleep—but you can please hand me that new warm cloak
you brought." Zazar wrapped the garment around herself, and
her dour expression softened. "We don't find a great deal of fur
in the Bog, and until lately, haven't needed it much. Thank you."

  "I hoped you would like it," Gaurin said. He kissed her hand,
and Zazar scowled once more.

   "Come along, come along, and don't dally. The sooner we're
there and back, the better. Rohan will be missed, if he isn't
already, and this absence on top of the other—Well, it won't do
his military career much good."

   So saying, the Wysen-wyf led them out the back way to where
several boats were pulled up out of the water, available. She
selected one capable of holding the four of them and, presently,
the two men, with Zazar guiding them, were poling their way
through the brackish, cold waters of the Bog. More than once
they had to break through a thin layer of ice to enter one of the
channels leading away from the main waterways.

  "At least the Boggins are lying deep," Zazar commented at one
point. "They are too sluggish to hunt, when it's this cold."

    "Cold of blood, like snakes. I'd like to see one of these
monsters for myself," Rohan said. "I have heard enough about
them from Ashen. Still, I can't help but be glad for it, that they're
all asleep."
   "I'll show you a stone one later," Zazar said. "And that should
do for you, if you know what's good for you."

   They made good time. Day had not yet drawn on toward
evening when they passed a ruined wall of standing stones and
entered the drowned gateway and pool leading to the city itself.
Ashen uttered a gasp of recognition.

   "There's been no change at all," she said. "Somehow, I thought
the ruination would have progressed."

  "No," said Zazar, "it is as it is, and will remain so until all
changes in the world. Here's the landing-stone."

   Zazar took the pole from Rohan and jammed it into a crevice
between two of the rocks. Then she looped the rope attached to
the bow tightly around the pole. The two men climbed out first,
and helped the women, though Zazar leapt nimbly off onto the
flat stone and was halfway up the slope before Ashen had found
her footing.

  "So this is Galinth," Gaurin said. "It must have once been a
mighty city indeed."

   "Rendel's capital, before they built the new city, and that
frivolous excuse for a castle."

  Ashen turned and stared at Zazar, and Rohan knew that this
was a new revelation for her. "What happened?" she said.

   "Much," Zazar replied shortly. She raised both her hands
palm out and intoned something in a sonorous singsong. The
words were unintelligible. Then her chant was answered by a
song strange both in rhythm and tune.

   "This is as it was before," Ashen whispered. "It is as if Zazar is
announcing something of importance, or perhaps asking for
refuge."

   "Or asking permission to enter," Gaurin returned. "Whom is
she asking?"
   "I never knew, nor did I dare ask."

   "Shush with your whispers," Zazar said, "and follow me."

    She led them down the path, up stairs and down, over walls,
past ruined buildings, until they came to one that was somewhat
less ruined than most of the others. In the courtyard lay a figure,
facedown, carved of stone and broken into thirds. Gaurin knelt
and touched the pieces wonderingly. But then, at an impatient
sound and a gesture from Zazar, he followed her through the
open doorway. A curtain hung just inside the doorway,
sheltering the interior from the gaze of any interlopers. Inside,
they found a fire already lighted and, revealed in the light of the
flames, a plump, furred creature that squeaked and trilled when
it caught sight of them. It waddled toward them as fast as its
girth would allow it to go.

  "Weyse!" Ashen cried. She stooped to gather the creature into
her arms. "Oh, how I've missed you!"

   Weyse began purring loudly enough that the sound filled the
chamber where the travelers now found themselves. The little
creature grasped Ashen's hand with her slender forepaws and
began licking Ashen's fingers.

  "Put your things down," Zazar said. "You'll be staying for a
while."

   "How long?" Rohan asked.

   "As long as it takes." Then her features softened a little. "You'll
be going back to Rendelsham from here so you won't have to
retrace your steps from the Oakenkeep."

   "Thank you, Grandam Zaz. But my horse, my gear—"

   "I'll arrange to have word sent so it will be waiting for you
when you reach the edge of the Bog. Gaurin, I'll need you for
that. Otherwise, it might cause alarm in the keep to receive such
a message, from a source they know not."

   Gaurin smiled, a bit wryly. "I think that Lathrom, who is now
my second-in-command, is fairly used to some strange
happenings. Still, it is well thought-of by you."

   "While we're taking care of this matter, Ashen, you make beds
from those mats, like you did before. Rohan, you put away the
food and keep Weyse out of the dried grain and berries or she'll
have it all eaten before you can blink your eyes. Gaurin, you fetch
down a set of clay tablets I'll point out to you. They're on yonder
shelf."

    They scarcely had time, Rohan thought, to reflect on the
strangeness of their surroundings, what with Grandam Zaz
putting them all to work so promptly. But then, Ashen had been
here before so it wasn't all that new to her. Rohan stowed the
packages of meat and dried trail-food out of Weyse's reach.
However, he found himself giving in to the pleading eyes of the
little furred creature who, in spite of her heft, was giving a good
imitation of being on the brink of starvation. He took out a
handful of sweet berries to give to her. To his wry amusement,
Weyse tugged him to a seated position and then climbed into his
lap to enjoy her treat, nibbling the mixture from the palm of his
hand. Then she licked her lips, and as plainly as if she had used
words, indicated that she would now like a drink of water.

   Rohan found a basin set in the floor and, above it, protruding
from the wall, a hollow tube of the same rock as the walls, from
which trickled a steady stream of water. He wondered that
Weyse didn't simply drink from this, but with a philosophical
shrug he found a bowl—empty except for a few drops at the
bottom—and filled it for her. While the little creature lapped
contentedly, Rohan sampled the water himself and found it good
and sweet, and not as teeth-cracking cold as he expected.

   "We're done," Zazar said. "Now, all of you, leave me alone for
a while. Rohan, you go look around outside but mind where
you're going so you won't be lost. Not all Bog-creatures are
presently in a torpor. Ashen, I think you had something to show
to Gaurin. Weyse, you help me."

   With a little trilling sound, Weyse waddled obediently over to
the Wysen-wyf and stood up, clutching Zazar's skirts with her
clever little paws. Zazar picked Weyse up and cuddled her the
way a woman would hold a nursing child. "Yes, I'm fond of you,
too," she said, in an unaccustomed soft voice. "Now go," she said
in her normal, irascible tone to the rest of them. "I'll let you know
what I have learned when you return."

   With Gaurin's strength to help her, lifting the stone slab set
into the floor of the chamber was a trivial matter for Ashen. The
two of them, Ashen in the lead, descended the stairway thus
revealed and Gaurin pulled the slab down behind them. The
light-rods she remembered from years before still burned, but,
she also remembered, unless something had changed in this
changeless place, the light would fail farther on. She touched the
lantern she had brought, reassured by its presence.

   "I might wonder how Zazar knew there was something I
wanted to show you," Ashen said once they were out of earshot,
"but I gave up questioning how she knows what she does a long
time ago."

   "For myself, I never have questioned Madame Zazar and her
wisdom," Gaurin said. "Lead on, my dear."

   Just as Ashen remembered, the steps, so even and straight at
the top of the pit, soon turned crooked and narrow. When the
light-rods failed, Gaurin took the lantern, struck steel to flint,
and lighted it. They reached solid flooring and paused to study
the small stonework room in which they found themselves.

   "There," Ashen said, pointing. "That is the doorway. It seems
even smaller now than it did before."

   They both had to crouch to enter.

   With the lantern to help them, they hurried quickly through
the dank passageway that had taken all of Ashen's resolve to
travel those years before, turned left, and discovered the gleam of
light she remembered from her earlier journey. Gaurin
extinguished the lantern, conserving the oil, as they entered the
large chamber at the end of the tunnel.

    A few more of the light-rods were dark, but there was still
illumination by which they could see.
   "It is just as I remember," Ashen said. "The light-rods set at
the ends of these stone cases. I remember thinking how the
smallest one of them looked longer than I am tall."

   Gaurin gazed on the two rows of cases with an aisle between
them. He examined the ornamentation on the cases; the sides
and lids of each were decorated with a multitude of symbols.

   "I never knew what this place was," Ashen said, "but I
suspected that I had come upon a place of the resting dead."

   "You were correct, my dear," Gaurin said. "This is what is
called a catacomb, and these cases are sarcophagi. Tombs. It is
plainly a place of honor, such as the common folk do not use."

   Ashen touched her wrist and twisted the armband, carved of a
single piece of milky, translucent crystal shot through with subtle
rainbow hues. "Let me show you where I found this," she said.

   She expected to discover nothing left but a pile of dust, but
fragments of some of the bones could still be seen, at least pieces
of them. To her relief, the man's broken leg, something that must
have happened before his death, was hard to distinguish though
she could still see the shattered bones in her mind's eye. She
would not have liked Gaurin to have seen that. There were but a
few shreds of cloth left, and the red color had faded. The air of
sadness that had hung over this poor man when first she had
stumbled upon him seemed, if anything, intensified with the
continuing crumbling of his remains.

  Gaurin held out his hand. "Give me the bracelet, please."

   She took it off and gave it to him. He placed it on his own
wrist, and murmured a few words. Nothing happened for a
moment, but then the rainbow colors in the stone intensified and
swirled until the glow was almost blinding. It lit up the entire
area around them.

    To Ashen's amazement, a haze began to form over the sad
little heap of dust and bones. An image formed, though it was
thin and translucent and the stones on which the remains lay
clearly could be seen through it. Nevertheless, with the pricking
sensation Ashen had known before when she was in the presence
of Power, she realized that this image was that of the dead man
as he had once been. Now he wore garments of a deep, rich red,
in an outmoded style, but clearly those of a man of consequence.
His hair was the color of honey and his features were very like
Gaurin's, so much so that they could have been brothers. His
eyes were closed, and an expression of deep sorrow lined his face.

   Ashen moved closer to her husband and he put his arm
around her.

  "Yes," Gaurin said, his voice steady, "this was my father. Look
upon Count Bjauden of the Nordors."

  The man's image did not stir nor did his lips move, and yet a
hollow whisper filled the air. "Aye, my son. Count Bjauden was I,
who was most foully murdered by an agent of the Prince of
Rendel. I must be avenged."

   Ashen did some rapid calculations in her head, and realized
that in referring to the Prince the spirit was speaking of Florian,
before he became King. Gaurin glanced at her, and she knew he
had come to the same understanding.

  "Time has stood still for him," he whispered to her.

  "And yet he recognizes you."

  "It is a mystery."

  "Speak to him, Gaurin. Ease his soul."

   Gaurin thought a moment. "Indeed, murder most foul," he
told the pale image. "But well avenged by this lady's husband,
who killed the—the Prince in fair duel, but died for his efforts.
You have not known, for there was none to tell you. You might
have much to say to this man and he to you, on the other side.
His name is Obem."

  "Obem. He accomplished my vengeance? I will remember."

  "Even so. Dear spirit of my father, what else may I do? Shall
you be buried in more state than you have now?"

   "No. Let me be. 1 lie with, but not of, the great ones of a
bygone land and have waited long for a message such as yours so
that I might depart this realm entirely."

    "It is thanks to Obern that you may now go in peace, and in
honor. When you see him, tell him that his lady is well, for I have
her in my care. Assure him that nothing will happen to her while
I live."

  The whisper was growing more faint. "I will remember."

    Then Gaurin knelt and kissed the ghostly forehead of the dead
man. The image faded and, as Ashen watched, the few fragments
of bone remaining crumbled into dust. Gaurin reached out and
for a moment Ashen feared he was trying to bring his father
back. But he only picked up an ornate belt buckle that she had
not noticed before. It had probably been hidden under the shreds
of his clothing, now also vanished entirely, and she had not seen
it when first she had come through this passageway. Gaurin got
to his feet and gave her back the armband, which had resumed
its normal coloration.

   "Now we both have a talisman of my House," he said. "I swear
that I will never wear another buckle but this." He removed his
belt and affixed the heirloom, which was wrought as the image
of a snowcat wearing a silver collar.

   "Oh, Gaurin." Ashen put her arms around him and leaned her
head against him. They stood so, in the warmth of a close
embrace, for a long time. When he finally released her, she could
sense that the sadness she had felt in the very air of this spot
when first she had come upon the remains had, somehow,
dissipated. Gaurin's father was resting peacefully at last.

   They did not return the route they had come. Ashen took
them the long way through the city, as she recalled it, thinking
that the open air would help Gaurin, in case he was still troubled
by the manner of his father's passing. The daylight had failed by
the time they reached the courtyard and the curtained doorway.
They did not meet Rohan on the way; rather, they discovered
him inside with Weyse settled in his arms.

   "And did you learn what you wanted to know?" Zazar said.
She tended a pot of stew bubbling over the fire. Ashen realized
she had forgotten to eat anything since that early bowl of
noodles.

   "I learned the answer to a mystery that has troubled me and
my kindred for many years, Madame Zazar," Gaurin said. "And,
though it was a sad answer, I must thank you for your help."

  "Spoken well," Zazar said. "Now come and eat, and I'll tell you
what Weyse and I have been up to."


                        Seventeen
  There was, Zazar related, more to the matter than even she
had suspected.

   The Dowager had indeed engaged the Sorceress—sometime
Magician—Flavielle, hoping to obtain another servant of Power,
another set of eyes and ears to bring her information. However,
Flavielle had plans that Ysa knew nothing of.

   Where the Dowager had worked hard and steadily to avoid
any sort of conflict among her restive nobles, that very result was
Fla-vielle's purpose. To that end, the Sorceress was the one who
had suggested the ill-considered tourney to Ysa, and Ysa,
unsuspecting, had acquiesced.

  "After all, it would be an occasion for much merriment and
much attention lavished on the Dowager, the presenter of the
amusement," Zazar commented. "She does love attention."

   At the same time, undercurrents of unrest roiled, threatening
to break old alliances and forge new ones. This faction was now
poised on the brink of war with that one, while others waited to
see which might emerge the stronger, before taking sides.

  "Civil war brews," Zazar said ominously. "Then, while the
Ren-delian nobility is busy destroying itself, the Great Menace
from the

  North will take that moment to attack. Rendel will be
doomed."

   "Not if I have anything to say about it, if this be the case,"
Rohan declared with some vehemence. He stroked Weyse, who
seemed to have accepted him completely. The little creature
purred softly, snuggling more comfortably into his lap as he fed
her another tidbit from the leftovers of their dinner. "The
question is, how best to go about foiling Flavielle's plans? I can
see some danger here. It was only through Grandam Zaz's
intervention that I escaped being killed and having my fate
settled as just another victim of the Bog."

  "Go softly, but boldly," Gaurin advised. "Pick your moment
and then reveal all, in as public a manner as possible."

   "Listen. Gaurin is right," Zazar said. "However, I'll add this.
You can trust what I have told you. I learned the truth
through—Well, never mind how I did it. Let us just say that
Flavielle fell into a restless sleep."

   The Wysen-wyf shuddered slightly, and Rohan imagined her
wandering through the shadows of Flavielle's mind, learning
what the Sorceress knew. He would not have wanted to have
undertaken such a journey and, indeed, knew himself to be
incapable of such a feat. He now suspected that Flavielle had
connections to the enemy in the North, though Grandam Zaz
had not mentioned it. Therefore, he would bide his time and not
say anything until he was more certain than now. He did not
dare question her, not after she had declared that he could trust
what she told him.

   "Then I'll put a confident face on it," he said. "But I'd feel
better prepared if you, or Ashen, or Gaurin, or even Weyse were
with me."

  "Ashen and Gaurin will be in Rendelsham for the tourney.
Know that Weyse and I will be, also, if only in spirit."

   "That's all well and good," Rohan said glumly, "but scant
comfort if my words aren't believed."

  "Here," Zazar said. She handed him an amulet on a silk cord.
"This is a little something I brought back from a source of
Power. Display it at the proper time, and I promise that anybody
who doesn't believe, will change his mind."

  "What is the proper time?"

   "You'll know. Or if you don't, then there's no hope for you, or
for the world as we know it either."

  To Rohan's surprise, Ashen chuckled. "Trust Zazar," she said.
"She has told me much the same thing on occasion, and it always
worked out though I had no idea how it was going to."

  "Very well, then, I will," Rohan said.

    However, despite the Wysen-wyf's certainty, Rohan could not
dispel his basic doubts as he slipped the cord over his neck,
tucking the trinket into his shirt for safekeeping and also to hide
it from prying—and perhaps unfriendly—eyes. It all seemed
much too strange to him. Privately, he thought Zazar must have
erred somewhere, that she must have made a mistake, misread
what she had discovered while examining the Sorceress's mind
in the deepness of an enchanted slumber. Surely nobody would
be so wicked as to try to create conflict among the nobles of
Rendel, not when there was still the danger threatening from the
northern lands! He simply could not believe it.

   "Now, everyone sleep," Zazar ordered. "In the morning, I will
guide Rohan to the spot where one of the men from the
Oakenkeep awaits with his horse and his gear. Ashen, you and
Gaurin stay here. Then, when I return, we will go back through
the Bog, and you will go to your home."

  "How will we know if Rohan is successful?" Ashen said.

    The Wysen-wyf exhaled sharply through her nose. "I suppose
it is too much to ask you to believe it will be," she said. "You
won't have to be told, though. Didn't you hear me say that you'll
be making the journey to Rendelsham and witnessing the results
for yourself? You'll be expected there, with the rest of Rendel
nobility, to attend the tourney."

   "I was thinking of other things," Ashen said in protest. She
glanced at Gaurin, who smiled at her.

   "Heed the words of the Wysen-wyf of the Bog, my dear," he
said. "Of course we are bidden to attend, and I will do my best to
calm the tempers of those who will listen to me. This is a grave
situation, and we all have our parts to play, even you."

   "I?" Ashen said.

    "Indeed. You can renew your friendship with the Young
Dowager Rannore. Her words, though little heeded of late, can
still have an effect, particularly if she can make the youthful King
aware of what is happening in his country. And it is still his
country, however much Ysa flaunts her power."

   "I see. Yes, we will all do what we can. And I am grateful that
Zazar has the ability to do what she does, and the wisdom to set
us all on this needed pathway."

   "If I had wine, I'd offer a toast," Rohan said. "But all I have is
this." Comically, he held Weyse up, tossed her in the air, and
caught her. The little creature, startled, grabbed his hands as if
clinging for her life. Gaurin and Ashen erupted in merriment,
and even Zazar uttered a snort that could have been mistaken for
laughter.

   "Cuddle up and sleep with me, Weyse," Rohan coaxed, "and I
promise no more toasts for you. Agreed?"

   Apparently she did. However, sometime during the night,
Rohan roused and discovered her gone, only to find her curled up
with Ashen. In the morning, he awoke to see her busy under
Zazar's feet as she prepared a quick breakfast before the two of
them left on the short journey to the northern edges of the Bog.

  "I will say good-bye only for a little while." Ashen's manner
was cheerful, but Rohan thought he could detect a measure of
anxiety underneath.
  "Goodspeed to you, and we will see you in a few weeks, in
Rendelsham," Gaurin told him.

   The two men clasped hands, and Ashen kissed Rohan. Then
he and Zazar left.

   When Rohan entered the city again, he discovered to his relief
that his absence had not been noted. Indeed, he found himself
almost immediately immersed in the preparations for the Grand
Tourney, as it was already beginning to be called. Training,
under instructors hired by Count Harous, was stepped up so
much that not only Rohan but also all of the other young nobles
who had been moved to Rendelsham Castle regretted the
distance between there and Cragden Keep. Before dawn, they
were forced to march rather than ride, and this effort was
quickly increased to making them jog rather than walk. This
was, Harous told them, to help toughen them up. Rohan
massaged his aching muscles at the end of each day, as did the
others, and hoped this toughening would be accomplished soon,
preferably before it killed them all.

   In addition to this part of their training, they put in longer
hours at weapons practice and at learning to ride and fight at
the same time. Red was not a war-horse, but those young men
who lacked their own, as he did, were supplied from Count
Harous's stables. The mount assigned to Rohan was a spirited,
willful beast, but, his instructors assured him, this was all to the
good, as a well-trained war-horse fought as ably as its master. Its
name was Ironfoot.

   Like all Sea-Rovers, Rohan never developed a real liking for
combat from horseback, though he made himself become
competent at it because he knew he had to be. Likewise, his
axework improved, though he still could not be said to be an
expert with the weapon. He was only passable with the lance,
though better than some of his peers. However, his sword skills
advanced until he occasionally even earned an approving word
from Count Harous himself.

   "I'm almost too tired to eat," he told Cebastian one evening
when they had dragged themselves back to Rendelsham well
after dark. "And my backside is full of blisters where it isn't
callused. If it weren't for the possibility of catching a glimpse of
Anamara, I would forgo dinner entirely." That, he added silently
to himself, and the fact that the only way I can determine what
Flavielle is up to, is to be in her presence as much as possible.

   "The lovely Anamara seems to be avoiding you these days,"
Cebastian commented. "Mostly what I see is her back as she is
leaving the Hall."

   "She is shy to begin with, and now I think she is under
orders."

   Rohan said. "If you will notice, the Dowager doesn't seem as
pleased with me as she once was."

   "What have you done to deserve this?"

   "I don't know. Perhaps I have avoided her table too many
times of late. Well, either I will repair my reputation in the
Dowager's eyes, or I won't. I can only do my best."

   "As do we all," Cebastian replied.

   At least, Rohan thought as they entered the Great Hall
together, I think I know now the reason the Dowager was trying
to drug me that first night. Insisting that I pay attention to poor,
sweet Anamara was definitely a second thought with her. Power,
as Grandam Zaz has said, knows other Power when they meet. I
think Ysa wanted to have me malleable in her hands so that her
Magician-Sorceress could work her way with me, enlist my help
with whatever it is that the Dowager has planned this time. The
more Power at her disposal, the better.

   This also might explain Ysa's coolness toward him, that he
had rebuffed Flavielle's advances and the Dowager knew of it. He
only hoped that Anamara was not suffering because of Rohan's
failure to fall in with the Dowager's scheming.

