A Darkness at Sethanon (31 page)

“I am
Martin, son of Margaret . . .” For the first time in years he
thought of his mother, a pretty serving girl in Duke Brucal’s
court. “ . . . and Borric, of the line of Dannis, first of the
conDoins. I am called Martin Longbow.”

She looked long
at his face, as if studying each feature. Her expression changed as
she smiled. Martin felt heat burst in his chest at the sight of it.
Then she laughed. “That name suits you, Martin Longbow. You are
as tall and powerful as your weapon. Have you a wife?”

Martin spoke
softly. “No. I . . . I had never met anyone . . . I’ve
never had a way with words . . . or women. I’ve not known
many.” She placed her fingertips on his lips. “I
understand.” Suddenly Martin found her in his arms, her head on
his chest, how he didn’t know. Gently he held her, as if the
slightest motion would cause her to flee. “I do not know how
things are done in your Kingdom, Martin, but Amos says you avoid
speaking openly of things we take for granted in Armengar. I do not
know if this is such a thing. But I do not wish to be alone this
night.” She looked again at his face, and he saw both desire
and fear there and understood her needs. Softly, almost inaudibly,
she said, “Are you as gentle as you are strong, Martin
Longbow?”

Martin studied
her face and knew no words were needed. He held her for a long time
in silence, until she slowly moved away, took his hand, and led him
off toward her quarters.

For a long time
Arutha sat watching Guy. The Protector of Armengar was lost in his
own thoughts, drinking absently from his ale cup, the fire’s
crackle the only sound in the room. Then at last Guy said, “The
thing I miss most is the wine, I think. There are times when it suits
a mood, don’t you agree?”

Arutha nodded,
sampling his own ale. “Amos told us of your loss.”

Guy waved
absently, and Arutha could see he was a little drunk, his movements
not as sure, not quite as controlled. But his voice betrayed no
slurring of speech.

He sighed
deeply. “More your loss than mine, Arutha. You never met her.”

Arutha didn’t
know what to say. He suddenly felt irritated by this, as if he was
being