   However, if Rohan's speculations were correct, nothing in
either the Dowager's or the Sorceress's attitudes indicated that
this was the case. To the casual observer, Queen Ysa had merely
turned her attention to another of the young nobles—Vinod of
Vacaster—the way a good sovereign would, so that she might not
be thought to be playing favorites.

   Rohan was not deceived, however. He caught a glance
exchanged between the Dowager and Flavielle, and caught also
the subtle nod in his direction. The back of his neck prickled in
the way he had come to recognize as a sign that he had detected
something other folk either could not, or which they chose to
ignore. He resolved to be even more on his guard—only wishing
he knew what he should be wary of.

   Days passed, full of activity, and the young nobles who had
mistakenly thought themselves in good physical condition did,
indeed, begin to toughen up. Rohan became aware of the
presence of the guard who had accompanied Flavielle that
evening when he had caught them going through his belongings.
His appearance had changed, though. Gone was the Dowager's
livery and, in its place, the plain fighting gear of a foot soldier of
Rendel, worn by the instructors helping with the training of the
men the young nobles had brought with them to Rendelsham.
Rohan recognized that there was more to the man than had first
appeared; he could be a hired tough, a cut above a street bully,
or he could even be a kind of apprentice of the Sorceress. By a
few discreet inquiries, he learned that the man's name was Duig
and that he was presenting himself as one of Count Harous's
soldiers with the rank of sergeant. Rohan noticed as well that
Duig frequently had a few moments' quiet conversation with this
one and that, and afterward there would be unpleasantness
between two of the leaders of the Dowager's Levy. This seemed to
happen with more frequency as the date of the Grand Tourney
drew closer and, correspondingly, the great nobles of Rendel
began to arrive in the city.

   Duig never indicated, by word or gesture, that he had ever
seen Rohan before, let alone been apprehended in the very act of
going through his belongings. And Rohan was careful to
maintain the same air of indifference.

   It would have been easy to put the whole matter down to a
fevered and overactive imagination, but one evening Cebastian,
who had been Rohan's closest friend in Rendelsham, tried to pick
a quarrel with him.

   Rohan was astonished. "And who told you that I was trying to
keep you from being knighted, so that your rank would be
inferior to mine?" he asked Cebastian.

  "One of the people who have been training us."

  "It wouldn't have been Duig, would it?"

  Cebastian looked startled. "How did you know?"

   Then Rohan told Cebastian of his suspicions, leaving out the
part about the Sorceress and her offer of—of whatever it was
Fla-vielle was actually trying to tempt him with. Cebastian's
anger cooled visibly even as Rohan spoke.

   "Thank you, comrade," he said when Rohan had finished.
"This casts a clear light on what has lately been a shadowy
mystery. Now I understand better what has been going on of
late. Jivon barely speaks to Steuart these days, and Jabez has
quarreled openly with Reges. And with as little cause as, it turns
out, I had to be angry with you."

   Rohan remembered what Grandam Zaz had told him—that
Flavielle had plans that the Dowager knew nothing of, and that
many of these plans centered about the Grand Tourney. "Could it
be," he asked Cebastian, "that our good sergeant even
encouraged you to report your grievance to the one who put you
in charge of the Dowager's Levy? Did he not suggest that you
complain to Gaurin when he arrives?"

   Cebastian gave him an odd look. "How did you know that?" he
said.

   "Just call it a guess," Rohan said. "Now we know the basis of
quite a bit of tension that is currently going on with those nobles
who are already here. Duig is the Sorceress's creature and his
assignment is to spread unrest."

   "Jakar of Vacaster is not speaking to Lord Royance. Whenever
they pass each other, Jakar actually puts his hand to the hilt of
his sword. And Lord Royance pointedly ignores him."

   Then it must be true, Rohan thought with a sinking feeling in
his stomach, though it was beyond all rational belief. Just as
Zazar had said, Flavielle was trying to foment a civil war, which
was not only against the Dowager's best interests but also
against those of Rendel itself! This could even result in Rendel's
destruction before the horror to the North had even fully roused
itself from its long sleep.

    The Grand Toumey was only a fortnight hence, and all the
great nobles of Rendel were summoned to be present, even the
ones who customarily stayed away from Court. Those living close
by were already in residence. He longed for Gaurin and Ashen's
arrival at the city. Surely when he could confer with them, he
could find a way to foil this dreadful plot. He touched the amulet,
still on its cord and hidden under his shirt, but got no measure
of reassurance from its presence.


                         Eighteen
   Two days later, to Rohan's immense relief, Gaurin and Ashen
did arrive at Rendelsham, a little earlier than expected. Because
of their rank, they were given lodgings even closer to the royal
apartments than had been the suite of rooms occupied by Ashen
and Obern. As soon as Rohan judged they had settled in, he paid
a call on them.

  Ayfare had already put everything to rights with great
competency. Gaurin and Ashen might have been living there for
months, for all the traces of upset that a move from the
Oakenkeep might be expected to create. Ashen hugged Rohan,
and Gaurin clasped his hand warmly in greeting.

  "Oh, it is good to see you again!" Ashen said. Then she held
him at arm's length. "But you're as hard-muscled as Gaurin isi
What have they been doing to you?"

   "Training, Ashen," he replied. "Gaurin knows what is required
for the making of a warrior."
   "Indeed, you look very fit. And what else has been transpiring,
since we saw you last?"

   Quickly Rohan filled them in on his various discoveries. "I did
not believe Grandam Zaz at first," he said. "But now I do. At least
in most things. Though the Dowager may think she has the
Sorceress to serve her purpose, it is plain to me that she has
welcomed a traitor instead. I believe also that the Dowager does
not know this, for, apparently, each now goes her own way."

  "Worse," Gaurin said, fingering the fanciful hilt of his Court
sword. "This Flavielle may even be working for the Great
Foulness to the North."

  "Such a possibility had occurred to me," Rohan admitted,
"but I didn't want to think about it."

  "And you say that this sergeant, Duig, has counseled
Cebastian to complain to me of you?"

  "Yes."

   "Then I suggest that you tell him to do so—or, at least, to
appear to do so, and also to make certain that Duig knows of his
action."

  "But sir, our aim is to unmask the Sorceress. How will such a
course of action be to our service?"

   "All must appear as if this mysterious person's schemes are
going as expected. Only then can we hope that she will make an
error that we can exploit and thereby expose her for what she is."
Gaurin took a deep breath. "Have you had any word from
Madame Zazar?"

   "No, sir." Rohan touched the amulet he still wore, under his
shirt. "Nor has this helped me find a direction. It is in this
regard that I have come to question her Powers."

  "Let me see what you have there, please."

  Rohan slipped the silk cord over his neck and held it out to
Gaurin. Made of silver, it was roughly oval in shape, the bottom
wider than the top, and bore a design of waves crashing against
the edges of the border of the amulet.

   Gaurin examined it and then gave it back. "It looks like
something fit for a Sea-Rover's badge," he said. "But I feel no
touch of magic about it."

   "Nevertheless, wear it," Ashen said. "The pierced stone that
provided me with a veil of protection at times when I needed it
had no feel of magic about it, either, until I said the words that
evoked the spell."

  "Perhaps Grandam Zaz didn't know the words to this tune,"
Rohan said with a laugh, putting the bauble back around his
neck.

   "Don't joke!" Ashen said. "Zazar always knows what she's
doing, even if we don't."

   "Well, let us hope that she still does," Rohan said, only slightly
abashed. "I have a feeling that our time for disclosing the
Sorceress's evil plans is growing very, very short. We've got two
occasions when we might move to thwart this woman's schemes.
A few nights hence there is to be a feast celebrating the
congregation of all the nobles of Rendel, and when the tourney is
ended, there will be another feast to honor the victors."

  "While time remains, hope will also," Gaurin said seriously.
"Now go and do as I told you and send Cebastian to me."

   With the arrival of Ashen and Gaurin, the seating
arrangements at dinner that night were changed. Because of
their rank, they would be placed at the high table and two of the
young men would be sent down to the second table, with more of
them being replaced with the arrival of each contingent of
nobles. Joban and Reges were thus demoted, and they sat as far
away from each other as possible. Their feud was, obviously, still
hot.

  Ashen and Gaurin, as was customary, shared a platter and
Rohan was placed next to them. She leaned over to address him.
"Show me the girl," she ordered. "Point her out to me."

   "Girl? What girl?"

   Ashen smiled, but her eyes were not warm. "Of course there is
a girl," she said. "There always is. Now, show her to me."

  "Well, I suppose you must mean Anamara," Rohan said.
"There she is."

   Ashen raised her eyebrows. "Seated so low?"

   "She does not like large gatherings, or so she told me. So she
hides in a crowd."

   "And yet you like her passing well."

   "I admit that I do. If she agrees, I will wear her favor in the
tourney."

  Ashen shrugged. "And if she does not, then you may wear
mine." Then she turned the talk to other matters, but Rohan
noticed that she took full note of Anamara, even while the
Sorceress was entertaining the assembled company.

   By the time the rest of the nobles from all over Rendel arrived
for the welcoming feast, the former seating arrangements might
as well never have existed. Now the youthful King, Peres,
occupied the center of the high table, flanked by his mother and
grandmother. The young nobles found themselves seated just
below, which suited Rohan well enough but caused a few frowns
from those like Vinod who had come to bask in Ysa's attentions.
The evening's festivities were truly impressive, as they were
meant to be, and every wall and table bore elaborate decorations.

  At Rannore's insistence, Ashen sat next to her, with Gaurin
beside her. Perhaps it was only because of Gaurin's presence, but
Ysa was cordial to Ashen, and to Rohan's relief no coldness on
Ysa's part ruined the feast.

   Rohan found no opportunity to denounce the Sorceress then,
even during the entertainment, nor in the days that followed.
Never did he sense anything to indicate that the time was right,
as Zazar had promised. His confidence in the Wysen-wyf, despite
an occasional spark, was eroding badly. Despair set in and every
time he tried to confide in Ashen or Gaurin, all they would do
was reassure him to have faith in Zazar. And in her Power.

    Gaurin did start a fad among the nobles, however—those who
still fancied themselves warriors. The next morning he joined the
young soldiers of the Dowager's Levy, and with them trotted in
full armor from Rendelsham Castle to Cragden Keep. There, he
exercised with them, testing their mettle and their skill. Several
of the other newcomers followed suit, though Rohan couldn't
help noticing that many of them were red-faced and panting,
grasping for jugs of wa-ter, while Gaurin scarcely seemed
affected. Rohan was proud of the man who had assumed the role
of foster father on his marriage to the woman who had assumed
the role of foster mother.

   "You have come a long way," Gaurin told Rohan at the end of
one of these practice bouts. "I might have to work to take you.
Had you ever thought about fighting with sword and dagger
together?"

  "My father used these weapons. But I daresay that he was
much, much better than I."

   "That's his Rinbell sword, isn't it?"

   "Yes, sir." Rohan handed the weapon, edges carefully blunted
with strips of soft lead, to Gaurin.

    "A very good piece of workmanship," Gaurin agreed, handing
it back. "It will never bear the stain of dishonor."

   "So the tale goes among the Sea-Rovers. A Rinbell sword will
fight only for one it accepts, and if dishonor threatens, will fall
from its wielder's hand first, and refuse to fight for him at all.
But that is only a legend. Many such are voiced against ancient
weapons."

   Gaurin smiled. "Of course. Now, guard yourself."
   Under Gaurin's instruction, Rohan felt he had learned more in
a few days about the subtleties of swordplay than he had in all
the set-piece matches instructors like Sergeant Duig insisted
upon. More castle-bound nobles, not wishing to be outdone by a
Nordorn exile, joined the exercises. Even the Head of the
Council, Lord Royance, did not scorn to seek a practice bout with
Count Harous. He summoned the spirit of the burhawk that had
always been his badge, and through skill if not endurance
acquitted himself very well against the younger man.

   "We should have been doing this all along," Royance told
Gaurin. "We must strive until strength departs and not depend
entirely on our youth in the days to come." He smiled, indicating
the belt around his middle. "I have taken it in one notch, and in
another day or so could gird it up another. Like too many, I have
grown slothful and idle."

   "Never you, sir," Gaurin said. "You set an example to all of us
that is hard to follow."

   "I think I will have another event added, specifically for the
senior nobility. And I will provide the prize myself."

  "May you win it," Gaurin said, with a salute to the older man.

   With a laugh, Lord Royance walked off and there was more
than a trace of youthful swagger in his gait.

   "I think you are the good example," Rohan observed. "Getting
these courtiers out of their velvet chairs and into the practice
yard has given them something to do besides sit and nurse old
grudges. Now we have what amounts to a truce among many
who, only a day ago, were at each others' throats. It's better than
anything I could have done with or without help." Unconsciously,
he touched the amulet Zazar had given him.

   "You can rest assured that, with just a little time, this
Sorceress would have found a way to turn this temporary truce
to her advantage and start even more deadly blood feuds."
Gaurin wiped his brow. "What events are you participating in?"

  "Only the showy one—the joust. There are those who are much
better at it than I, but that doesn't matter. If Ironfoot
cooperates, I will get eliminated early. Then I will have that
much more time to observe where the trouble spots are erupting,
and hope to soothe them."

   Sergeant Duig was calling to the young leaders of the
Dowager's Levy, so Gaurin slapped Rohan on the shoulder and
sent him on his way. "He will be wanting to give you your final
instructions for the morrow and your assignments in the lists.
Keep your spirits up, and we will meet tonight in the Great Hall."


                          Nineteen
   That evening, Rohan went in search of Anamara, instead of
leaving her to the privacy she seemed to desire. He found her
sitting at her accustomed table, placed much lower than what
her rank as one of the Dowager's ladies entitled her to. She wore
a cloak over her dress, with the hood pulled up as if to hide her
face.

   "I have missed your company, lady," he said. He thought she
turned pale. "Could it be that you are forbidden to speak to me?"
he asked with a boldness he might not have risked before. But he
had taken it for his motto, and so now he spoke his mind.

   "No, not exactly," Anamara replied.

  "Good. Then I may dare to ask for your favor to wear
tomorrow."

   "I—I had not thought of such a thing. Would this do?" From
the depths of her cloak she pulled out a piece of slightly
crumpled blue silk—the rose he had given her, back in the
garden on a frosty morning.

  He took it from her and held it to his nose. Yes, it smelled of
her warm, sweet flesh. "I will wear it proudly, and later I will give
you another. Dozens of them, if you like."

  She opened her lips as if to speak, and then closed them
again.
  "Guard yourself," she half whispered a moment later.

   He shook his hand a bit and the rose unfolded into a length
that might serve as a scarf. "This will make a good token, one
that the others will eye with wonder and amazement," he said.
"And never fear, I will guard myself well and be your champion
always, if you desire it."

   She made no answer, only turned away and pulled the hood
up closer over her face.

   Nonplussed, nevertheless Rohan took her giving of the
onetime silk rose as a good sign. Later, he would determine the
cause of her shyness and, if he could, dispel it.

   The day of the tourney, much anticipated, dawned bright,
cold, and clear. People's breath was frosty in the cold air, and the
restless war-horses emitted steam from their nostrils. The
pawing of their hooves on the frozen ground made a noise like
the ring of steel against steel.

   A great sheltered stand for spectators had been erected to one
side of the tourney field, a flat plain outside the city walls, and
the elaborately embroidered cloth of state put in place over the
royal box. A set of stairs led from this to a platform only a little
higher than the combat field. From this spot, the King himself,
young Peres, would award the prizes. This day the Dowager
would be in his shadow, and Ashen and Gaurin would be seated
with his mother, Rannore.

   No, Rohan corrected himself. Only Ashen. Gaurin would be
taking part in some of the events hastily planned for the nobles
when it became clear that they would not be content merely to
watch the striplings and the elders of the realm perform for their
amusement. Thus it would be a Grand Tourney indeed. Gaurin
had even sent for his favorite war-horse, a great bay stalh'on
named Marigold. Nordors, Rohan had learned, had a habit of
calling their fierce steeds by mild, innocuous names—the braver
the charger, the sweeter and more innocent the name. Marigold
was a very fearsome beast, indeed, and nobody but Gaurin could
ride him. When he trotted, he lifted his forefeet high, proudly
dancing along his path. When he galloped, he carried all before
him from the sheer strength of his charge.

   Rohan hoped to catch sight of Gaurin before his own planned
downfall. He had to get himself out of the way so that he could
spy out what was happening elsewhere. He knew that if he were
occupied on the tourney field, any effort he might make was
likely to come to naught.

   The jousting was scheduled first, the young nobles going
through their paces early. This would be followed by assorted
exhibitions by senior nobles and set pairs of other, younger men,
and then the seasoned warriors would take up the sport with
jousts and set-pieces as well before the Grand Melee, open to all
who cared to participate.

   Rohan had drawn third place in the lists and would run his
course against the winner of the first, whoever that might be. His
plan was to make Ironfoot swerve at the last moment, so he
could fall and be eliminated without glory, but without dishonor.
Then he could go and mix with spectators or participants as he
chose, rather than be caught up in repeated runs of the course
against other young nobles until a champion had been decided.

   He entered one of the tents set aside for the use of the junior
nobles. These tents stood toward the back, but with flaps open,
and it was easy to see what was happening. The stand was filling
rapidly, made gay by the bright-colored gowns of the women and
the glint of the jewels they wore. Many of the ladies had made
bold to throw back the shoulders of the fur-lined cloaks they
wore, basking in what sunshine there was, to show off their
beauty and elegance.

   Both of the Dowagers had already taken their places. Ysa
smiled and nodded to the people, but Rannore seemed more
thoughtful, even worried, as if King Peres might be in danger.
Ashen took her hand and began to speak softly to her.

  Cebastian called to Rohan from one of the trestle-tables and
Rohan went over to sit with him.

   "Take a cup of warmed wine," Cebastian said, offering the
flagon, "and some bread. You shouldn't go out on an empty
stomach."

  "Thank you for your concern, my friend, but I have no
appetite and I want to have a clear head. Perhaps later."

  "What's your number?"

  "Three."

   "Ah. I'm well down on the list, so any light-headedness I feel
will have departed long since."

  "Good luck to you. May you come out well."

  "And to you. Perhaps we'll meet in the lists after all."

   Rohan acknowledged his friend's good wishes with a rueful
nod of his head. Of course I could come out well in this if I
decided to, he thought, but unmasking the Sorceress—or the
Magician, the man or woman, whatever the person decided to be
that day—was more important. The back of Rohan's neck tingled
mercilessly, making him as nervous as if he were staking his
entire future on one run with the blunted spears or perhaps
facing an enemy of well-proven force and skill.

   I have bound myself to boldness and daring, he said to
himself. So, bold and daring must I be. To calm his nerves, he
concentrated on fastening the blue scarf to his helm. He couldn't
get it to stay. The brush of herbs and grasses, given him so long
before by Gran-dam Zaz, seemed too slippery to hold the silk. He
needed a piece of string or a thin strip of leather. He took the
silver amulet with the design of crashing waves from around his
neck. The silk cord it hung from would do extremely well.
Quickly he wrapped the cord around the scarf and tied it to the
tuft. This time, all snugged into place as if designed for the
purpose, though, to his mild surprise, the amulet seemed of its
own accord to tuck itself out of view. No matter how he tried to
arrange it so the trinket showed, within a matter of moments it
was hidden again.

   A blare of trumpets announced the arrival of the King and his
retinue, and so Rohan gave up the fruitless effort. He must be
content that his lady's favor showed. Another blare of trumpets
signaled that the Grand Tourney had, officially, begun.

   As he nudged Ironfoot into a heavy trot toward the frail fence
dividing the course the combatants must run, the amulet rang
softly against his helmet, calming him. He accepted one of the
blunted spears and hefted it as he moved to one side, awaiting
his turn.

   The first participants were Gidon of Bilth opposite Nikolos of
Grattenbor. An unfortunate pairing, seeing that there was
currently bad blood between their overlords, Gattor and
Royance. With keen interest, he watched Gidon unseat Nikolos
neatly, sending him tumbling onto the frozen ground. Nikolos
got up, signaling that he was unhurt, and the crowd cheered.
Then he turned to Gidon and said, his words carrying clearly in
the frigid air, "We will meet later."

  "I look forward to it," Gidon returned. He danced his horse
back to the starting place, exchanging his used lance for a fresh
one, and Rohan moved into position.

   This was good, he thought. Gidon is my friend. Also, he is
much better at the lance than I, and I need not even attempt to
persuade Ironfoot to swerve out of the course. He saluted Gidon,
and the crowd applauded as the other young man returned the
salute.

  At the signal, both urged their mounts into a heavy gallop.
Rohan remembered thinking how good was Gidon's seat and
how steady his lance, when the unthinkable occurred.

   Instead of his forcing Ironfoot into a false step, it was Gidon's
steed diat stumbled slightly on a bit of icy clod churned up by
the previous run. Under ordinary circumstances, that would not
have been enough to affect Gidon's attack and Rohan could still
have maneuvered himself into dropping the tip of his lance just
enough to miss, but Ironfoot took that moment to put on an
extra burst of speed. Rohan's weapon took Gidon squarely in the
center of his breastplate and sent him sprawling. The crowd
roared its approval.
   "Well run, comrade!" Gidon said as he got to his feet. "Good
luck for the next course!"

   Somewhat chagrined by his unexpected victory, Rohan turned
Ironfoot back toward the starting place. A squire took the lance,
examined it for signs of weakness, and handed him another. He
looked up to discover that this time he was facing Jabez of
Mimon, who was, if possible, even worse at this event than he.

   Well, he thought, gritting his teeth, if I could unseat Gidon,
then certainly another such miracle is possible. Even if I have to
do it all myself.

   This time he succeeded in pulling Ironfoot's off rein, making
him leave the path that was already being beaten on either side
of the fence just enough so that his spear missed and Jabez's
caught him on the shoulder. Over he went, with a crash that
jarred him from top to toe even though he was expecting it and
thought himself prepared. He clambered to his feet as the crowd
shouted its approval once more. Ironfoot was already trotting off,
as if disgusted, and a page caught him to lead him back to the
stable and give him a rubdown and a well-deserved bag of grain.
There was some laughter from the stands, as if at a joke, and he
hoped that his subterfuge had gone undetected by the onlookers.

   Whether or not, he never learned. He had scarcely gotten back
to the tent when a cry of pleasure went up from the spectator
stand. He looked back to discover the Magician, wearing his
robes decorated in magical symbols. He had appeared in a cloud
of blue smoke and ice crystals that floated down to the ground,
like snow. He produced a bouquet of flowers from nowhere and
began tossing the blossoms to the ladies above. They squealed
with delight as they vied for the flowers. Rohan walked back
toward the line of tents set up for the participants, trying to
catch a glimpse of Anamara in the crowd, but if she was there,
she remained hidden from his sight.

   Behind him, Reges of Lerkland prepared to run his course
against Jabez. A thunder of hooves, a clash of metal, and the
crowd shouted in delight as Jabez in turn became acquainted
with the hardness of the tourney ground. Then the tone of the
cries changed. Rohan turned, curious, only to discover that Jabez
had not gotten to his feet. The tent set aside for the physicians
was, he realized, going to see some duty today.

  He lingered until Jabez had been carried past, limp and
white-faced. To his relief, Jabez's injury seemed to be
minor—perhaps only a sprain or a joint out of place—for there
was no blood and no further outcry from the viewing stands.
Rohan made a note to himself to go and check on Jabez later,
when he was allowed to see him.

   He made his way back to the tent, hoping to join Cebastian
for the warmed wine and bread, but the other young man had
already left to prepare for his turn in the lists. By this time,
platters of meat and a dish of pears had been added to the fare
available so Rohan helped himself. While he ate, he divested
himself of the heavy breastplate, unnecessary now that he had
been eliminated in the jousting. Carefully, he untied the blue silk
scarf—it had brought him almost the luck he had hoped for, he
thought wryly—and tucked it into his sleeve. The amulet on its
silken cord he slipped back over his neck and under his shirt,
where it rested, cold at first and then warming, against his skin.

   Reges, who had not unarmed, watched him as he pulled on a
warm, fur-lined doublet over his chain mail. "Through already?"
he said.

   "I decided not to enter the exhibition," Rohan replied. He
helped himself to meat, piling it on a round of bread and spoke
around a good mouthful. "And you? I take it you were eliminated
as well."

  "I was, but not before I had put Jovan in the dust." Reges
smiled with grim satisfaction. "And Vinod. It took Steuart to
unhorse me."

   "Steuart is the best of us all with the lance," Rohan said. "It is
no disgrace to lose to him. We all knew he would win this prize."

   Reges shrugged. "Anything could happen. Jovan said he was
looking forward to the exhibition."

   Rohan leaned forward. "Look you," he said seriously. "Mend
the bad blood between you. It does neither of you any honor to
maintain your quarrel, when Rendel lies in the very shadow of
danger."

   "I see no such shadow," Reges scoffed. "You think that
because we are having unseasonably cold weather this means we
are all in fear of our lives?"

  Rohan understood, all too clearly, how the edge of danger
could go off for young men who, unlike himself, had not grown
up with the reality of what it meant to flee from the peril of the
North. His grandfather, Snolli, had filled him with tales and
Gaurin also had his stories to tell, none of them comforting or
boding well for the future once the Great Foulness and its
minions had fully awakened and begun to march. "The cold is
only the smallest part of it," Rohan said. "Why do you think the
Dowager summoned her levy of the young nobles of the realm, if
not for us to serve as the spear-point of her army?"

   Reges shrugged. "I don't know. And I suppose I don't really
care, either."

  "You should care," Rohan said. "But I daresay you won't."

   He got up, suddenly unwilling to continue the conversation.
"I'm going to see how Jabez is faring."

   "Give him my regards," Reges said, but his tone was
indifferent.

  Up in the viewing stand, Ashen had caught her breath when
Rohan was unhorsed. But, as he leaped up again, obviously
unhurt, she let it out in a relieved sigh.

   "It is difficult, watching a child—or one who is very like your
child—go into danger," said Rannore.

  "Indeed it is," Ashen said. "One's husband also."

   "I had nearly forgotten. Gaurin will be fighting in the joust,
will he not?"
   "He is to go against Harous. They are the only ones who could
give each other a good match. Later, he will be in the Grand
Melee against any and all comers. I know I shouldn't worry, but I
do."

   The Lady Marcala, wife to Harous in everything but the legal
ceremony, occupied the seat next to the Old Dowager, chatting
with her, and if she shared any of Ashen's concern, she didn't
show it by word or action.

   "Gaurin will be all right," Rannore said. "Harous also. The
rules of the tourney forbid any serious conflicts, and there will be
heralds stationed to enforce it, should tempers rise." The Young
Dowager reached out for Ashen's hand, and the two women's
fingers interlocked.

   "I envy you, Ashen," Rannore said. "There is nothing for me
here, though I am doomed to remain at Court unwed and
unwedd-able. You have your husband, your child, a quiet life
after the turmoil of your time at Court. If you choose, you can
settle down into quiet tranquility."

    Ashen turned and stared at her friend. "There is nothing in
my life to envy, I assure you. Daily I worry about what awaits us,
just over the horizon to the North. When the attack comes—and
it surely will come—Gaurin will be in the forefront of the men
fighting. It is his nature. And, as far as I know, I will have to stay
behind, going mad with worry. I cannot think of a way in which I
could help."

   Rannore returned Ashen's steady gaze. "And yet, I think there
may yet be something for you, if not for me. Your foster mother
was the Wysen-wyf of the Bog. She is known to be a very
powerful woman. More powerful even—" Rannore leaned closer
and her voice dropped so she could not be overheard—"than Ysa
herself, though my mother-in-law would never countenance such
a thought being expressed aloud."

  "Yes," Ashen said. "Zazar possesses much Power. But that is
Zazar, and I am not she."

   "And yet, I sense in you something that just awaits the time
and circumstance. Yes, my dear friend, I believe that you will
have your part to play, eventually."

   Ysa leaned forward from where she sat on the other side of
King Peres, so she could see the two younger women. "Telling
secrets?" she said sweetly. Behind her, Marcala laughed behind
her hand.

  "No, Madame," Rannore said. "Merely speaking of women's
matters that other people need not hear."

   "Well, look you to mind your manners. We are all on
exhibition here. Even the—" Ysa halted and Ashen knew,
instinctively, that she had bitten back the words Bog-Princess.
"Even our dear kinswoman from the Oakenkeep."

   "Please, Mother, Grandmother," Peres said. "You are
distracting me, and Steuart has but one more course to run
before he wins the prize."

   The King, Ashen noted, was a reedy youth. The current
fashion called for long surcoats, reaching nearly to the ankle,
which was a good thing because the King's bony knees made his
hose baggy. He seemed a little overwhelmed by the crown he
wore, but perhaps that was just the fur lining that kept the cold
metal from touching the royal head. She searched his face for
resemblance to his late father, or even his grandfather Boroth,
who had sired her and whom she had never seen until she had
been brought into his death-chamber and he had, unexpectedly,
acknowledged her as his own child. She found much more of
Rannore in him, which was to his credit, though this meant he
was probably not destined to be a great fighting King such as
Boroth once had been. His interest lay in watching, and laying
wagers on this one or that. Rumor was that he had been nearly
sick with impatience, waiting for the tourney to begin.

   Ysa patted the King's arm and the Great Rings she wore
showed clearly, for she chose not to cover her hands with gloves.
"Forgive us," she said soothingly. "We are but women and the
fine points of tournament play are beyond us."

  Ashen had to turn away to hide the twist of her mouth at the
Dowager's words. She knew that Ysa had been following the
jousts closely, despite pretending to be gossiping with the
woman who had once been her favorite, and that she had
marked each one as to his abilities. Just as she would mark the
contestants in the events to follow.

   They were clearing the field, Steuart having won, as everyone
knew he would, in preparation for the set-pieces for the elder
nobles. Absently Ashen took a piece of sweet pastry from the
platter that was being passed around in the royal box, and a
page handed her a goblet of the hot spiced fruit drink she
favored. She began to identify the nobles for Rannore, who was a
bit shortsighted.

  "You recognize Wittern, of course. He is matched
against—yes, it is Lord Royance. Gattor is going against Jakar,
which is a good thing, from all the rumors surrounding both
men and their disagreement with Royance."

   "It would seem that the nobles are being matched according
to rank, rather than ability, then," Rannore said. "My
grandfather is certainly no chaEenge to Lord Royance and never
was even when he was in his prime."

  "Well, it is only an exhibition, after all. I'm sure Royance will
not shame the King's great-grandfather."

   Rannore smiled at that. "I suppose we should admire their
spirit, which shines as brightly as their white hair."

   Ashen smiled in turn. "If the young nobles catch but a trace of
the indomitable character that their elders display, our fears
about the future of Rendel might be greatly lessened."

   "Let them but see the real warriors in action, then, and then
they will know what they are expected to live up to," King Peres
said. "Ah, there is the trumpet. The contest is about to begin!"

   Ashen turned back to view the field of combat. The elder
nobles, each seeming determined to show himself hale and
hearty, started through their paces, if a little stiffly. She had
learned something of swordplay from watching Gaurin at
practice, and realized anew that in all of Rendel there was
nobody—no, not even Har-ous—who could equal him. She
recognized the moves, the thrusts and parries, the gliding steps
and feints. With Gaurin, there was a consummate grace involved
as well, a confident bearing that made all who saw him know at
once that here was a fighter to be reckoned with.

    Here and there on the field, heralds were stationed in addition
to personal attendants of the combatants, marking the various
areas where the senior nobles were performing for the pleasure
of the crowd, and each other. Ashen could almost sense the
joy—in some of them, at least—of recapturing some of their
earlier prowess as they warmed to their work. Gattor of Birth,
however, she noted with a wry smile, matched against Jakar,
went through his paces laboriously and, she thought, more than
a little reluctantly. They fought in a spot close to Royance and
Wittern. She wondered absently where a suit of armor had been
located to go around Gattor's bulk or, indeed, if one had had to
be specially made.

   Suddenly the decorum of the event was shattered. Lord
Royance, breaking off from his engagement with Wittem, turned
on Jakar. "How dare you, sir!" he shouted in a voice that easily
carried to the royal box. "You will retract your words
immediately, or by all the Powers, you will answer to me here,
and now."

   Jakar assumed a defensive posture and heralds began to
converge on that part of the field. Gattor stepped back, panting
visibly, and accepted a goblet from his attendant. He took off his
helm, and despite the coolness of the day, began mopping
perspiration from his face.

   "I will retract nothing, Royance of Grattenbor," Jakar said,
"You are as I stated—a blowhard, a bully, and an indifferent
fighter even when you were young. You received too many blows
on your head when you were not wearing your helm. It is long
past time for you to retire from public affairs."

   Royance uttered a roar of pure outrage and took a step
toward Jakar, obviously intending to defend his honor then and
there. Wit-tern put a restraining hand on Royance's arm, only to
have it shaken off.

    Ashen got a muddled impression of the Dowager's Magician,
still down in front of the spectators' stand, making a series of
gestures, and then, to her amazement, Rohan came running out
of nowhere.

   "Stop!" he cried. "In the name of our lord King and all the
Powers, I command all to stop!" In his hand, Rohan held an
object whose brightness grew with every word until the dazzling
light filled the arena and caused all, even the Magician, to shade
their eyes lest they be blinded.


                           Twenty
   Almost at the same moment that Lord Royance turned on his
foe, Jakar of Vacaster, the amulet Rohan wore beneath his
clothing began to burn against his skin. Also, it vibrated, making
his teeth chatter. He had no time for coherent thought—he knew
only that he had to get the thing out into the open before it
burned through straight to his heart. Maddened by this as well
as the intolerable tingling on the back of his neck, he held it up
by the silken cord. It was glowing. Dimly he realized that once
more Zazar had proven correct.

   Now was the time to confront the Magician.

   He nearly knocked bystanders to the ground as he shouldered
his way through the crowd and raced toward the area in front of
the viewing stand, where the Magician still stood. He caught a
glimpse of the Magician's hands as he made certain gestures in
the direction of Royance and Jakar, and knew that this person
was undeniably responsible for the nobles' folly and mischief.

   Rohan held the amulet aloft and the brightness grew until all
were quite dazzled, shielding their eyes with their hands. Only he
seemed to be unaffected, as if he stood in some kind of core at
the center of the brilliance.

   "Stop!" he cried again. "Even you, Flavielle."
   With the pronouncement of her name, the Magician's male
disguise fell away and she stood revealed as the Sorceress. The
collective gasp of the crowd could not drown out her hiss of rage.
"What have you done!" she said, voice trembling. "You dare to
interfere with me! With—" She glanced up, toward the spot
where the Dowager sat, but Yea turned aside and refused to
meet the Sorceress's eyes.

    "Why, how now, lady," Rohan said. Full of a newfound
confidence, he took a step toward Flavielle and was rewarded by
seeing her, in turn, step back. "Do you fear the light? Or perhaps
it is the truth that you fear instead."

   She drew herself up and spread her arms. Snow drifted down
from her outstretched hands and tiny sparks of lightning
glittered from her fingertips. "You do not frighten me!" she said
haughtily. But her voice trembled, just a little.

  "No," Rohan agreed, "I don't think I do. But your powers are
not enough to extinguish that which I hold."

  Abruptly Flavielle abandoned all pretense of being anything
but who she was. She crouched where she stood, and the snow
began to gather in a drift at her feet. "Where did you get that?"

  "Let's just say it was given to me. And so I use it now to
conjure you to tell all here present the truth about yourself."

   From the stand, a woman uttered a strangled cry. "No—" But
then the Sorceress made a gesture and the Dowager was silent.

   "You do not want to learn the truth, young sir," Flavielle said.
Her voice had lost all its silken quality and now was little better
than a hoarse croak. "And I am sure there are certain others for
whom the truth is better left unsaid."

  "Such as?"

   The Sorceress ignored his question, not bothering even trying
to hide the contemptuous sneer on her face. "I once told you that
it was unwise to set yourself against me. Now, at least, you will
have ample time to reflect upon your folly, and what you have
brought on those you hold dear."

   "Who holds your real loyalty? I conjure you by this, speak
now!" Rohan held the glowing amulet higher and advanced a
step; again Flavielle retreated, and he realized that in spite of her
bold words, she knew a measure of terror.

   She cringed away from the light. "Stay back. Yes, as a man, I
was in the employ of Her Gracious Highness the Dowager Queen
Ysa. As a woman, I am my own creature! As to where my
loyalties lie, I leave it to you to puzzle it out, if you can!"

   So saying, the Sorceress straightened once more. She made a
gesture, murmured a few words, and a cloud gathered around
her. Lightning flashed inside the cloud as it swirled, full of snow,
and then, with a clap of thunder that reverberated through the
arena and echoed from the mountains, she vanished. A stench of
brimstone and a minor snowstorm were all that remained. At
the same moment, the amulet ceased to glow.

   As if released from a spell, the onlookers began to move,
asking questions, and rubbing their eyes in astonishment. Lord
Royance and Jakar stared at each other, and each lowered his
sword.

   "My—my lord," Jakar said shakily. "It seems that I have held a
grudge against you without cause and also that I have offered
you deep insult. Please, forgive me!"

   Royance blinked. "No more than I have had hard feelings
toward you, who have always been my friend and ally. I crave
your forgiveness in turn. And yours as well, Gattor. Let us mend
our friendship."

   The senior nobles embraced each other, there on the field of
combat, and the crowd, as if sensing that a cloud similar to the
thundersnow that had enveloped the Sorceress had dissipated,
began to cheer. Glancing behind him, Rohan could see that
various of his fellows were following suit. Gidon and Nikolos
clasped hands, speaking earnestly to each other, as did Jivon and
Steuart. Behind them, Cebastian lifted one fist in a salute of
victory.
   Up in the spectator stand, the Dowager Ysa managed to push
herself to her feet and move forward until she stood at the railing
that separated the royal enclosure from the rest of the area the
privileged occupied. "Good people!" she cried. "Good people,
pray, listen to me!"

   In a few moments, some measure of order had been restored,
and all eyes, especially Rohan's, turned toward the woman whom
the Sorceress had identified as her onetime employer.

   "I swear to you by these"—she held aloft both hands so that
the Four Great Rings of Power were visible to all—"that I am
innocent of wrongdoing! I engaged this person, whom I thought
to be a man, only in the service of Rendel. Through him, or her,
and her Power, I hoped to strengthen this, our realm, against our
deadly foe to the north. Alas, I fear I was duped. You have heard
our dear nobles, Lord Royance of Grattenbor, Lord Gattor of
Bilth, and Lord Jakar of Vacaster beg each other's pardon. Now I
must crave your forgiveness as well, knowing that all that I have
done has been for the good of you all."

   Then she crossed her hands over her breast—again, Rohan
noted, so that the Great Rings could not be missed—and bowed
her head, eyes closed. He could not help but admire the sheer
audacity of the woman, putting everything on one cast of the
dice before what she had to know was a fickle crowd.

   There was dead silence, and then somebody from the ranks of
the commoners down at the fence surrounding the arena,
shouted out in approval. All at once, the rest of the people there
gathered took up the cry.

   "Aye, good Queen Ysa," came the shout. "She's always seen to
us and our welfare, right enough. And no harm done, either!"

   King Peres stood up and, with courtesy beyond that of most
ten-year-old boys, conducted his grandmother back to her chair.
Then he returned to the railing, opened the gate, and began
descending the stairs until he reached the platform.

   "I think that when we have reflected on this day's events, we
will find that you have done us good service, Rohan of the
Oak-enkeep and of the Sea-Rovers," the King said. "Come
forward."

   Rohan knew that he should be making certain that the
Sorceress was really gone from Rendel, but one did not go
against the King's orders. Obediently he approached the
platform, set only a hand-span or so above the surface of the
ground, just high enough so that the King's boots would not get
wet from the cold, soggy ground. It put the King almost at equal
height with Rohan.

   "Kneel," the King said, and once more, Rohan obeyed. Peres
drew a Court sword from the scabbard at his side. It was
elaborately chased in gold, and bore many jewels on the hilt. He
laid the blade on Rohan's shoulder. "For these good services, I
herewith dub you Knight of Rendel. Arise, Sir Rohan."

   Things were transpiring a bit rapidly for him. He got to his
feet, already in imagination feeling the weight of his new title. "A
boon, sir," he said.

  One corner of the King's mouth quirked upward. "So soon, my
good knight? What is it, then?"

   "Sir, I crave that you similarly reward my friend Cebastian,
and also knight my companions, the leaders of the companies of
the Dowager's Levy, for they are not only my companions, but
your loyal men both today and in those perilous times to come."

   Now the King smiled openly. "Well said, Rohan. You could
knight them yourself, but I agree that it would be better, coming
from me. Very well, then, approach all who have striven for my
entertainment, draw near, and find your reward."

   Then, with Rohan standing nearby, King Peres knighted each
of them in turn. Cebastian was first, and he and Rohan
exchanged nods as Rohan remembered the lie Duig had told
about how he was supposedly blocking Cebastian's knighting. It
was this incident that had nearly made a rift between them. He
looked around, trying to find Duig. He had been among those
keeping order on the arena ground, but, like the Sorceress, he
had vanished.
   "Probably she took him with her," he muttered to himself.
"But then, I've always thought he was working for her all along."
Why, oh why, couldn't he be off, to make sure? But there was no
hope for it. He turned his attention again to the ceremonies
taking place. Steuart was next, and to him also went the trophy
for the jousting.

  Then Peres spoke, his boyish voice a little shrill in the cold air.

    "The man or woman who was masquerading as the Magician
is gone forever. My friends, enjoy yourselves and be merry!
Therefore, by my royal command, the tourney will proceed as if
nothing untoward has happened. Let the warriors proceed at
once to the lists and let us now have more jousting!"

   The crowd shouted its approval, but Rohan could scarcely
believe his ears. He gritted his teeth, every fiber of his being
urging him to go after the Sorceress and make certain that she
had truly vanished. He could not shake off the feeling in his
bones that she was going to do one last mischief before she left
Rendel altogether, but one did not gainsay a royal Command, no
matter how foolish or how unfortunate the consequences.

   As soon as the Grand Melee was over, and lingering no longer
than good manners required after the prizes were awarded, the
Dowager Queen Ysa retired from the cold, damp spectator stand
into the warmth of her own apartment. She gave orders to make
the fire roar, and Lady Ingrid quickly piled on dry wood, which
caught at once. Ysa turned to see Marcala, who had
accompanied her, standing hesitantly in the doorway.

  "Oh, how wonderful to be warm again!" Ysa said. "Come in,
Marcala. Ladies, please leave us. And Grisella, shut the door.
There's a draft. And send for hot wine."

   "Yes, Your Highness." Ysa's lady-in-waiting pulled the door to,
leaving the two women alone.

   Marcala edged her way into the room with even more evident
hesitation. No doubt due to the rift that had opened between
them, Ysa thought, even as various quarrels had arisen among
the men. And what was it about? Marcala's desire to marry
Harous? A trifling matter. And now that her latest covert servant
had proven a traitor, she must ensure loyalties where she found
them.

   "Oh, do come in. Let us be friends again. After all, who else is
there in all of Rendel who is a match for either of us?"

   Marcala smiled, a little tentatively, Ysa thought. "Madame,"
she said, with a curtsey. "I have always been your friend."

   "Then that is settled. Did you ever see such a spectacle as
that— that charlatan created? All the time, he was a woman, and
pretending faithfulness when now it is quite obvious he—I mean,
she—was working for the menace to the North."

   That startled Marcala out of any diffidence. "Do you really
think so?" She moved forward and held her hands out to the fire,
rubbing some warmth back into them.

   "It is the only explanation," Ysa said. She rubbed her own
hands, feeling the Great Rings of Power snugly in place under
her fingers. They gave not the least hint that they were inclined
to go to another, not even the wispy little King, so brave in
knighting the young men that she had caused to be in
Rendelsham in the first place! Peres would need her wisdom and
counsel for many years to come, that much was certain.

   She only wished that she didn't feel so much contempt for the
lad. He took too much after his mother—though it was a blessing
that his father was not stronger in him. Almost, Ysa wished that
more of Boroth had managed to make it through the bloodlines.
With her, Ysa, to guide him, a young version of her late husband
would have made a King to reckon with!

   Well, wishing would not affect reality in this, as in so many
other matters. "Yes, the only explanation," she repeated. "Think
you. 'Flavielle,' wasn't that what Rohan called her? That snow she
produced at will. Only somebody from the North could do that
sort of trick, or, for that.matter, would. Here in Rendel, we have
no great reason to love the snow the year round. Now that I think
on it, I believe that Flavielle was taunting us with it, laughing at
us for being too stupid to know what she was and who she was."
   "I think that you are right, Madame," Marcala said. "It seems
to me that the world grew colder the moment she appeared at
Court, but I put it down to my own imagination playing tricks on
me."

   "Well, she is gone now, and gone for good, I'll warrant. But the
next time I hire anyone to aid me in Rendel's defense, I'll make
sure he—or she—is as reliable and loyal as you."

   She smiled at Marcala, and Marcala returned it, visibly
relaxing in the warmth of the Dowager's favor, even more
welcome than the warmth of her fire.

   Perhaps, Ysa thought, she would even reconsider the matter
of Marcala's marriage to Count Harous. The Sorceress's
appearance in the very center of the Court at Rendelsham must
have been a signal that the forces to the North were beginning to
think themselves strong enough to march in earnest, rather than
send entertainers and charlatans and thundersnows in their
stead. Harous had, for all his own peculiarities and
investigations into some of the areas of Power that intrigued
Ysa, always been loyal to Rendel and to its rulers. If there was to
be war, then Harous deserved the opportunity to leave a part of
himself behind, in the form of a wife and, perhaps, children.

    "I've missed you, Marcala," Ysa said. "Come, sit with me, and
let us catch up on what has happened to us both."

   One of Rendel's newest knights also had an errand as soon as
he could extricate himself from the hubbub surrounding the
day's events. When Rohan had made sure that the Sorceress was
not in her usual haunts, he searched everywhere for Anamara,
wanting to share with her his excitement at being officially
ennobled and, perhaps, even to ask her—

   Too soon. There were many hurdles to cross, many areas of
acceptance still to be gone through, before he could think of
winning his fairest lady. First, though, he had to find her.

   Not to his surprise, he discovered that most if not all of the
late King Florian's followers had vanished, along with Flavielle.
Perhaps, he thought, remembering his abduction and
near-murder, they had been working hand in glove all along. But
more likely they were just followers who were willing to blindly
follow their leaders into the unknown. And, obviously, they had
picked the Sorceress as a better leader than anybody in Rendel,
even the Dowager.

   That did not explain his difficulty in locating Anamara,
however. Frustrated, he sought out the apartment where Ashen
and Gaurin were staying, wanting to talk die matter over with
his foster father. He would be back eventually, after he had
disarmed and washed following the melee. Surely Gaurin would
be able to advise him and, perhaps, even to help him puzzle out
where Anamara had gotten herself off to.

    Ayfare let him in. "My congratulations, young sir," she said,
"if you don't mind my taking the liberty."

  "How could I mind?" he replied, laughing. "As many times as
you've swatted my bottom when I had gotten into
mischief—Well, let's just say, I thank you."

   She laughed in return. "Not that you didn't deserve it. But you
didn't come here to talk about spankings."

  "No, I didn't." He sobered. "I need to speak to Gaurin and, I
hope, without Ashen being present. Not just yet, at any rate."

   Ayfare's eyebrows shot up. "Well, sir, you must know best. My
lady Ashen is with the King's mother, and I don't look for her to
be back anytime soon. I can send someone to hurry Lord Gaurin
along, if you like."

  "Yes, please."

   Ayfare summoned one of the retainers they had brought with
them from the Oakenkeep, gave him instructions, and presently
Gaurin let himself into the room where Rohan waited.

  "How now, Sir Rohan!" the warrior exclaimed genially,
obviously in a very good humor. He set a large standing cup,
heavy with gold and gems, on a table. It was obviously a prize he
had won. "I would have thought you would be out carousing with
your fellow knights. Or is it a knave you've chosen to be,
instead?"

  "No, sir, if luck be with me. I've come to seek your help in
working through a puzzle."

   "If I can help, of course I will."

   Rohan quickly related his growing infatuation with Anamara,
his feeling that she reciprocated, the way she had given him the
favor to wear in the tourney, and his lack of success in locating
her. "I wanted to see her, to tell her—Well, to see her," he
finished lamely.

  "I understand, Rohan. I fell in love with Ashen the first
moment I beheld her. And she, I think, with me as well, though
honor forbade that she should admit it."

   "Really?" It was a story Rohan knew only second- or
third-hand. "I would love to hear about it."

  "I will tell you about it, sometime later. Now, let us try to
decide where it is that your lady has gone."

   "I have my fears—"

   "Speak. If they are false, then they can be dispelled. If they are
true, then we can deal with them."

   "Flavielle spoke to me of having ample time to reflect upon
what she called my 'folly,' and of what I had brought on those I
hold dear. I thought it was a threat against you and Ashen. Now
I wonder if it wasn't against Anamara instead."

   "It is entirely possible." Gaurin sat thinking deeply for a
moment. "I think you should go to the Bog," he said finally. "You
owe Madame Zazar a report on what happened when the amulet
she gave you issued the signal to unmask the Sorceress. And,
despite your confidence in me—for which I thank you—I think
she might be better equipped to help you locate your ladylove
than anyone else."
   "I had considered doing this already, but wanted to talk over
the matter with you first. I would be a knave indeed, if
something had happened to her and I didn't go to remedy it."

  "Provision yourself, and seek out Madame Zazar as soon as
possible," Gaurin said. "I have a feeling that the less time you
waste, the better."

  "Thank you, sir." Rohan bowed to Gaurin, as one noble to
another, and, for the first time in his life, knew the pleasure of
having the salute returned.


                       Twenty-one
    Anamara had never wanted to attend the Grand Tourney at
all, and only the fact that Rohan would be participating and
wearing the favor she had rashly agreed to give him prompted
her to do so. She could not bring herself to occupy the place to
which she was entitled, where the gentry took their ease, and
thus be on display to all. Instead, she borrowed a plain cloak
from a maidservant and took care to hide among the common
people who crowded against the fence separating the tourney
grounds from the area nearby where vendors and entertainers,
tinkers and weapons dealers, had set up their booths, eager to
profit from the festival. The smell of hot cider and smoking
meats filled the air. Anamara's stomach growled; she had been
unable to eat any breakfast that morning. Nor could she eat until
she knew Rohan was safe.

    Anxiously she craned her neck and stood on tiptoe, trying to
see over the people who blocked her view. Then the crowd shifted
a little as a group of friends decided that hot food on a cold day
was preferable to standing and waiting for something to happen.
She gained a vantage point from which she had as good a view as
any not seated in the spectator stand.

   Gidon and Nikolos were just entering the lists. She watched as

   Gidon neatly unhorsed his opponent. Then her heart nearly
stopped as she saw Rohan on the horse he had been given, come
trotting in to take his turn. There was no mistaking him—the
strange tuft of herbs and grasses he wore in his helm would have
identified him anywhere even if the blue silk of her favor were
not floating in the breeze.

   Oh, please, she said silently, let him not be harmed! To think
of his wide, sea-green eyes filled with pain or his open and
honest features contorted with agony filled her with such dread
that she swayed on her feet. She forced herself to stay and watch,
hating the spectacle, wishing it were over and done with and
that she and Rohan—

   She never finished the thought. Almost before the joust began,
he had put Gidon in the dust and the crowd was roaring its
approval. She gulped, hard, against something bitter that had
unaccountably arisen in the back of her throat.

   Then Rohan was trotting back to the starting-point and
selecting another blunted lance. That meant that he was going to
have to fight again, and once more, she would die a thousand
times before all was done.

   She didn't recognize his new opponent, but the murmurs of
the crowd told her it was Jabez of Mimon. She heard bets offered
and taken, that Rohan would have Jabez unhorsed even before
they properly met. It came as an unpleasant surprise to those
betting on Rohan when he was the one who ended up on his
backside. Those who had bet against him roared with laughter at
their unexpected win.

   She lingered only long enough to make certain that he was
unhurt. He doffed his helm and waved to the crowd, his red-gold
hair shining in the sunlight. Then, knowing that he was safe, she
began to make her way up the steep path, back to Rendelsham
and the seclusion of her rooms.

   She heard voices. Someone was coming down the path she
was climbing, and, not wanting to have to offer a possible
explanation for her not attending the festivities, Anamara
ducked behind a clump of bushes to hide. Presently two people
came into view. One was a woman she did not know, and the
other a man she had seen a few times before, someone she
recognized as the Magician's personal attendant. Duig.
   "So today's the day, eh?" he said.

  "Yes. Everything begins with the senior nobles' exhibition.
That is, if you've done your job properly."

    "Oh, never fear, Lady Flavielle. The easiest part was with the
young nobles. I've got most of them practically at each other's
throats. Many of the warriors are none too pleased with each
other, either. But my best work was with the seniors. Old cocks,
still thinking they're fit for warfare." The man laughed, an
unpleasant sound. "The Florian faction helped, too, more than
they knew."

   "Then all that is left for me is to give just a small push and the
war will begin. Not even the little boy who is King will be able to
stop it." The woman laughed as well, and the sound put shivers
down Anamara's back. Then she turned more serious. "Now, that
one person I was concerned about…"

   "Alas, lady, I could do nothing directly. He has countered
every effort on my part. Maybe Sea-Rovers are more resistant,
somehow, to anything but what they're set on."

  They could only be speaking of Rohan. Anamara leaned closer,
not wanting to miss hearing a word of what they were saying.

  "Perhaps," Flavielle said. "Well, no matter. When the fighting
begins he'll be caught in the middle of it like everyone else. Too
bad he wouldn't listen to reason. Now he'll die."

   "No?" Anamara couldn't bite back the exclamation. Both of
the people on the path turned instantly, toward the sound of her
voice.

   "See who it is," Flavielle said.

   Anamara leapt up and made a desperate dash for the path,
hoping somehow that she could escape. She got tangled in the
bushes and in her own skirts, and the man caught her in an iron
grip.

   "Leaving so soon?" he said. "The festivities are just getting
started."

   "Let me go!"

   Flavielle waited on the path while the man dragged Anamara
back to where she stood. "Who are you, to be spying on me?" she
said.

   Anamara stood silent, glaring at both of them. Her hands
were already growing numb and useless, so tight was Duig
gripping her arms.

   "I think we've got ourselves a prize," Duig said. "This here's
Lady Anamara, one of the Old Dowager's young ladies. A sort of
ward, you might say. She and Rohan are sweet on each other, so
the rumor goes."

   Flavielle smiled grimly. "Yes. I knew her by name only. She
was intended for—never mind. Well, then, it is a stroke of good
fortune that put her in my care." She reached out, and despite
Anamara's flinching away, stroked her on the cheek. Then she
gripped the girl's chin so tightly Anamara thought the woman's
sharp fingernails were going to pierce her flesh. "She'll come in
handy, later—especially if Rohan lives through the next hour.
Take her and put her somewhere for safekeeping. I'll deal with
her later."

   "So I will—sir."

   Anamara watched, gape-mouthed, as the woman stepped
back, pushing back the cloak that had covered her. She made a
gesture, and right before Anamara's eyes transformed into a very
familiar figure indeed—the Magician] "But—" Anamara began.

   "Silence!" the Magician commanded. "Duig?"

   "At once. All will be ready for your command."

   Even if she had not been dazed at what she had just seen and
heard, Anamara was unequal to the man's sheer strength. He
clapped one hand over her mouth to stop any outcry, and began
to drag her with him. Despite her struggles, she was forced to
accompany him to one of the outbuildings of the city, outside the
wall, where he shoved her into a cold, dank room, and locked the
door behind her.

   She scraped together some of the moldy straw that littered
the floor and sat down on it. She had to think, had to work
through

   The Bog was, if anything, even more dank and dismal than
Rohan remembered from the last time he had been in it, and
that had been bad enough. Now a shadow darker and more
impenetrable than any he had seen before seemed to lie over it.
He could scarcely penetrate the gloom.

   Only his knowledge of the ways that Grandam Zaz had taken
him, both in and out, kept him from getting hopelessly lost. He
found renewed reason to be glad that the cold had sent most of
them into permanent winter torpor, and that the human
inhabitants were reluctant to be abroad except at need.

   He located one of the small boats the Bog-people customarily
hid along every waterway, and this made his journey somewhat
easier, with his not having to beat his way through sodden
underbrush. He put his pack into the boat, picked up the pole,
and started poling himself along. To keep up his spirits, he began
to whistle softly to himself.

  Somewhere in the depths of the Bog, something answered.

   Instantly alert, he set the pole into the bottom of the boat and
the implications of what was even now happening—and find
some way to escape, so that she could warn Rohan.

   And she added to herself, the Dowager and the King and his
royal mother and the rest of the Court. But most of all, Rohan.

   Now it was clear to her that the man—no, the woman—who,
rumor had it, was another of the Dowager's minions, was in fact
a traitor whose scheming could very well bring down the nation.

   There was no use in battering at the door. It was made of
thick wood, strengthened with iron straps. The one window was
shuttered, barred from outside, and even if she had something
with which to pry up the bar, there was no chink through which
to push a tool. She could only wait, helpless and weeping, while
worry and terror built up in her.

  Even screaming would do no good. There was nobody to hear.

  let what sluggish current there was carry him at its own slow
pace. As he drifted, he drew his sword and watched cautiously on
both sides for any sign of whatever it was that had so responded.

   As the minutes passed without a repeat of the signal, if signal
it was, he took up the pole again. But he kept his pace slow. He
might meet foe or he might meet friend, but whoever it might
be, there was no gain in rushing forward headlong, even though
he had taken boldness for his byword.

  Cautiously, he whistled again.

  And again, something answered.

   Faint noises from the tourney field reached even to the dismal
stone room that imprisoned Anamara. She had long since
sobbed herself out but she lifted her head from where she had
been resting it on her knees, when the thunder boomed.

  A few moments later, there was a noise at the door and Duig
opened it. "Get up," he ordered brusquely.

   When Anamara didn't move, he grabbed one arm and hauled
her to her feet. Behind him, she glimpsed the Magician—no, not
he, but the woman Flavielle, still dressed in her robes bearing
magical symbols.

  "Hurry," Flavielle said. "There's no time to losei"

   "I'll round up the ones we can count on. But can you deal with
the girl?"

  Flavielle's lips twisted. "She'll give me no trouble. Now go.
They're going on with the tourney, if you can believe it. We
might have an hour before someone thinks to send after us. We
must make the best use of the time we have. Take what followers
you can find, and go at once to the seacoast—you know the spot.
I'll join you."

  "And what about her?" Duig said, indicating Anamara.

   Flavielle regarded the girl almost fondly. "Oh, I have some
special plans for her. Her lover will regret that he did not
renounce her and join me. I'll see to it."

  Even Duig looked a little taken aback.

   "Well, don't waste time!" Flavielle told him, and her voice had
a whip-crack in it. "Go!"

  The man turned to obey, leaving Anamara with the woman
who, she knew with a sinking feeling, was as dangerous an
enemy as any she would ever encounter in her life. Perhaps
because she could not hope to live very long—

  "Nor do I have time to waste in coddling you," Flavielle said.
"Look into my eyes."

   Again she grabbed Anamara's chin, and, despite herself,
Anamara obeyed. Flavielle's eyes were deep, so deep she could
lose herself in them, and something in their depths seemed to be
spinning——-

    The voice became a croon, almost a song. "We will fly away,
my little bird, fly to a spot where you will be free. Yes, free and
happy, too. Forget all the cares you knew as a lady of the Court,
and forget even that you once were a lady. You are no more than
a bird who will fly once, and then not again. Come with me, and
fly. Fly."

   Anamara's cloak flapped in the wind as she soared, hand in
hand—or was it wing in wing?—with the other bird. Higher and
higher over the land they rose, until the people below were mere
dots on a cold landscape.

  They crossed a twinkling thread of light and then flew over a
darkened land. They began to descend, and the voice spoke in
her ear again.

   "Here is the place for you, little bird. Men come here but
seldom. It is your new home. Your new home, little earthbound
bird. Remember this."

   Suddenly the air spilled out of her wings, and Anamara
tumbled to the ground, her cloak crumpling about her. She
looked up to see the woman once more standing before her. She
did not know the woman's name, or even her own. She blinked,
uncomprehendingly, as the woman spoke to her.

   "I cannot make you forget what you have seen and heard," the
woman told her, "but I can take away your wits so your
knowledge does you no good, nor anybody else. Perhaps there is
a hungry big lupper left awake so that you can hope for a quick
death here, where death lies waiting around every corner and
under every footfall. That is what happens to little earthbound
birds who blunder into this place. And so I take my leave of you."

   The woman raised both arms. With a cloud of smoke and a
clap of thunder, she disappeared, leaving the other alone.

   I wonder who I am? she thought vaguely. I am not of her
kind— the woman who flew. 1 flew, once. Can I do it again?

  She waved her arms, trying to fly, trying to recapture the
wonderful way she had soared over the world, but to no avail.
The woman had said she could not.

  I am a bird-girl, she thought. Earthbound. And this is now my
home, though I am sure to die soon in it.

    All was silent, with only an occasional sound to mar the
stillness of her surroundings. Here there was a plink of water
dripping; there, a torporous dweller of this region searched
indifferently for food. Everywhere dank moss dangled from trees,
and clumps of reeds grew in an underbrush fit to tangle even a
light-boned bird-girl for whom this inhospitable place was her
deadly home.

  Should she stay where she was? Or should she move from spot
to spot until she found one perhaps a little dryer than the
half-frozen muck where she stood waiting for death? She decided
to move.

   She discovered another thread such as she had seen while
aloft. Some fragment of memory from her old, discarded life told
her this was water. A stream, but not like any she had ever seen
before. Under the light that glinted on it, this one was dark and
murky, and its current slow. But she stooped to drink from it
nonetheless and spat out the water at once. It tasted as ill as it
looked.

    I must find a place with good water, and perhaps food, she
thought, while I wait to die, for I am hungry. I wonder what sort
of food I eat.

    She began to pick her way along what might once have been a
path, avoiding the worse places. Then she heard yet another
sound, a different one. It was a kind of music, though thin and a
little off-key.

   Another piece of memory surfaced. It was a whistle. Birds—
tame ones, she knew—responded to whistles. She had seen them,
in cages, safe and warm and happy as they preened their
feathers. All they had to do all day was sing, and be beautiful to
look upon. Though she was only a bird-girl and not in a cage of
any sort, it seemed to her to be altogether appropriate that she
respond to this whistle as well.

   She opened her mouth-—her beak—but nothing came out.
With some effort, she produced a sound more like a lupper's
croak than a birdcall. The music stopped at once.

   Disappointed, she started making her way as silently as
possible in the general direction of where it had come from. To
her pleasure, the whistle sounded again; and again, she croaked
an answer. This would not do, she thought vaguely. It was
unseemly for a bird-girl to make such an unpleasant noise. It
grated on her ears. It seemed to her that she had once been
tame, and safe and warm. Even, in a way, happy. Perhaps she
could be so again. She must practice her song, and try harder to
do it correctly. It was cold here in her new home, and she did not
like it. She was hungry. Perhaps if she could sing sweetly enough,
she could have her own cage and be safe and warm once more
and even have something to eat as she preened her feathers and
was beautiful to look upon.

   Beautiful to look upon. The repetition of the words pleased
her. Beautiful. To look upon.

    That second response galvanized Rohan into action. It could
be no accident that something—or, perhaps, someone—was out
there, moving parallel to the stream he floated on. He poled
himself toward a bank where he could tie up the boat, clambered
out, and took a few steps through the underbrush. He stopped,
listening closely, and was rewarded by the sound of light
footsteps and what might have been leaves rustling in the wind,
but the air in the Bog was still.

   "It's a matter of tracking," he said to himself, so softly that his
words did not carry past the spot where he stood. And, he added
silently, of being patient. This was a trait which came hard to
him, but nonetheless, he must do it.

   He began moving as quietly as possible in the direction from
which the footsteps seemed to have come. He paused and
whistled again, and again a sound came back, a little more
clearly each time. It was much closer now.

  Still whistling and letting the other one respond, he closed the
gap between them. Just one bit of underbrush lay between him
and—He stepped out of concealment.

   "Anamara!" he exclaimed, so astonished his jaw dropped.

   She gave him a quick and nervous smile, fluttering her hands.
She did not speak. Instead, throwing her head back, she uttered
the trilling, clear cry of a forest bird.


                       Twenty-two
   Rohan watched, his uneasiness growing, as Zazar bustled
around, selecting this ingredient and that out of the pots and
jars which had been stashed narrowly on shelves, or under piles
of woven mats. Just out of the light of the fire, Anamara sat
picking at a dish of the fruit-and-grain mixture that Zazar
seemed always to have on hand. He could not help but think that
Anamara looked for all the world like a bird perched on a
branch, only without the branch. If she could, he felt sure she
would have tried to peck out the grain so she could swallow it.
Instead, daintily, she picked up morsel after morsel with the
fingers of one hand and dropped it into her mouth. Whether she
actually chewed or not, Rohan could not tell. Birds, he knew,
swallowed their food whole.

   "Will she be all right, Grandam?" he said.

   "That has to be the twentieth time you've asked me that, and
for the twentieth time I'll tell you—I think so but I don't know
and won't know for a while yet. Now let me add these seeds into
it— Ah. Now I have it."

   The Wysen-wyf settled down beside the fire and, taking a
smooth rock shaped like a pestle, began to crush the herbs and
seeds and other items in a stone bowl that had seen much use. A
spring-fresh green smell began to fill the little house.

  Rohan could only wait, trying to hide his impatience. Zazar
would either succeed, or she would fail to bring Anamara's wits
back. Until now, Grandam Zaz had never failed. And yet, there
could always be a first time…

   "Good," Zazar said after a time, prodding the crushed mixture
with her well-trained old ringers, testing it for smooth
consistency. "Now, please fetch me that pot of boiling water, if
you will."

    Rohan hurried to obey. Zazar took the water and poured a
little into the dish, and then a little more, stirring carefully. "Too
much and it's just soup. Too little, and I can't form it into a pill
for your lady. What did you say her name was again?"

   "Anamara."

   Zazar eyed the bird-girl, thinking, the corners of her mouth
turned down. "That fair hair, and the midnight-blue eyes. Some
trace of Ash heritage in her background, unless I miss my guess."

   "Yes, Grandam. I have heard it said so."

  "The Dowager Queen Ysa has no reason to love any of the
Ashenkin."

   "And yet she had Anamara in her circle of ladies."

   "More like she had Anamara in her power," Zazar retorted
with a snort. Her work with the herbs seemed to prompt a
memory. "Do you still wear that bundle of greenery I gave you for
your helm?"

   "I do." Hastily he produced the item for Zazar's inspection. "It
stays amazingly fresh, most of it. You might want to renew a few
of the sprigs that have turned brown, though. In the tourney, I
tied my lady's favor over it." He took the length of blue silk out of
his doublet and Zazar eyed it, the corners of her mouth
downturned even more.

    "I suppose that was all right. But favor or not, you must wear
it as long as you wear your helm. Give me your oath on that."

  "I promise. Do you think this was the Dowager's doing?"
Rohan asked, indicating Anamara.

   "No. I know of Ysa's activities from the first time she began to
dabble in magic, and it isn't her way of doing things. Not her
style, you might say." She sighed and scraped a portion of the
mixture to one side, and rolled it into a pill. "Well, let's see if we
can find out what is in your little birdling's mind." So saying, she
held out the pellet to Anamara. "Come on, it's very good. Try it."

   Anamara hesitated only a moment. Then she plucked it out of
Zazar's fingers and, as she had earlier with those bits of grain
and fruit, dropped it into her mouth and swallowed it. Almost
instantly, she fell over, eyes closed.

   "Grandam!" Rohan said, appalled. "You've killed her!"
  "Nonsense, you young fool," Zazar said. "A fool, and a lovesick
puppy to boot. No, I haven't killed your little bird. I've just put
her to sleep. Now it's my turn."

  With that, the Wysen-wyf rolled a second pill from the
remaining mixture, and swallowed it. As quickly as Anamara
had, Zazar likewise fell over onto the packed-ground floor of her
hut, and began snoring a little.

   With a sinking heart, Rohan realized anew the danger into
which the evil Sorceress had put Anamara. As innocent and
trusting as any bird, she would swallow anything that looked like
a tasty tidbit, and it might just as well have been poison as a pill
made of crushed herbs. The hair on the back of his neck prickled
as he felt the old familiar warning that told him of hovering
peril.

   All Rohan could do was to straighten their limbs as
comfortably as he might, and then wait. Not daring to place
Anamara on Zazar's bed and leave the Wysen-wyf on the floor, he
pulled them both closer to the fire and covered them with mats,
for added warmth.

   He dipped a cup of the noodle soup—this time thick with
boiled meat scraps—with which to console himself while he
waited in harsh loneliness.

  He discovered that he, too, had drifted off to sleep only when
Zazar sat up abruptly, awakening him.

  "Well now, that was interesting," she said.

  "What was interesting, Grandam Zaz?"

   "What I learned, of course. Are you as witless as your
ladylove?"

   Rohan ignored this, knowing that after working special magic
Zazar was always apt to be shorter-tempered than usual. Also,
she looked more worn than one might expect, after having
awakened from what could have been a refreshing slumber. He
dipped a cup of soup for her as well and handed it to her. She
drank thirstily, slurping the noodles into her mouth.

   "The Dowager didn't do this to Anamara, but you could say
she was responsible, in a way," Zazar said, wiping her mouth
with the back of her hand. She held the cup out for more, and
Rohan quickly refilled it. "The Dowager and Flavielle were in
league, as we knew already. What we did not know—and what
Flavielle kept hidden from everyone, even from me when I visited
her that time— was that this girl, this sprig of the Ashenkin, had
been intended as a blood price between the Dowager and the
Sorceress."

  " 'Blood price? I do not understand."

   "There seems to be precious little that you do understand,"
Zazar said, with a sharp edge in her voice. Nevertheless, she went
on between mouthfuls of the nourishing noodles. "When Flavielle
had completed her duties for the Dowager, whatever those were,
then the Sorceress would have demanded that Anamara be given
to her. There was an agreement, though I doubt Ysa was aware
of the whole of it. Thus, even if the Dowager tried to extricate
herself, Flavielle would have made good her demand."

   "For what reason?" Rohan asked. In spite of the nearness of
the fire he had fed from time to time, he shivered.

   "For whatever use Flavielle decided to make of her," Zazar
said. "She would own the girl. She could make of her a body
servant— perhaps the kindest fate. She could call upon
Anamara's youth and strength for aid in the casting of spells. As
for that, I think even the Dowager borrows from others from
time to time. With this promise hanging over Anamara, no
wonder Ysa discouraged your dalliance with her. And there are
other, darker matters."

  "Tell me, please." Rohan clenched his jaw. Already he had
heard more than he wanted to know, but he knew if he had
heard more than he wanted to know, he still had not heard
nearly enough.

  "Flavielle could keep Anamara to intrigue young men to their
doom, as she herself tried with you. Others she could reward
with the use of your ladylove's body. Or, she could even take
Anamara's life in the casting of some dark spell, and no one
would ever be the wiser. All this, and the Dowager, at least in
part, knew of it, too, and kept her silence. After all, the girl is
only Ashenkin."

   "All this you learned during your sleep?"

   "I peered into Anamara's head, and beyond. Your lady knew
more of how matters stood than she realized. Or perhaps a veil
was early thrown over her memory. What I gave her peeled away
the layers of fear and helplessness which set her in the Dowager's
prison."

   "The Dowager—" Rohan muttered darkly.

   "She is the rightful ruler of this land," Zazar said, "and will be
as long as she wears the Four Rings. Swallow your pride, young
lover. You are meddling in matters of which you know little, or
nothing. Above all, keep in mind that it is entirely likely that Ysa
did not fully realize what fate was likely to fall on this sleeping
girl."

   Zazar stroked the fair hair back from Anamara's forehead,
and Rohan became aware that the Wysen-wyf's gruffness was, at
least in part, meant to cover her uneasiness at the girl's intended
fate and, perhaps, even her pity.

   "She will be all right, won't she, Grandam?" he asked.

   "In time. With me to treat her until she is healed. Already I
have begun. By morning she will be able to understand you when
you speak to her, though she will not as yet reply in language you
can understand."

    "I think I must go to the Oakenkeep, and there consult with
Ashen and Gaurin. He gave me much good counsel in telling me
to come to you. If I had not, I would never have found Anamara.
If she had truly been left alone, she would have met death long
before now." Rohan was staring at that face, so perfect in his
eyes, which was so oddly closed to him now.
   "Yes," Zazar agreed. "Not all of the great predators of the Bog
are in winter sleep." She got to her feet. "Think you that Gaurin
and Ashen will be back at the Oakenkeep by now?"

   "If not, then I will not be ahead of them by more than a day.
The tourney is ended, and neither Ashen nor Gaurin will want to
stay for the merrymaking at court."

   "She ever did disdain the ways of Rendelsham, though her
friend the Young Dowager is there."

   "And so, with the dawn, I will be gone."

   "Make yourself comfortable by my fire, and later I will escort
you to the river's edge. Not all of the villagers are in winter sleep
as well. I think that Tusser, our new headman, holds some
suspicion regarding the comings and goings of Outlanders to my
hut."

   "Thank you, Grandam Zaz. How can I ever repay you for ail
the help you have been to me?"

   "You can't," Zazar said shortly. "Now, get to sleep. We must
leave before it is full dawn. I will watch the girl for you."

    Anamara seemed to have slept through the night, for her
position was little changed from the way Rohan had placed her
when she had dropped into drugged slumber. During the dark
hours, the Wysen-wyf had tucked a warmer cover over the girl.
When Zazar roused her, she sat up and opened her mouth,
obviously ready for the grain and fruit to be given her. As Rohan
filled the bowl, she responded with chirps and whistles.

   "Will she be all right here, alone, while you accompany me to
the river?" he demanded anxiously.

    "As long as she doesn't wander out into the middle of the
village," Zazar said. "We could tether her, if you like."

   "No," Rohan said. Something in him rebelled at the thought
of tying Anamara in her bird-girl state, even for her own safety.
"Perhaps if we left another bowl of this grain mixture, she will be
busy eating until you get back."

  "Perhaps."

  The Wysen-wyf put food before Rohan and then busied herself
putting her house to rights as she ate her own breakfast. She
handed a parcel to Rohan—food and water for the journey,
somewhat more than he thought they would need—and turned to
Anamara.

  "Stay here," she said clearly, indicating the spot where
Anamara crouched. "Here. Do you understand?" She placed a
bowl of the fruit-and-grain mixture in front of the girl.

  Anamara bobbed her head and uttered more chirps and
whistles. Despite Zazar's claim that she could now understand
human speech, Rohan could not tell whether this signaled either
comprehension or agreement.

  "Do you think she will do it?"

  "I don't know," the Wysen-wyf said. "I can accomplish only so
much with her at present. But give me time—-Ah, well, we
cannot stay the day. Already it grows lighter than I find
comfortable."

   She got to her feet, pulled on the warm cloak Gaurin had
given her, and picked up a staff before plucking aside the hide
covering the doorway long enough to have a look outside. "All is
clear, at least for the moment. Come along, don't dawdle."

  Rohan obediently followed through the opening, to make
immediately for the shelter of a line of nearly leafless bushes that
marked the edge of the hut clearing. They had not gone a dozen
paces, however, before he was aware that someone—or
something— was following them.

   He turned, half expecting to see some hungry Bog-monster
tracking them, only to discover Anamara. She had left her cloak
behind and, clad only in her dress and cloth slippers, she
shivered a little in the morning cold.
   "Go back!" Rohan said, making his whisper as urgent as he
could manage. "Back, Anamara. Go to the hut. There's a good
girl."

   Anamara only gazed at him happily and ran the few steps
separating them. She clung to him, looking up at him with
adoring eyes, and began to whistle. Hastily he clapped his hand
over her mouth. "I thought you said she could understand
human speech

   Zazar had turned back and now stood scowling at the tableau.
"She can. That doesn't mean she recognizes the reasons behind
your commands. Or that she agrees. Can't you manage the little
lackwit any better than that?" she said. "Or should I take a
hand?"

   Remembering Zazar's quick way with a sound slap across the
face, Rohan opened his cloak to shelter Anamara. She crept into
the warmth gratefully and put her arms around his waist. "Can
we get her back to your hut?" he asked. "This time, I'll take your
advice and—and tether her securely."

   Zazar moved past him and peered out into the clearing. "Just
as I thought. No time," she said. "The village has begun to stir
and there are people out on their morning errands. Somebody is
sure to spot us and give the alarm. Then both of you would be
doomed, and I could do nothing to prevent it. You would be
given to feed the Boggins."

  "But the pools where you say the Boggins lie—"

   "Frozen, yes, and the Deep Dwellers in winter sleep." She
stepped closer. "They would kill you, Rohan, and the girl with
you. Oh, you would fight bravely, but you would perish. Perhaps
they would kill me. Both Tusser and Joal, his father, threatened
enough times. And they would stack our bodies until the thaw
comes. That is what they would do to us."

   Rohan swallowed, hard. "Then we shall have to take her with
us," he said.

  "I know. And 1 am not happy about that, though I should have
expected it. Well, we can't just stay here talking until the
villagers hear and come looking. Follow me."

   Using her staff to clear the way and test for unsteady footing
on an icy path that was almost invisible to Rohan, Zazar led
them out a different way. He was kept busy making certain that
Anamara stayed on the path. At unexpected moments she would
break free from the sheltering warmth of his cloak and dash
away after anything that caught her fancy—a trembling leaf, a
glitter of ice, a stray ray of wan sunlight that managed to
penetrate the rank growth of the Bog.

   "Bind that girl's hands around your middle," Zazar said,
exasperated, after Anamara had done this several times. "We
can't have her flitting off into the underbrush and getting lost
again. Not when you seem to put so much store in her."

   "I will keep a closer watch on her," Rohan said. He wrapped
Anamara's arms around his waist again and, instead of tying
her, held both her hands in one of his. This made for awkward
progress, but she no longer could dash away at unexpected
moments.

   Just when he was certain that even Zazar had lost her way on
this unfamiliar path, they emerged from the Bog. Zazar strode
over to an overhanging bush and began pulling it away from
what it was hiding.

   "A—a boat!" Rohan exclaimed. He knew he had said
something foolish when the Wysen-wyf glanced up at him with a
look of amused contempt.

  "Of course, a boat," she responded. "How else did you expect
we would get this witless damsel of yours across the river? Did
you think she would fly?"

  "No, Grandam Zazar," Rohan said, properly chastened.
"Again, I must bow to your infinite wisdom."

   He helped Anamara into the little vessel, steadying her as she
teetered, apparently having forgotten anything she ever knew
about boats, and climbed in after her. To his surprise, Zazar took
a seat in the stem.

  "Does this mean that you are coming with me to the
Oaken-keep?" he said hopefully.

   "When the little chit came after us I decided that it was high
time I visited the place after so many invitations," Zazar replied.
"And also, I have decided that I want to be there when you show
up with Lady Lackwit and introduce her to Ashen." The
Wysen-wyf's lips lifted in a grin that was only partially merry. "I
wouldn't miss that little meeting for the world!"

   It was a slow journey going on foot. Out in the relative open,
Rohan could not keep as close a guard on Anamara as he would
have liked, and her sudden asides grew both more frequent and
more lengthy as she had freedom to run. Zazar would wait,
patiently hunkered down to conserve warmth, while Rohan
chased after her. Eventually he learned that if he kept offering
her bits of the grain-and-fruit mixture, she was more apt to
follow than to flit away.

   Because of this, they were much longer on their journey from
the river to the Oakenkeep than Rohan would have liked. They
spent three nights out in the open with only an occasional stand
of winter-blighted trees for shelter, and the only fortunate thing
about it was that Ashen and Gaurin were already well in
residence by the time they got there.

   Rohan led Anamara through the gatehouse and toward the
Residence. For once, she did not need bribery to keep her from
trying to get away from his restraining hand. Instead, she gaped
and gawped as if she had never seen a great edifice of this sort
before. She stared upward at the towers topping the surrounding
walls, her mouth open.

   "This way," he told both Anamara and Zazar, and rapped on
the door to the Residence, where they were admitted at once. He
led them down a corridor to the Great Hall.

   Inside, it was chilly enough that their breath could be seen
faintly, and yet it was heavenly warmth itself compared to the
bitterness of the outdoors. Rohan found himself blowing on his
fingers, only now aware of how very cold he was. "Build up the
fire," he said to the steward who had admitted them, "and please
notify Count Gaurin and his lady, my foster mother Ashen, that
Rohan is here—with visitors." He turned to Zazar with a shrug.
"Might as well make it a total surprise."

   The Wysen-wyf uttered what might have been a cackle, and
then busied herself with coaxing Anamara over to the fireplace
where servants were obediently bringing in more wood to add to
the carefully banked coals. It was a little green, the best firewood
having long since been burnt, and would take a while to catch.

  "How now," a woman's voice said. Rohan looked up to see

  Ashen descending the stairs. "Rohan!"

  He rushed toward her and embraced her. "Yes, it is I."

  "Nalren said something about visitors—Zazar!"

   "And who else did you expect?" The Wysen-wyf strove for her
usual gruffiness, but she couldn't maintain it. "I am happy to see
you well, Ashen, after the strain of the past few days. And how
did

  Gaurin fare?"

   "Weil enough. He is unharmed. Busy with the accounts. He
won a trophy. I heard the commotion and came to see what was
causing it." Ashen was staring past Zazar at Anamara where she
stood by the fireplace, so close that she was in some danger of
having a stray spark from the coals ignite her muddy, stained
dress.

  "And how does this lady come to be in my home?"

  "Brought here witless and in a daze, thanks to the Sorceress."

   Zazar said. "Don't you have anything warm to drink? We
really are nearly frozen."

  "Upstairs. We do not usually heat the Great Hall these days,
except in the evenings. Nalren, put the logs aside until later."

  "Yes, lady," he said. "Shall I bring you hot spiced juice?"

  "Please. Now, Zazar, Rohan. Bring your—your witless young
woman with you. Gaurin awaits above."

   Gaurin arose quickly as Ashen ushered Zazar into the small
room at the top of the stairs, located where the big chimney in
the Great Hall would help warm it at one wall, with another
fireplace on the other to make it truly comfortable. "Madame
Zazar!" he exclaimed in surprise and pleasure. "You honor my
lady's house with your presence." He bowed low over her brown,
wrinkled hand, and kissed it. "Ah! Here is Rohan with you.
And—Is it really Anamara?"

  "What's left of her," Zazar said tartly. "She ran afoul of the
Sorceress. There is much to be told."

   "Then come and sit, rest yourselves, and take the warmth of
the fire. We can wait while you catch your breath before you
begin."

   Zazar shrugged. "Soonest begun, soonest ended," she said.
Then she related, with some prompting and filling-in of details,
what had occurred since Rohan had taken his leave of Gaurin in
Rendelsham. Both Gaurin and Ashen listened most closely to
what the Wysen-wyf had learned in her herb-driven sojourn into
the recesses of An-amara's mind.

  "Poor lady," Gaurin commented, when she had finished.

   Rohan looked at Anamara where she perched contentedly
near the fire, dabbling in a cup of the hot spiced juice the
steward, Nal-ren, had brought. She seemed to have forgotten
how to drink out of a cup, and so she was dipping her fingers
into it and then sucking them.

  "Poor lady in truth," Rohan said.

  "Poor fool is more like it," Ashen said.
   Rohan swiftly turned to her. "You must know that I—I have a
great fondness for her, even in her current state. I swear that I
will not rest until she is restored to what she once was."

    Ashen made a sound of dismissal. "And what was that? A
little know-nothing, hiding from everyone, fluttering her lashes
at you from underneath the hood of her cloak? At her age I knew
enough not to act that green and ignorant, even when I was."

   "She was shy with me when first we met, true enough," Rohan
said, "but that was before the Dowager promised her to Flavielle.
I think from shortly after that moment when the Sorceress
arrived at Court, my lady became fearful of her very life, and
knew not why, only that she must avoid me. If only she had told
me—"

   Ashen got up and began to pace back and forth. "And then
what? Would you have challenged both of those women and
gotten yourself killed for your troubles? It was bad enough that
you rejected Flavielle when she approached you—"

   "I think that was the only thing that saved young Rohan,"
Zazar said. "Think, Ashen. Could it not be that Rohan had been
the one first picked as the blood price?"

   The Wysen-wyf's words put a fresh chill in the air as Rohan
pondered the truth in them. "I do believe that Grandam Zaz is
correct," he said at length. "The Sorceress had just come to court
and it was only after that unfortunate incident in my room that
Anamara seemed to grow cool toward me."

  At the sound of her name, Anamara looked up at him and
whistled softly. She smiled.

  "Thoroughly witless," Ashen said. " 'Lady Lackwit' indeed. You
named her well, Zazar."

  The Wysen-wyf began to laugh, with a sound like a bellows
wheezing. "This is all very amusing," she said.

  "I do not find anything the least bit funny about it."
   "Nor I," Rohan said.

  "Well, I do." Zazar settled back in the chair and reached for
more of the hot spiced drink. "The boy's fallen in love, that's all.
His lady has, at present, the mind of a bird. And his foster
mother objects."

   "I have much reason to object!" Ashen responded hotly. "Did
this Lady Lackwit come from the Court in Rendelsham or did she
not? Has anything good ever come from that pit of iniquity?"

  "You might say so. Wasn't that where you met Gaurin?" Zazar
smiled with a trace of smugness.

   The back of Rohan's neck tingled. He knew it was potentially
dangerous to come between these two and especially now when
they were so close to an open disagreement. He had never
thought of Ashen in terms of Power before, but now he realized
that she had fully her measure of it, daough it lay untrained and
unused. He glanced at Gaurin and knew that the older man
shared his thoughts.

   "Come, Rohan," he said. "This is not a matter for men to
meddle in. With your arrival, we have three more mouths to
feed. There is still an hour or two of daylight before supper in the
Hall. Are you thawed enough that, with some fresh warm clothes
and boots, you would be up to seeing if we can find something
for tomorrow's dinner?"

   "Gladly, Gaurin," he said, getting to his feet. His toes were still
like ice, but he would rather freeze entirely than be caught in a
small room in the Oakenkeep, between two quarreling women.

  "What game is it you are playing at?" Ashen said, when the
men had left the room.

   "Game? I don't know what you mean." But Zazar's eyes
twinkled. Plainly, she was enjoying herself.

   "You know full well what I mean." Ashen crossed her arms
and frowned at the woman whom she called Protector, who had
reared her from infancy. She had never been quite so annoyed at
Zazar before, and, if asked, she could not have articulated exactly
why. There was something about the girl, Anamara, that set
Ashen's teeth on edge. Perhaps she was a spy, sent by Ysa, and
this bird-girl act of hers only that—an act. She did not know.

   "I believe I will continue to work on restoring Anamara here
at the Oakenkeep," Zazar said, unperturbed, her voice and
manner as bland as an egg. "It's much warmer here, and safer,
too. I won't need anything in the way of herbs and other items
that I haven't brought with me. Mostly it's a matter of mind. I
think I will ask Weyse to help me. You would like to see Weyse
again, wouldn't you?"

   Ashen knew that Zazar was secretly laughing at her. "You
know I would welcome Weyse at the Oakenkeep if she will agree
to visit," she said, trying to keep her own voice neutral.

   "Well then, that's settled. Why don't you find a room for me to
use? Of course Anamara will be staying with me where I can
keep an eye on her, so be kind enough not to shove us out of the
way in some stable or other outbuilding."

    Ashen took a deep breath to keep herself from a furious
outburst. "You know full well there is always an apartment here
in the Residence kept ever ready for you," she said, trying to keep
the anger out of her voice, "and has been since first we came to
live in the Oakenkeep, in hopes that you would come and visit, or
even to stay permanently with us. I'll give orders that the fire be
lit and the beds freshened."

  "Oh, no need," Zazar said airily. "I can brush away a cobweb if
need be. Just show me the way."

   Grateful for something to do, Ashen briskly led Zazar and
An-amara—who would have lagged behind, gaping at the
tapestries and furnishings, if Zazar had not held her by the
hand—through the upper hallway to the suite that had been set
aside for the Wysen-wyf. Their breaths were visible in the frosty
air. She opened the door, expecting the interior to be as cold and
dusty as it had been the last time she had visited, and scolded
the maids for not maintaining it better. However, to her
surprise, all was warm, clean and tidy, with a fire burning briskly
on the hearth. Weyse, curled up on the bed in the far corner,
looked up with sleepy eyes. Then she uttered a glad cry of
greeting, jumped down out of the trundle bed that was already
set up, and waddled toward the people at the opened door.

   Involuntarily, Ashen stepped back, astonished, and Weyse
altered her course and made for Zazar instead. "Here already,
you scamp?" she said, picking Weyse up and cuddling her. "I
might have known." She turned to Ashen, who reached out and
stroked Weyse's head. "If we could have some hot water,
perhaps, so I can give Lady Lackwit a bath, and some food. I still
have a little of that grain and fruit that Weyse likes so well, but
unfortunately our bird-girl likes it, too. Some warm clothing for
her wouldn't go amiss, either. And shoes."

    "Of course," Ashen said through stiff lips. "I will send Ayfare
to you. She was my personal maid in Rendelsham, and now she
is the head housekeeper of Oakenkeep. She will see to it that you
have everything you need."

  "Good. Now, I'm sure you have better things to do than let the
warmth out into that cold hallway." With that, Zazar closed the
door practically in Ashen's face.

   Ashen resisted an impulse to pound on the door, demand
entrance, and have an open row with Zazar then and there. But
what would it accomplish? She had a distinct feeling that the
Wysen-wyf would ignore such an encounter as easily as she had
avoided Ashen's objections earlier.

   No, better to leave her to her task. The sooner she could
restore Anamara's wits, the sooner the girl could be sent back to
the Dowager's Court, where she belonged. Or—Ashen's eyes
narrowed.

   She was not the ignorant Bog-Princess she had once been,
when first she came to Rendelsham. She was very aware of the
remnants of Ash holdings that now, by the law of inheritance,
were hers. There still existed places where Anamara could be
sent and where she would be hidden so completely that Rohan
could never find her—particularly if he were commanded to
return to the capital city and resume his responsibilities in the
Dowager's Levy. Gaurin had told her of his offhand question to
Rohan: Would he now be knight, or knave? She knew
instinctively that Rohan, now a knight, would not turn knave and
desert his duty just to look for a none-too-bright girl who had
run afoul of the Dowager's schemings, and suffered for it.
Perhaps later, when his responsibilities would allow, he would
stay with her as he chose, but not at the present.

   Rohan slogged along in Gaurin's wake through the woods to
the north and east of the castle. The snow had started again,
though not heavily, and he was not at all sure they would be able
to start a coney, let alone anything large enough to feed the
household at the Oakenkeep. He was grateful for the thick boots
and fur-lined garments—clean and dry and, above all,
warm—that Gaurin had given him. Both men were armed with
bows, in addition to the swords that were always at their sides,
and full quivers of arrows were at the ready on their backs. A
distance behind them trailed Lathrom and half a dozen soldiers
from the keep. No hunters except possibly for the captain, they
would be ready to carry home what Gaurin and Rohan tracked.

  "Is Ashen often like this?" he asked.

   "Like what?" Gaurin paused, searching the ground for tracks
that might show in the new-fallen snow. "Ah. Tracks. Come this
way."

   "Like she was back at the keep." Rohan moved up to walk
beside Gaurin, keeping the line of cloven footprints between
them. "I've never seen her so dead set against anyone as she is
against Anamara. And for no reason that I can tell."

   "Nor I. But I have learned, with Ashen, that she often keeps
her own counsel until she is ready to tell me her reasons for this
or that. I believe it will be that way now."

  "I hope so. After all, Anamara is, in a way, Ashen's kindred.
You'd think she would feel more kindly disposed toward her,
wouldn't you?"

  "I would, but remember that women's ways are not always our
ways, my young knight. And what may seem complicated and
even devious to us, to them is perfectly natural and
straightforward. It is a mystery."

   "Yes," Rohan agreed glumly. "And one that I have yet to
fathom. Perhaps you will teach me."

   Gaurin turned toward him, amused. "I have already imparted
to you all the wisdom I possess about the ways of women!" he
said. Then his expression became a little more serious. "I love
Ashen, from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet. And I
know that nothing you or I may say, or even that Madame Zazar
might say, would have any effect on her. The one who wins her
over to Anamara will have to be Anamara herself."

   Rohan bowed his head. "I must accept that," he said, "even
though I would have it otherwise." Then he remembered another
matter that had been almost overlooked in the tumultuousness
of his arrival at the Oakenkeep with Grandam Zaz and his
afflicted lady. "Where is Hegrin? I thought to see her long before
now."

   "We sent Hegrin, with her own household, to Rydale, one of
Ashen's holdings. It used to belong to the late King Florian, but
nobody wanted it because it lies to the east, near the shore. We
found it perfect for Hegrin because it is remote and, thus, likely
to be safer than we are here when the attack from the North
comes. Also, being close to the sea, it is warmer."

  "You must miss her."

   "We do, both of us. And that is one more reason I thought
Ashen would welcome Anamara as a kind of substitute for the
daughter she no longer can see every day. Perhaps, though, she
sees her as a rival instead—"

  Gaurin broke off abruptly, holding his hand up to signal
Rohan to stop.

   Rohan obeyed, looking around for signs of whatever it was
that had alerted Gaurin. "What is it?" he whispered.

  The other man made an impatient signal for silence, and then
Rohan heard it—the sound of something large and close ahead,
pushing its way through the underbrush. "Fallowbeeste," he said,
so softly the sound of the word barely reached Rohan's ears.

   Then he gestured again, and Rohan moved off in the opposite
direction. He knew at once what Gaurin had in mind. They
would try to flank the prey, and then, between them, bring it
down. He drew an arrow and nocked it to his bow. Gaurin did
likewise. And then the hunt was on in earnest.

   Rohan knew that fallowbeeste were sturdy enough to take
several arrows and still escape their hunters. He and Gaurin
would have to be quick and, above all, accurate if they hoped to
provide meat for the castle household. They crept forward
carefully, making certain not to step on a warning twig.

   Then he spotted it. There it was, beyond the trees in a small
clearing! A fine buck, it had paused to search out a bit of grass
beneath the covering of snow. The rack of horns adorning its
head would make a fine trophy, mounted and hung above a
fireplace. Rohan readied his bow, and could see Gaurin, also
with arrow nocked. They were too close together for a flanking
maneuver. It would have been better also if they could have
worked their way around so that they had a clearer shot, from
the front, but Rohan knew they dared not risk it. More than one
fallowbeeste had fled untouched when an unwary hunter, trying
for a more advantageous angle, had stepped on a twig or
otherwise sounded an alarm.

  He drew back the bowstring and took aim at a point just
behind the animal's front leg. With any luck, either he or Gaurin
would get the vital spot and the fallowbeeste would die
immediately, without pain. The animal froze, lifting its head,
and Rohan knew it had sensed the hunters' presence.

   Without hesitation, he loosed the arrow, half a heartbeat
behind Gaurin's shot. At least one of them hit squarely home, for
the fallowbeeste dropped in its tracks without even a grunt.

   The men hurried over to make sure it was really dead and not
just pretending, so it could scramble to its feet and dash away at
the first opportunity.
  "The arrows are scarcely a hand-span apart," Gaurin said.
"Good shooting, Rohan. I believe you got him."

    Rohan knew better; the arrow marked with the spring-green
band had struck more truly. He recognized Gaurin's gesture as
being that of a good host, and a generous one. "The trophy is
yours, though. Or, at least, yours to keep for me. What would I
do with this, even if I had it?" He knelt and examined the rack of
horns. Sometimes people used them as handles for knives, or
sliced them into disks for buttons, but these were much too fine
for such a humble use. They deserved to be displayed, as a
tribute to the noble beast that had once worn them.

   Gaurin took the horn from his belt and blew a clear note.
"Lath-rom and his men will be here shortly. They will do the
skinning and will cut it into sections for the roasting spit. We
will finish the stew with fresh bread tonight, and then feast well
tomorrow. And we will have some fine leather from this fellow's
hide, as well. New slippers for your lady, perhaps, and for mine.
A new belt for you, at least, to remember the occasion and I will
give you a buckle shaped like the amulet Madame Zazar gave
you. We have done a good day's work, Rohan."

   "Yes," he agreed, but his satisfaction was dimmed somewhat
at the mention of Anamara. New slippers she might have, but
what good would they be if her wits could not be restored to her?

   During the days and weeks that followed, a peace of sorts
descended between the quarreling women. That it was
accomplished primarily by Ashen's holding her tongue was
immaterial. She could almost feel the relief emanating from both
her husband and her stepson. Still, her mind had not changed on
the matter. She held against Anamara, and could not articulate a
clear reason why.

   Zazar always brought Anamara to the table for the evening
meal in the Hall, and painstakingly taught her to eat not with
her hands but with a spoon, as she could not yet be trusted with
handling an eating-dagger. Weyse stayed in Zazar's suite; at
least, she never appeared anywhere else in the Oakenkeep. When
Ashen wanted to visit the little creature who had befriended her
in the lost and ruined city of GaUnth, she must perforce go there.
She chose times when Zazar was absent.

   After dinner, when the Wysen-wyf was in the mood, she
proved to have an unexpected talent for the telling of tales from
the far-distant time, back before GaUnth had fallen into decay
and the Bog had formed. But the evening's entertainment never
lasted long. The Oakenkeep was too large and firewood becoming
too scarce to heat it more than absolutely necessary. People were
glad to retire early, to their beds, warmed with heated stones
wrapped in wool, where they could pull the woolen curtains shut
and thaw cold fingers and toes. Though the custom had always
been for people to remove their clothes and sleep bare, it was too
cold for that. Men and women aUke wore long nightgowns, also
made of wool.

   Ashen hoped the frigid weather would at least abate enough
so that the river thawed. When the meat ran low, people from
the castle had to chop holes in the ice before they could hope to
catch a mess of fish for their evening meal. At least meat seldom
went off these days, as it once did in milder weather. It froze too
quickly for that, which was, in a way, a blessing.


                     Twenty-three
   Lord Royance strode back and forth in front of the fireplace
in the Dowager Queen Ysa's apartment. There was a youthful
bounce in his step that had not been seen in a long time. "What
a great day for Rendel!" he exclaimed. "Our fighting men must
be the best in the world, judging from their performance in the
Grand Tourney. Even the youngsters."

  "And you as well, my lord?" Ysa said. She sat watching,
hoping to appear interested, when in truth the boasting of the
Head of the Council bored her nearly into insensibility. Marcala
was with her, but the younger woman seemed to be paying
genuine attention to Royance's retelling of the tourney's events.

   "If I had to, I know now I could take up weapons and fight,"
he said, obviously greatly pleased with himself. "I would, in fact,
welcome the test in real combat! I only wish I had been matched
against someone more able than Wittern. Great friend though he
is, he is not the man he once was and even in our youth I could
have him on his back in a stroke or two."

  "You showed yourself very competent. I am only glad that no
harm came from it."

   Royance stopped his pacing and frowned into the fire. "That
was a very bad situation, with that Magician fellow, or Sorceress,
or whoever or whatever he or she was. Most confusing. Even
while it was going on, with the fellow working his spells, I knew
that I had no real quarrel with Jakar, or even with Gattor, for
that matter. And yet it seemed that I could not help myself.
Whatever possessed you to put such a person in your hire? What
were you thinking of?"

   Ysa felt a faint chill down her back, in spite of the heavy green
velvet dress she wore. "I did it for the good of the country, my
lord Royance," she replied, "as everything that I do is for the
good of the country." She held out her hands, with the Four
Great Rings on them. "My entire life is devoted to keeping
Rendel safe and secure— even while the dangers surrounding us
pile one upon the other. Surely you must know that."

  "I do," Royance said. "Yes, of course, I know that you have
worn yourself thin when it came to the good of the land. But it
does seem that you could have checked the fellow's credentials—"

   "Do have some more heated wine," Marcala said hastily. "And
tell us more about your exploits." She leaned forward to pour,
and the scent of her vaux lily perfume wafted out into the air.
"We are mere women, you know, and can't be expected to
recognize the finer points of arms-play."

   "I thought that you would have learned, being so close to
Har-ous as you are, and in a position to watch the youngsters at
their training. Pity that I didn't provide two prizes. But Gaurin
won the standing-cup fair and square. I hope Harous is not
disappointed."

   "Of course he would rather have won, but he holds no ill will
toward Gaurin. He recognizes and, indeed, admires Gaurin's
great skill at arms."
   "Harous has a noble heart," Ysa said, "and this brings to mind
a matter that I have been thinking on. Let us discuss it, my Lord
Royance, now that we are all three here together, for I want your
thoughts and sage advice. Then, if you will, you can regale us
with more tales of the tourney."

  "Why, of course, Your Highness," Royance said. He took the
chair that had been set out for him and became once more the
Head of the Council rather than the old warrior yearning for one
more battle. "What may I offer my advice on?"

   "It is the matter of Count Harous's marriage." Beside her, Ysa
heard Marcala draw in her breath sharply. "I think it is time and
more that he marry, and get heirs. Someday, we might well have
a great struggle ahead of us, every indication tells me, and I
would not leave his branch of his Family childless."

   And also, she thought, I would put Marcala that much more
into my debt. This lady has become much too independent of
late. She could, if she would, be very helpful regarding a certain
matter that Ysa had been thinking on and which needed to be
resolved.

   "Let us be frank and open with one another," Royance said.
The firelight gleamed on his snowy head. "It is not only time for
the boy to marry and get heirs, but also it is past time for him to
regularize the relationship he and the Lady Marcala have had.
The question is, will he be willing to do so?"

  "He would be, with you to prompt him," Ysa said.

  "And the lady? How say you, Marcala?"

   "I have wanted Harous as my husband for a long time. But it
was not seemly for me to broach the subject." Marcala's cheeks
reddened. To Ysa's astonishment, her Queen of Spies, a woman
who had seen more of the world than most people at Court could
imagine, was actually blushing!

  "I do not know when the attack from the North will come,"
Royance said, "nor, indeed, if it will come. We have had no sign,
only rumors. But there is no purpose to be served in leaving you
and Harous unwed, when it is obvious that you are so well suited
to each other. There is kinship between you, to be sure, but
distant enough that no impropriety could be put to your being
man and wife. I cannot think what has been holding him back all
this time, other than that maybe, like many a man, the matter
has not been put to him in such a way that he recognizes the
need." He got to his feet, bowed to Ysa and to Marcala, and took
his cloak from the peg. "Yes, I will go to Harous and make the
suggestion that now is the time to marry. You may as well start
planning the wedding."

   With that, he took his leave. Then Ysa had to deal with
Marcala, weeping for joy and swearing eternal loyalty, when
what she wanted most was to be left in private. With the matter
of Harous and Mar-cala's marriage all but settled, she had
something important to do, something that had been left far too
long while other matters occupied her attention.

    Once she had seen her highborn guests out of her apartment
to go about their business, the Dowager Queen Ysa sought the
little secret door. Then she climbed the stairs to her tower room
again, where she had ever been wont to go when she needed a
quiet place for reflection, or wanted to work some bit of magic.

   She entered, locked the door behind her, and stood gazing
about. The four great windows looking east, west, north, and
south had long since had their transparent coverings removed, to
be replaced with heavy woolen draperies. Back in the days when
she had been truly young and she had not yet been moved to take
up the study of arcane matters, decorative glass panes, capable
of opening outward, had been installed even in this high place
during a period of remodeling of the castle. Before this
unseasonable cold had wrapped Rendel in its icy fingers these
windows had mostly stood open and here was the best place to
come and catch an evening breeze. Now, however, Ysa was glad
that drafts had been reduced to a minimum.

   The great chair, carved from blood-colored wood of such
density that it required very sharp tools and great strength to
work it, still stood in the center of the round chamber, and also
the table fashioned of the same wood, close beside it. Her book of
magic awaited her there.

    She struck spark to the brazier kept ready for her, and moved
to the smaller table and chair, much less ornate, where she sat to
take off her coif and remove the light layer of cosmetics that was
all she needed since she had renewed her youthful beauty.
Successful magic required that she come to it in as unadorned a
state as possible. As was her habit, she lighted a candle and set it
beside the mirror, admiring herself as she worked. Her hair now
bore no trace or strand of white, and shone with a crisp
ruddiness to rival the hue of the wood of the great chair. It
tumbled down her back when she took the pins out, a glorious
riot of color. For a moment, she felt that all the light and color in
the world had been concentrated in this one lofty chamber, high
above the city of Rendelsham, centered on herself.

   She tried not to think about Flavielle, once Flavian, whom she
had hired, and of the treachery the woman had attempted and
nearly succeeded with. Ysa had told him—her—everything, even
to the miscarriage of Ashen's and Obem's child. Now she knew
she had just been used as a conduit of information, whether
important or not. If it had not been for that oaf Rohan and his
timely confrontation with the woman, who knew what kind of
mischief she would have wreaked? Ysa supposed she should be
grateful to Rohan, but could not summon up the feeling. Once
more, as frequently happened when thinking of him, she was
reminded of something that nagged at the back of her mind. But
she could not remember it.

   Well, Flavielle was gone now, and Ysa knew she had to repair
her hold on the Kingdom, and on her own Power, lest more of
her plans come to naught. The Four Rings gleamed in the
candlelight. She told herself that the movement she had felt on
her fingers at the moment the Sorceress stood revealed and the
young King Peres had chosen to assert his authority, had been
nothing but a nervous twitching of her own. Secure they were on
her hands, and there they would remain. She would see to that.

   She reached for the simple hooded robe of red velvet, grateful
for the warmth of the garment. The brazier had not yet taken the
chill off the air. She pulled the hood up over her head and
fastened it in place with a plain hairpin in place of the jeweled
ones she ordinarily used. She went to a box covered in silk,
roused the drowsy flyer that slept there, and picked it up. Then
she moved to the great chair and settled the flyer in her lap. She
picked up the book, opened it to a previously selected page.
Before, she had merely tested out the spell, not bothering to
make the full preparation, and so it had been but a temporary
one. She began the ritual.

   With the ease of practice, she intoned the words. The Power
of them reverberated from the stone walls, and created a nexus
of energy that hung in the air before her. Like a cloud, its outline
shifted and altered. Then, before the flyer she held could even try
to break away from her grip, the nebula swooped down upon
and into it through its open mouth. It gave a great, startled leap,
and then was still.

   "Now," she said with some satisfaction, "with this spell we
shall find out if I can see what you see, as you experience it, and
not wait until later." The flyer seemed to be holding its breath,
and she stroked it until it got over the shock of the cloud's
invasion, much stronger than it had been the previous time.
Eventually the creature stopped trembling, and gripped the
fabric of her robe with its tiny paws.

   She picked it up by the nape of the neck. It struggled in her
hands, panting, kicking, and flapping its leathery wings, but as
she had done when first she summoned it, she held it up on a
level with her eyes, imposing her will upon it, dominating it.
"You are not hurt," she told it. "Be still. This is all to the good."

   The creature's mouth opened again and, for a moment, Ysa
thought it was going to try to bite her with its sharp teeth. Its
tongue was purplish red, and curved up at the end. It chittered
and then uttered a thin, high shriek of protest so shrill it hurt
Ysa's ears. Nevertheless, she continued to hold it until it had
regained a measure of calm. She carried it to one of the
windows, pulled back the curtain, and opened the casement a
crack.

   "Go out over the land, and seek," she said, pleased enough to
be generous. "You may even fly to the Oakenkeep, but do not
linger." Then she let it go, into the air. Its wings spread and beat
and, as always, as it went its outlines grew more and more hazy
until it vanished entirely. She watched for a moment, and then
closed the window again and pulled the curtain to. If her spell
had worked correctly, she would see what it saw when it suited
her, and wherever she might be at the time. Also, she would
know when the flyer had returned, seeking to be admitted again.
It would need to have a window opened so that it could get in.
She checked to see that a dish of grain and another of water was
ready.

   As clearly as if it had been within the hour, Ysa could visualize
in her mind's eye the amulet Harous had once shown her, years
before. Whether made of wood or of stone, she did not know; it
had a gray sheen as though well rubbed, and was fashioned into
the shape of a winged creature. Despite the polish, an observer
could see that the creature was represented as furred rather than
feathered. Its tiny eyes glittered with gems. And his claim—

   "Zazar, Your Majesty." His voice had risen hardly above a
whisper as if there might be listeners in the room. "This came
from Zazar."

   She had accepted it at the time, but now did not believe it.
Could not believe it. Would not. In fact, the whole claim was
quite preposterous. This was not the kind of work Zazar engaged
in. But she had let the matter go at the time, being too absorbed
in the problems presented by Boroth's last illness, and the
possibility that an heir would emerge to claim the throne she
had determined would go to her son. An illegitimate heir and an
unworthy son, to be sure, but the demands of dynasties could not
be concerned with such niceties.

  Also, she had been assured of Harous's complete loyalty then,
despite his delving into matters arcane and, perhaps, dangerous.
Not that she was any less certain regarding him now, but
prudence demanded that she make her own investigations.

  For once, Ysa felt security such as she had not known in years
concerning what might or might not be stirring in the North.
Surely, with the defeat of the Sorceress, that threat had
subsided, possibly forever. Instead, she had now decided to learn
whether or not Count Harous really did have a flyer such as hers,
and if so, what use he was making of it. Further, if he did, and
the use was not to her liking, she now had the means, through
Marcala, to acquire the amulet and, with it, a second flyer.

   Marcala's admission that he came to her apartment, rather
than admitting her to his quarters, was the key. Boroth had
never bothered with such niceties; he had been fully capable of
entertaining his women in his and Ysa's marriage bed. Harous,
however, kept to the dubious proprieties of an irregular liaison.
He visited his lady in her apartment, only when the lady
indicated that such was welcome. His own quarters remained
private. Therefore, when Marcala married Harous, she would be
allowed access to all rooms in Crag-den Keep, and thus able to
locate the amulet, wherever Harous had it hidden.

    Perhaps Visp, her flyer, would even encounter Harous's flyer,
if indeed he possessed one, in its journey northward. Yes, there
was much to learn and, now that the Grand Tourney was past
and the Sorceress sent packing, she had the leisure at last.

   Ysa found herself reluctant to descend the stairs and become
enmeshed, even peripherally, in the beginning of the hubbub
that always surrounded an important wedding. There was time
to verify that the spell was working correctly before she had to
leave the tower. She returned to the great chair, seated herself,
and closed her eyes, concentrating. At the same time, the vision
of the flyer opened behind her eyelids.

   Up, up she flew, above the cover of clouds that ever covered
the land in these days. The cold sun sparkled on the tops of these
clouds and the air burned in her lungs. Still she flew on, ever
farther, confident in her invisibility that she could avoid
whatever hazards she encountered on the way.

    Once before, she had done this by way of a temporary spell—
seen through the flyer's eyes directly. Now, however, this ability
was under her command. And she proposed to make the best use
of it.

  Even Ashen could tell, grudgingly, that Anamara was
beginning to improve. Whether it was Zazar's work or Weyse's
influence, the girl gradually ceased her nervous, birdlike
gestures, and instead began behaving as one very young, who is
being introduced into the company of adults for the first time.

    "Indeed," Zazar said when Ashen asked her about it, "the
effects of the Sorceress's spelling have erased most of Anamara's
memory of herself. Oh, now that I've worked with her for a while
she knows her name and those of her late parents, but she is like
a little child. And, like a child, she will have to be again taught
almost everything else that she once knew. I am convinced that
my work here is almost accomplished. After I leave, it will be up
to you to tutor her."

   "I!" exclaimed Ashen. She stared at Anamara where she sat on
a footstool close beside the Wysen-wyf, gazing at the two of them
in turn. "I bear no responsibility for this girl nor obligation to
assume her welfare. Further, I have no intention of doing any
such thing!"

  "And yet, it must be your responsibility. I grow old, and I am
not up to the task."

  Ashen turned to the Wysen-wyf. She looked unchanged from
when she had been the closest thing to a mother to Ashen, and
her energy seemed undimmed. Zazar glanced back at Ashen, and
Ashen caught the tiniest gleam of amusement in her eye.

   "Old!" she exclaimed. "I think not. You must find another
excuse."

  "I must get back to my hut, and my business in the Bog."

   Ashen allowed herself to laugh, but only a little. "And only now
does it occur to you to worry about what the villagers may be
doing to your house, to your belongings? I think not. No one
there would dare touch any of your things or sample any of the
mixtures you keep in pots on the shelf, for fear of being
poisoned—or worse. I know how carefully you have taught them
to be wary of you. No, Zazar, I do not believe you."

  The Wysen-wyf shrugged. "Well then, do it because the girl is
your distant kin, and if you still cannot summon up enough
charity, then you will do it for Rohan's sake."

   To that, Ashen could find no ready objection to give voice. She
set her lips firmly, and looked away.

  "Most of all"—Zazar's voice cut through the cold air like a
whip and Ashen involuntarily met her eyes again—"you will do it
because I instruct you to."

  "I—I am surely beyond your having to instruct and discipline
me," Ashen said, and knew her words to sound feeble, even in her
own ears.

   "You will never achieve that lofty status. You have entertained
me mightily, Ashen Deathdaughter, and I suspect you know it.
But I will be open with you now. I have done as much as I can do
with the girl. She is like a very young child. Now, think. Would
you rather leave her to her fate, having suffered much at the
hands of the minion of a woman you have no reason to like or
even to trust? Or would you prefer to take this child into your
care, as a member of your family, to rear to be a suitable consort
for young Rohan? That is what it amounts to."

   Abashed, Ashen felt her cheeks grow warm. She had not
considered the problem from this point of view, being so taken
with her personal animosity toward the girl that there was no
room for any other thought.

  "Very well," she said grudgingly. "I will take her into my care
because you have ordered me to do so, though I do not want the
burden she is sure to be."

   "Did you hear, child?" Zazar said to Anamara. "She has
agreed to look after you."

  Anamara gazed at Ashen and smiled happily. She opened her
mouth and spoke the first word she had uttered, to anyone's
knowledge, since the Sorceress had taken away her wits and
made her think she was a bird. "Mama," she said.

   In Rendelsham, all attention both at Court and in the city was
on the approaching nuptials of the valiant Count Harous of
Cragden, Lord Marshal, the Champion and Defender of
Rendelsham, and the brilliantly beautiful Lady Marcala of
Valvager. Not since the coronation of the infant King Peres had
there been such an excuse for a celebration. The cooks and
bakers were busy preparing an enormous feast, using as much of
the stored wheat to grind for cakes and pastries as they dared.
Huntsmen scoured the hills nearby for pigs and fallowbeeste,
which they preferred to bring back alive to slaughter and cook at
the last minute. When they could not, they butchered and
dressed the meat and laid it outside to freeze, where it would
keep without spoiling.

   Harous himself went about these days with a bemused
expression on his face, accepting congratulations and the
occasional dig in the ribs and confidences that he was, indeed, a
man much envied in his selection of a bride. That he was not
exactly the one who had done the selecting was a secret kept
among Lord Royance, Marcala, and the Dowager Queen Ysa.

   Because she was not expected to oversee every detail of the
approaching festivities, Ysa found time frequently to visit her
tower and send out her flyer. Now that she had harnessed the
ability to see directly what Visp observed, she flew with it all over
Rendel, assessing their readiness for meeting the danger that
waited, just over the horizon to the North.

   For the most part, what she saw pleased her. Of course, the
people stayed indoors as much as possible, conserving all the
warmth they could muster, but also they were beginning to
become accustomed to this new way of life that had come to
them.

   Everywhere in Rendel, people, building more of the shelters
the Sea-Rovers had invented to erect over their tender plants,
kept their food crops alive and yielding. There was not the
bounty there had been in warmer years, of course, but the people
would not starve. Cows stayed in barns, not being let out into
pastures to graze, and so escaped being frozen. Sheep and goats
grew astonishingly thick coats, and the wool, come spring, if
there was a spring, was bound to be of prime quality. Here and
there a few hardy souls ventured outside and discovered that
they could find ways of going about their business without
freezing.

   Ysa marveled at the adaptive ways of her people. Even as she
observed them through Visp's eyes, she stroked the Great Rings
on fingers and thumbs and was glad that Rendel had been given
into her able care.

   "No, Anamara," Ashen said firmly, "I am not your mama. I
have said that I will take you into my care, and so that I will do,
but you are not to address me as your mother, or even to think of
me that way." She glanced up at Zazar. "I intend to send this girl
to Rydale, as soon as I may, to be tutored by those who have my
own daughter Hegrin in their charge. I can think of nothing
better to do for her. Or with her."

  "I suppose that will be enough," Zazar said with a shrug.

  "What about Weyse?" Ashen asked. "Can't she help you?"

  "Look around. Weyse has already gone back to Galinth, but if
need is urgent, I will call on her."

  "Home?" Anamara said hopefully.

   "Rydale is your home, not Galinth," Ashen said. "Yes, I will
send you home."

  "Home," the girl repeated, and said it yet again. "Home.
Mama, home."

  "Go to bed," Ashen told her. "You will leave in a few days.
Zazar, I must have time to get her ready. She doesn't even have
any clothing of her own—just those few rags she was wearing
when she came here. Everything she is wearing is borrowed!"

   "I suppose those of the nobility put great store by such
things." Zazar took the girl by the shoulders and turned her
toward the bed that lay waiting for her, though she looked back
at Ashen with growing hope.

  "Home? Mama?" she repeated.
   "She will be a part of my household. She must be treated
decently, even if I have no great regard or affection for her. And
try to teach her a few more words by morning, if you please,"
Ashen told Zazar. "Before your own departure. You have the
knack for it, and I don't."

   At dawn the next morning, Ashen and Gaurin presided over a
hearty, warm breakfast of thick gruel and broiled slabs of meat,
served with diluted heated wine. The two travelers—for Rohan
was also leaving, to return to Rendelsham—-needed as much
internal fuel as possible before they braved the chill outdoors.
Also, Ashen had given orders that parcels of food be prepared,
one for Rohan and one for the Wysen-wyf, to see them on their
journeys. Those in the Great Hall sat at a small table screened
away from the rest of the room, close by the hearth. A small fire,
very different from the one that roared in the evenings, warmed
the enclosure.

   Rohan helped Anamara with her food, correcting the way she
held her spoon and cutting her meat for her. "Must you send her
away?" he asked.

   "I have told you repeatedly, Rydale is the best place for her
right now, with the tutors to teach her and help bring her back
to herself," Ashen said. "With Hegrin there already, it will only
amount to their having two children in their care instead of one.
Also, I promise, I will require frequent reports as to her progress,
even as they keep me informed about Hegrin. As there is still
some traffic between here and Rendelsham, it will be easy to
send the information on to you."

   "Would that I could go with her," Rohan said, taking the
spoon away from Anamara and putting it back into her hand the
right way, so that food would not spill out before she could get it
to her mouth.

   "You must return to the city," Gaurin said. "Know that, even
as Ashen has given orders that she know of Hegrin and
Anamara—so must I know how you fare, and Cebastian with you.
I have a feeling that the war we have anticipated for so many
years is not far away now."
   "Do not say it!" A.shen exclaimed. She almost knocked over
her flagon of wine, but righted it before it could spill and stain
the cloth. "With everything else that has happened of late, I
could not bear it if you were called away. Worse it would be if
both of you had to ride out to battle.'

   Gaurin kissed her fingertips. "You will bear it, when it
happens, for it most certainly will. On that day, you must take
counsel of Madame Zazar, and she with you." He glanced at
Zazar for confirmation, and the Wysen-wyf nodded. "I will feel
better if you and she are together then, so that you can look after
each other."

   "Count on me," Zazar said around a mouthful of gruel. She
helped herself to another cut of meat. "I have no real desire to
stay alone, with war at our doorsteps. In all of Rendel there will
be no place safe, but here at the Oakenkeep is as secure as any
other."

   Gaurin lifted her brown old hand in turn and kissed it.
"Thank you, Madame Zazar. I will owe you a debt I can never
repay."

  "We're almost even. After all, you have had to put up with
Ashen all these years," Zazar said tartly. "Not to mention
Rohan."

   Gaurin laughed, the sound echoing from the rafters of the
nearly deserted Hall. "You did better with Ashen than you think,"
he said, smiling, "i don't think you wanted to rear a foster
daughter who was entirely without spirit."

   To Ashen's suiprise the Wysen-wyf grinned in return, and she
knew her husband and her protector shared a level of
understanding and even humor that she would never, in all
likelihood, achieve.

   Delay matters as tüey would, the hour for departure arrived.
Ashen climbed to the top of the westernmost tower, where she
could observe the travelers and could determine what they were
doing, even at a distance. The day had dawned bright and clear,
though the freshening breeze was colder than she expected and
she was glad to have her fur-lined cloak to wrap around her. She
stood in what shelter there was to be had, gazing out over the
snow-covered countryside.

   Zazar, Rohan, and Gaurin all left the keep together, along with
a company of soldiers, for it was not safe these days to go
unescorted in Rendel. Despite the improvement in growing and
maintaining food supplies, the country had more than its share
of desperate, hungry people who would not scorn to waylay a
lone traveler in hopes of improving their own meager lot.

   The party split into different directions almost immediately.
Zazar, on foot as usual, having scorned the offer of a horse to
ride, turned west. A few soldiers turned from the main body,
obviously intended as a guard for Zazar. Ashen could hear their
voices, as the sound carried in the still morning air though she
couldn't make out the words. However, from what she could hear
in the sharp tone of Zazar's voice, it was equally obvious that this
escort was scorned by her and was being sent on their way. They
rode back to join their companions more eagerly than they had
departed. Zazar, unafraid of any ruffians who might waylay her
for the food she carried, cut across country, and Ashen knew her
objective was the ford across the Barrier River. Thence she could
reach the Bog easily enough. Ashen was grateful that she had, at
least, dressed warmly.

   Gaurin rode north with Rohan as far as the spot where the
road forked. Then the two men waved and Gaurin turned back,
to the Oakenkeep. Most of the soldiers turned back with him, but
half a dozen traveled on with the young knight.

   Ashen tasted bitterness in the back of her throat. Someday,
she knew, Gaurin would ride north again, with an even larger
company of men at his back, and he would not return to her, to
safety. Struggling to hold back her tears, she returned to the
warmth of their apartment, to await her husband's return. For a
while, as they could, she would see to it that they found what
comfort they might in each other's arms.


                      Twenty-four
   To Ashen's surprise and annoyance, a summons came almost
on the heels of Rohan's departure, that they must present
themselves at Court, for the marriage of Harous and Marcala
and the attendant feast.

   "We could have ridden with Rohan, and kept him company,"
she said with a tinge of bitterness in her voice.

   "Or kept him safe?" Gaurin said, amused. "These things
happen as they will, my dear. They have bidden us be there, and
so go we shall, tomorrow, or the next day at the latest. I daresay
it will be less wearing an occasion than that of the Grand
Tourney."

   "I had planned on sending Anamara to Rydale, once we were
not preoccupied with Rohan's departure. My women are not
nearly finished with the sewing, and need another week at least.
Also, I wanted to make sure Zazar returned safely to the Bog."

   "Who in all of Rendel would dare cross Madame Zazar?"
Gaurin said, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement.
"Don't worry, my dear. This is a minor annoyance at most. You
can leave detailed orders about Lady Anamara's relocation, and
even though Ayfare won't be here to carry them out, she has
people trained by now. All will be accomplished while we are
away. You do not have to stay and bid her good-bye."

   And so, Ashen swallowed her complaints and prepared for the
journey. Actually, she did have business there, returning a parcel
of books to Esander, the kind and generous priest at the Great
Fane of the Shining. She had taken these away after the tourney,
and hoped to find more with which to occupy herself once she
and Gaurin returned home—where, she hoped vehemently, they
could stay put for a good long while. As a wedding gift, she
selected a silver-gilt box in which to keep face powder and two
matching bottles for scent, the sort of useless ornaments Marcala
might like.

   In Rendelsham, all was brightness and gaiety. It was as if
there were no blight of winter on the land, only an unexpectedly
long cold season. This came as a surprise to Ashen, and she
remarked on it.
   "People must have their occasional amusements," Gaurin told
her, "or they will turn to brooding and mischief. It is good to see
happiness for a change, and no sign of nobles at odds with each
other."

   Indeed, the city seemed well off as Ashen could scarcely
remember it, back in the days when she had first come to
Cragden Keep, and thence to Rendelsham Castle. The
townspeople as a group were, perhaps, not as plump as she
remembered, but they were clean and well dressed in warm
clothing, and their spirits seemed high. Also, there were vendors
on every comer selling food and drink, and mementos of the
approaching occasion. They lined the approach to the castle and
Ashen and Gaurin had to pass through a veritable gauntlet of
them just to get to the entrance.

   "Thought the Marshal would never get around to it," one such
told Ashen when she stopped to examine a tray of gaudy trinkets.
"Marrying his pretty lady, I mean. My guess is it's just the first
wedding of many, what with talk of war in the air and young
men being what they are, and that's good for businessi"

  Indulgently, Gaunn bought her a brooch in the shape of a
vaux lily, set with paste stones, paying far more than the bauble
was worth. "It's a fitting symbol, don't you think?" he said.

   Ashen bit her lips to keep from smiling. "She's been after him
for as long as I can remember.", She regarded the lily brooch. "I'll
keep this in my jewel box because you gave it to me, but if you
don't mind, I won't wear it very often."

   At that, Gaurin threw his head back and laughed aloud. "May
I suggest that you do not wear that Ash necklace at the
wedding," he said, when the fit of merriment had passed. "Better
the false brooch than a reminder of something the Marshal gave
to you back when he was courting the Ash heiress. It might dim
the spirits of the bride, if she caught sight of it."

   Ashen touched the necklace she was wearing around her neck.
The center was a gold circle, set with a gleaming blue stone like
the ones in her earrings, also a gift from Harous, she
remembered. On either side of the circle, a gold chain, set with
smaller stones, was attached so it would hang straight. "Never
mind about Marcala," she said. "Does it bother you that I wear
these things? That they came from Harous?"

   "It did at first," he said genially. "But then I realized that this
was the only heirloom of your house that you could hope to
possess. Now I find it very thoughtful—even touching—that
Harous thought to have that broken brooch made into a necklace
so that you could wear it as often as you liked. I wonder where he
found it."

   "He never told me." A faint recollection of something she had
once glimpsed, as if through a fog, trembled on the edge of her
mind—fleeing for her life in the Bog, a shadowy figure bending
over the lifeless body of Kazi, a flash of something bright. Then,
with the blare of trumpets from Rendelsham Castle, the memory
was gone before she could grasp it.

  "We must hurry, in case something important is happening,"
Gaurin said. "In any case, I have a gift for you myself."

   As it turned out, trumpets blared these days in Rendelsham
Castle for any reason and, sometimes, for no reason at all. When
they had been established in their apartment and Ayfare was, as
was her usual custom, setting everything to rights, Gaurin went
to pay his respects and also report their official arrival. Ashen
left for the Fane of the Glowing, a carefully wrapped bundle of
books under her arm.

   "Thank you once again, kind Esander," she said, handing him
the parcel. "I would have returned these to you more promptly,
but there has been little opportunity. Travel has been difficult,
and the roads, where they are not frozen, are nearly impassable,
even by horseback."

   "Pray, do not concern yourself, my dear Lady Ashen," the
priest said. "Nobody cares about these books anyway, as I have
told you, except the Queen, and she does not come here often.
But see what I have for you! I stumbled upon it as I was looking
for something else, not even in the hidden library. Most curious,
it was hidden in a secret panel in the wall of a very obscure room
in the Fane, a place where people seldom go. And yet, when I but
touched a spot in the molding above a small fireplace, the recess
opened at once. It was as if I had been destined to find it, at just
that moment."

   Ashen accepted the volume with hands that shook despite her
efforts to control them. The book was obviously very old and, just
as obviously, extremely valuable not only for what it contained
but also in and of itself. It was bound in blue velvet-—a little
faded and the worse for having been used, but still in remarkably
good condition, probably because of its having lain hidden for so
many years—and the hinges and locks were of gold set with
precious gems. The large title, worked in such ornate letters that
she couldn't make it out at first, was a single word, Powyr, and
it was embroidered in pure gold thread into which many beads
of gemstones had been included. Under this were more
embroideries, and she realized that these were the words of the
subtitle. Ye Boke of Ye Fayne, it read. With great care, she
opened the book at random. The writing inside was as beautiful
as the cover and all the capitals were picked out in red and gold,
with lavish illustrations on the title pages of each section. The
thick, creamy paper, or whatever had been used in its making,
looked as fresh as it must have been the day it was bound, with
no yellowing or crumbling from age.

  "I couldn't possibly accept this," she said, wishing with all her
heart that she could. She held it out to the priest.

   "No, it is yours," Esander told her, folding her fingers around
the book. "After all these years, and given the interest you have
in the subject and the great respect with which you approach it,
not like the—Never mind. I have a feeling about you, Lady Ashen,
and have had since the first time I met you, in the company of
your unfortunate late husband, Obern. This feeling prompted me
then to give you what I can, and continues to this day. Since this
book is not a part of either the library to which all have access,
or that beneath the Fane where only you and I go, then it is mine
to do with as I will. And I will to give it to you."

   "Thank you," she said, humbled. "I will guard it, and will use
it—if I use it—as well as I may."

   The priest wrapped the precious object in the covering Ashen
had used for the books she had returned, and handed it to her.
"Go in peace," he said.

   That evening, at the wedding-eve dinner in the Great Hall,
Ashen wore her best blue velvet gown, and the new necklace
Gaurin had given her—strands of alternating pearls and sapphire
beads, from which depended a modern rendering of her Ash
badge in gold. With it, she wore matching earrings and
bracelets. It was a gift that would have impressed even a Queen,
and when she opened the wrappings it took Ashen's breath away
at the very sight of it.

   "I commissioned this made when we were in the city for the
Grand Tourney," he told her as he fastened the ornament around
her slender neck.

   "You are so generous. A mere 'thank you' seems so inadequate
for such a beautiful gift."

  "You are the loveliest woman in the room," he whispered in
her ear as they entered the Hall.

   Inside, all was warmth and light, and the sounds of
celebration filled the air. The smell of good food wafted from the
doorway through which the pages were just beginning to bring
the dishes, and Ashen's stomach reacted in anticipation.
Obviously, no expense was being spared. This was just the feast
prior to the real celebration, for the wedding would be on the
morrow. A woman clad in deep red came toward them.

   'Tour Gracious Highness the Queen Dowager Ysa!" Gaurin
exclaimed, cordiality in his voice. "We bring greetings from the
Oak-enkeep." He bowed and Ashen dipped a deep curtsey.

  Ysa acknowledged the gestures with a nod of her head. "It has
been but a short while since last we had the pleasure of having
you and Lady Ashen in our company," she said. "I trust that all
has been well in the meantime?"

   "We scarcely had time to miss being in Rendelsham before
this happy event summoned us to return," Gaurin said. He
seemed to be perfectly at ease, and even enjoying himself.
   The Dowager was clad in satin and velvet this evening, with
many strings of garnets and pearls around her neck, and the Oak
badge prominent on her headdress. Ashen noted that Ysa's
jewels were certainly no finer than her own though the other
woman's pearls were larger. "Is the Dowager Rannore dining in
the Hall tonight?" she said.

  "She is, and the King as well," replied Ysa. "Yes, we and our
Court are truly gay now that so much—discordance has been
removed from our midst."

  "We have Rohan to thank for that," Gaurin said.

  "Oh, yes, Rohan."

  "He has indeed come to a man's estate. His father Obern
would be proud of him."

   To Ashen's astonishment, Ysa started, and turned deathly pale
beneath the rouge on her face. "A—a man's estate," she repeated.
She swayed, seeming to be almost on the verge of swooning.
Gaurin reached out a hand to steady her, but she waved him
away. "It is nothing. A momentary dizziness. Yes, yes, Rohan is a
very special young man." Another blast of trumpets sounded,
giving her a chance to recover her composure fully. "Ah," the
Dowager said, turning toward the door. "That would be the
King."

   She moved away, and Ashen, relieved that this interview was
over, began to search for their places at the high table. As before,
she and Gaurin would be seated beside Rannore. The King
occupied the center of the table, with Ysa to his right, and the
bridal couple was placed on her other side, to honor them. Ashen
observed Gaurin's easy manner with Harous as they greeted each
other. Though the men were peers, still Harous held the title of
Lord High Marshal and, as a result, could be thought of as
Gaurin's commanding officer.

   Harous bent over Ashen's hand. "Greetings, my happy Ashen,"
he said. "Will you congratulate me in my own happiness?"

  "With all my heart," she said, "and your bride as well."
   "Thank you," Marcala said, and the two touched cheeks, as
women will who are not fond of each other, but who are
determined to be cordial.

   Marcala's neck and ears glittered with amethysts that
matched the gown she wore, and her scent of vaux lilies hung in
the air. Ashen thought about the days when her sole ornament
had been that pierced stone amulet with the strange power of
concealment. How far she had progressed on her path to
civilization.

   Ashen and Rannore embraced with much greater warmth.
"Oh, how glad I am that you are back so soon," Rannore said. "I
find that I missed you, even though we have not been separated
long. Perhaps someday I can come to the Oakenkeep for a visit."

   "That would be wonderful!" Ashen exclaimed. "Nothing would
please me more. But would it be permitted?"

   "The King scarcely sees me these days. He is no longer a child,
though not yet a man, and his grandmother and the Council
have more influence over him than I ever will."

  "You know you are greatly welcome," Ashen said. "In fact, why
don't you come with us when we return?"

   Rannore looked at her intently, and Ashen realized that
Ran-nore's suggestion, hardly more than a wish when she
uttered it, was becoming a reality in her friend's mind. Also, by
the time they returned, Anamara would no longer be there and,
Ashen realized, she would miss even that unwelcome visitor's
company. It had given her something with which to occupy
herself other than worrying about Gaurin.

  Rannore nodded. "I accept," she said firmly. "I will go with
you to the Oakenkeep."

   "Good. Just be aware that we are country folk and the keep is
no Rendelsham Castle. We lead a much more simple life there
than here."

  "It sounds wonderful."
  Some of Gaurin's retainers had been bidden to the Hall as
well, and had been given places at the trestles below the dais.
Ashen caught sight of Rohan, seated with Lathrom, and both
men saluted her with some pleasure. Then Lathrom saluted
Rannore, who nodded in acknowledgment.

  "Who is that man?" she asked. "I think I have seen him
somewhere before."

   "He is our Captain of the Guard. He was once a sergeant in
the late King's company, and was, in fact, in charge of the men
who— who spirited me away when Obern came to my rescue.
Later, he repented of this action and swore fealty to Obern and
then, when he died, to me and my household. He is a good man,
both loyal and very able."

  "And very attractive. Yes, I remember him now."

   Then Rannore turned the talk to lighter matters, more
suitable to dinner conversation, leaving Ashen to glance
curiously at Lathrom and then at her friend, wondering if some
spark had, perchance, passed between them.

  And what, she wondered, as the feast progressed, had caused
Ysa to be so disconcerted when Gaurin but remarked on Rohan's
now being a man full-grown?

    Ysa fled the wedding eve feast as quickly as decency would
allow. All through the meal, the words of Kasai, the Spirit
Drummer who had accompanied Snolli of the Sea-Rovers to
Rendelsham on the occasion of King Florian's wedding, so many
years before, had rolled through her head like ominous thunder.
"Perhaps a year, perhaps not until the son of the Chieftain's son
is a man full-grown. And yet they will come."

   How could Ysa have overlooked that it was Rohan, Obern's
firstborn, whom Kasai had been speaking of, as the Spirit Drum
whispered through the Council chamber, and not that child of
Ob-em's that Ashen had miscarried!

  Coldness not born of the chill weather seeped through her
bones as she climbed the stairs to her tower so swiftly that she
had to sit and rest, nursing a stitch in her side. It had to have
been the Sorceress's baleful influence, and it was still working
against heri Ysa had never been so careless as to forget such a
vital piece of information concerning the danger that, she now
knew, had never abated, even once. Gaurin's words had acted
like a veil lifting over her memory, erasing the shadow the
Sorceress had put there. To think that when Ashen had
miscarried, she had even entertained the thought that the
danger from the North had abated, perhaps vanished entirely!

   What a fool she had been—complacent, unheeding. Now she
had to work swiftly, if she had any hopes of avoiding the effects
of this unthinkable folly. She took the flyer out of its nest and
carried it to the window. "Go and seek," she told it, "but this
time go northward and do not return until you find out what is
afoot."

   Once she had ascertained that it was flying straight and true
toward the north, she returned to the carved red-wood chair,
where she sat, straining forward, as if to hurry the little creature
on its way. Without noticing what she was doing, she clasped her
hands together, rubbing the Great Rings over and over, as if for
solace and comfort.

   The Young Dowager Queen Rannore looked about the
apartment she had been given at the Oakenkeep, nodding
appreciatively. "I thought you said this was a kind of rough
frontier castle," she said to Ashen. "If once it was, you have made
of it a real home, and a remarkably comfortable one at that. I
was expecting something little better than cold stone walls!"

   Ashen smiled, knowing that she was blushing. "What we have
to offer, we do so with a full heart," she told her friend.

   "I didn't realize how unhappy I truly was in Rendelsham,"
Rannore said. "Not until I had left the city well behind did it
seem that I could take a deep, clean breath."

  "It has not been easy for you, these last few years."

   Ayfare entered the room with a tray bearing two cups and a
flagon of the hot spiced juice that was Ashen's preferred
beverage. She set it on a table close by the fireplace. "Is there
anything else you will be needing, Madame?" she said to
Rannore. "I couldn't help but notice that you came alone, with
naught but the guard around you. I have a young woman, Dayna,
working here and she is not badly trained. I will be glad to assign
her to you during your stay. And if you require my personal
services, you have but to ring." She indicated a bellpull by the
door.

   "Thank you—Ayfare, isn't it?" Rannore smiled again. "I will
gladly accept Dayna as my maid while I am in residence here,
and I will surely call, if there is anything I need."

   Then Ayfare curtseyed and left, closing the door behind her,
and both ladies sat down to enjoy the hot drink. Rannore sighed
deeply. "I couldn't tell her or, for that matter, anyone but you,
that I don't trust any of my staff of women. They were all in Ysa's
hire once, and might still be, for all I know. I want to enjoy
myself without fear that my least word or deed will be reported
to that one!"

   "We must give the Dowager Queen Ysa our dutiful love and
regard," Ashen said carefully.

  At that, Rannore chucked. "No one that I know of in
Rendel-sham feels anything close to 'dutiful love' for her."

   "Rannore!" Ashen said, trying to put reproof in her voice, but
she couldn't maintain it. Between them, and in private, they
could be open about their lack of respect toward Rendel's true
ruler. Both ladies dissolved into laughter, and it seemed that a
great weight had lifted off each.

   "What do you want to do while you are here?" Ashen asked,
when their decorum had been restored once more. "Shall we
arrange for a hunt? How shall we entertain you? There is often
music and dancing, but our ways must seem simple beside what
you are accustomed to."

   "Most of all, I want peace and quiet, and rest. I am content to
be alone with friends, with perhaps some embroidery or other
sewing for a pastime," Rannore replied. "And free, unbridled
talk. You have no idea—well, perhaps you do—how tedious it is at
Court to always have to be watching what you say, lest it be
reported and misinterpreted."

   "If companionship is what you seek, it is here for you. If you
require solitude, then you have come to the right place for it. As
for sewing, my mending basket is never empty. However, this
evening, I propose to show off my highborn guest for all to
admire, at dinner in the Hall. Our chef has been worrying about
his cooking ever since I sent word that you were returning with
us, and he is exceptionally nervous that you will think we are
only one cut above Bog savages when it comes to how we live,
and how well we eat."

  "I'm sure everything will be wonderful," Rannore said. "Do
you think that Lathrom will be among the ones at table?"

    "As Captain of the Guard, it is his duty to attend when he is
not out on patrol or otherwise occupied," Ashen said. "And even
if it weren't, I'm sure he would not miss the chance to be in your
company. I saw the looks that passed between you, in
Rendelsham."

   This time it was Rannore's turn to blush. "Do you think me
wicked, Ashen?" she asked. "Wicked to think about him the way
a woman thinks about a man?"

   Ashen leaned forward and clasped her friend's hand. "No, I
don't think you are wicked. Remember, I knew your late
husband, my half-brother, the King. I had no love for him, and I
think that you must have married him out of a sense of duty. I
can think of no other reason for you to have done so."

   Rannore stared into the fire. "When you are carrying a man's
child, it is easy to convince yourself that you love him—or, at
least, can honor him enough to make a life together." She
seemed to be talking primarily to herself.

  Ashen nodded, remembering her feelings toward Obern,
which, uncertain though they were, must still have been stronger
and more durable than anything Rannore and Florian had ever
had between them. "And especially when that man is the King,
and you carry the heir," Ashen said.

   "Especially then. Well, I paid for my folly in allowing him to
take liberties. I should have thought about my poor cousin,
Laherne, and how badly she fared at his hands. But when he
threatened to have my grandfather—" Rannore clamped her lips
together firmly.

   She didn't need to elaborate. With those words the entire
sorry tale unfolded for Ashen, and she had to keep herself from
recoiling at the perfidy shown by someone to whom she
was—had been—so closely allied by blood. "It is over and done
with," she told Rannore, "and you can thank the Powers that you
lived. Yes, you have paid for whatever folly you committed—paid
in full, and overflowing— and that debt is now canceled. The
young King, Peres, is still a stripling, but he seems fair to be a
good-enough ruler when his time truly comes. And if he can pry
the Kingdom out of Ysa's hands. My guess is that Ysa has been
the one reminding you of your 'indiscre-tion,' whenever she
thought you needed putting in your place."

  "That was the very word she used. Among others." Rannore
swallowed the rest of her spiced juice.

   "It is difficult to go against that woman in the best of
circumstances," Ashen said, "and yours were far from good."

  "Tell me how you managed to come out against her as well as
you did," Rannore said.

   And so, obligingly, Ashen began relating the story of how she
had come to the Court, and Harous's role in training her to be a
lady instead of a Bog-brat. She told of how Marcala had been
assigned to this task, and how Ysa had reacted when she learned
that her husband's illegitimate daughter was alive and possibly
representing a threat to her iron rule of Rendel.

   The two ladies were still in conversation when Ayfare returned
to the guest chamber, to let them know that dinner was ready,
and their presence requested in the Hall by Count Gaurin, and
by Captain Lathrom as well. Hand in hand, they descended the
stairs. Ashen thought she had never seen Rannore's cheeks so
pink, nor her eyes so bright as when Lathrom offered her his
arm, so he could escort her to her place at the high table.

   Anamara awoke while the stars were still bright. Ever since
they had left the big stone place, she had kept on all her clothes
even when she went to bed, hoping that this chance would come.
Last night, she had willed the men to sleep, all of them, and
willed herself to wake up when they were all deep in slumber.
Stealthily she slipped out of the makeshift tent the soldiers had
erected for her, and made for the place where the large
animals—they were called "horses"—were tethered. She selected
the one she had ridden the previous day and led it away from the
camp as quietly as possible, pausing from time to time to listen
for any sounds indicating that she was being followed. But she
heard nothing and, by the time she was far enough away that the
light from the campfire could no longer be seen, she judged that
she had successfully escaped.

   Then, and only then, she clambered onto the horse's back and
dug her heels into its sides, urging it to retrace their steps
toward the north and west, back along the way they had come.
Only this time, she would avoid the big stone place where the
rivers met.

   The nice lady with the pale hair who was sometimes cross,
back there, had said Anamara was going to be sent home. But
Anamara, still with many of the instincts of a bird, knew that
they were going in the opposite direction of home. The other
lady, the stern one who flew and who had held her face in her
strong fingers and told her who she was, had told her also where
home was. Therefore, if she had to return home, it must be to
that place, damp and dismal arid unfriendly, but home
nonetheless.

   Perhaps she would see Rohan there again. Or, if not him, then
the old woman who had tended her in a little house, and later,
after they had all arrived at the big stone place. She wondered if
the furry one, Weyse, would also be there. She had liked Weyse.
Weyse crooned to her and purred when she stroked her, and
patted Ana-mara's face with clever little paws and coaxed her to
share her food. Yes, Weyse was probably already home, and
Anamara could scarcely abide the time it took to get there so she
could go and find Weyse.

   There would be a river—not the one where the big stone place
crouched guarding the waters. She remembered that, and the
boat. It was different from the streams she had had to cross to
get there. They had ridden in a boat. Now, the horse would carry
her across. When she got to the river, she would be nearly home.

   When she judged she was close to the big stone place she left
the road and traveled cross-country, in more of a straight line,
and so arrived at the river in only a couple of days' journeying.
Though he had broken through crusts of ice and forded the
streams easily enough, the horse refused to go near this river.
She had to leave him and search for a place where the ice was
thick enough that she could cross, or where she could wade.
Eventually, downstream, she came to such a spot, where the
water babbled over a stony crossing that must have been made
by men. Here the stream was swift enough that ice did not form.
Without taking off her shoes or giving any thought to the chill of
the waters, she walked straight into the stream and across the
shadowy borders of the Bog.

    The message came to the Oakenkeep while the residents were
still at dinner, welcoming their royal guest. One of the soldiers
entered, still in traveling clothes and not having paused long
enough to wash the road-grime off. Bending low, he whispered in
Gaurin's ear. He glanced at Ashen, then at Lathrom. "Come with
me so we can talk in private," he said "It cannot wait."

   "I will make our excuses," she said.

   Leaving Rannore a little puzzled but graciously taking up the
duty as temporary hostess to the feast, Ashen, Gaurin, Lathrom,
and the soldier left the Hall for the small upstairs room Gaurin
used as a study. There, mincing no words, the soldier related the
news that Anamara was missing and all their efforts had not
been sufficient to locate her.

   "How can that be'" Lathrom exclaimed. "Didn't you set a
guard? Do you have no trackers, that you can't pick up the trail
of a single girl who is a little addled in her wits?" He glanced at
Ashen. "No offense, my lady."

   "None taken. Her mind is, truly, befogged. Is there any
indication of where she might have gone?"

   "None, Lady Ashen," the soldier said, obviously grateful to be
addressing her rather than enduring the wrath of his
commanding officer. "All we know is, she stole a horse, and by
the few tracks we found, we determined that she was headed
north and west."

  "Then she was traveling toward the Bog," Gaurin said. "And,
somehow, knowing enough to avoid passing near the
Oakenkeep."

  "And how long has it been since you noticed she was
missing?" Lathrom said, with heavy irony.

  "Five days, sir. We searched hard, truly. The lady might as
well have flown avvay, for all the traces of her that we could see.
We did find the horse, though."

   "Five days. And in this coid. With rivers to cross, and
probably

   When he learned of Anamara's disappearance, Rohan left
Cragden Keep and went directly to Zazar's hut, following a trail
that had by now become familiar. "Have you heard? Have you
seen her?" he demanded.

   "I have heard, and no, I have not."

   "She must have been coming here."

   "Perhaps," Zazar said. "The Bog is a big place. Remember, you
no food except what might happen to be in a saddlebag." Gaurin
sighed. He turned to Ashen. "I am sorry, my dear. I fear that,
under the circumstances, even if she managed to reach the Bog,
she must have perished by now."

  "She was in my care," Ashen said numbly. "Zazar put her into
my care."
  "No, my lady," Lathrom said. "I am to blame. I should have
gone myself, to ensure her arrival safely at Rydale. If there is
punishment to be dealt out, it must fall on me."

   "We will speak of punishment later, if at all," Gaurin told him.
"You were bidden to Rendelsham, even as we were." Then he
turned to Ashen. "We must notify Madame Zazar, and we must
also inform Rohan."

  "Yes," she said.

  "Not that either of them can do anything, but they should
know."

   "Yes," she repeated. She could scarcely believe the news the
man had brought. How could they have been so careless? Or,
perhaps, this was a remnant of whatever spell the wretched girl
had been put under, that she had been able to elude the men set
to watch over her.

  She dreaded Zazar's wrath. Anamara was dead, and Ashen
was sorry for it—sorry for Rohan, actually—but her passing
would solve many problems Rohan did not need to deal with just
now.

    She hoped that, one day, Rohan would be able to forgive them
all for the loss of his addle-pated lady.

  found her wandering somewhere to the north of here."

  "Grandam, I don't know what I'll do if I have lost her—" Tears
welled up in Rohan's eyes. A moment later, they spilled down his
cheeks as Zazar slapped him, hard, across the face.

   "Stop thati" the Wysen-wyf said fiercely. "Stop it, I say!" She
slapped him again, even harder, on the other cheek.

   Rohan, shocked out of his grief over Anamara, could only
stare at her. Then he noted a gleam of moisture in the old eyes
that glared so sternly into his and knew that, in striking him,
Zazar had somehow been striking out at herself as well, sharing
the responsibility for the girl's disappearance.
  "Nobody is to blame," Rohan said. "Or we all are."

  "Did you see anything as you came through the Bog?"

  "I eluded a couple of hunting parties on the way."

   "Then you must assume that your lady is dead," Zazar said
flatly. She led him to a seat beside the fire. "If she survived to
cross the land beyond the Oakenkeep and here, she had to cross
more than one river. She could have fallen through the ice and
drowned. If she fell and did not drown, she must have fallen ill
from the cold and crawled away to die. Or, supposing that she
made it to the Bog, without knowledge of the place and how to
elude those she did not want to encounter, the hunting parties
must have caught her and she is dead at their hands. But know
this, young Rohan. She is surely dead, and the sooner you
understand this, the better off you will be."

   "I will never understand it," Rohan said, and heard the words
thin and hollow in his own ears.

   "I will keep you here tonight, and in the morning you must
return to Rendelsham. Be very careful. You were foolish to risk
coming here. Those hunting parties you saw are out in the Bog
from every village, even this one, for hunger drives. Even if you
wore a badge of my own devising, it would not save you if you
were taken. You were foolish to come here."

   "Yes, Grandam," he said, bowing his head. "Only, I thought
you might help, or might know of something, anything I could
do."

   "There is nothing," Zazar said, her voice once more flat and
without intonation. "Only that you must now survive." She
reached out and touched the tuft of herbs and grasses in Rohan's
helm. "Survive, and do as Fate decides."

   In the high tower atop Rendelsham Castle, the Dowager
Queen Ysa sat as one paralyzed in her chair, watching what her
flyer was seeing, shocked beyond disbelief.

  Everywhere, the forces in the northern lands were stirring,
and some already begun on their long march southward. She had
been idle and lulled into a false sense of security, beguiled by the
Sorceress into thinking the land was safe because Obern's heir by
Ashen had perished. But while she slept and her eternal vigilance
flagged, the Great Foulness had been busy marshaling its
minions against the time when it would break free at last from
the Palace of Fire and Ice, guarded so long and so well by
Cyornas NordornKing. As if from a great distance, she heard the
words of Snolli, at that council when they had worked out the
treaty between Rendel and the Sea-Rovers. "He will face it first.
He cannot prevail alone."

   Even as she watched in horror, great pale beasts, breathing
crystals of ice and ridden by white-clad horrors, stumped
forward awkwardly. Bellowing and trumpeting, they assaulted
the walls and methodically smashed them, stone by stone. An old
warrior, snowy hair blowing in the wind, challenged them
fiercely, only to be cut down with his nobles and stretched cold
upon the ground.

   Ysa's hands were clasped, hard, against her mouth. The Great
Rings cut into her lips. Cyornas NordornKing was no more. His
had been a valiant, useless defense, and the time he had bought
would— Ysa knew as a certainty that froze her heart—be
inadequate. The great beasts reared high and their riders
shrilled cries of triumph and of challenge.

   Then they began to lead the armies on their march
southward.

   The great beasts walked with a ponderous tread that shook
the very ground beneath them. Always, over all, the air
reverberated with their bellowing and the ice-crystals of their
breath formed cold clouds around them One of the riders threw
back her hood and, with a chill beyond what had taken her
before, Ysa recognized the Sorceress. She gazed around, alerted
by something, and Ysa knew that her flyer's presence had been
recognized.

  Flee for your life! Return at once! She sent out the message
with all the urgency she could muster, and the flyer
immediately turned and began winging its swift way back
toward the south, frightened not only by Ysa's command but
also by what was happening around it that it had been forced
to observe.

   Flavielle was perched on the beast's neck, just behind the
horrible head. She nudged it with her heels. It stretched white
leather wings and lifted itself into the air, seeking the invisible
flyer. Snow fell from under the wings as it flew. In that moment
of pure, unreasoning panic, Ysa recognized what sort of
creature Flavielle rode, and those still-hooded horrors with her.
Could they even be men? Their mounts were the most fell
creatures ever dreamed of in the nightmares of men, that until
now had been relegated to tales and legends.

  Ice Dragons. And they were marching on Rendel.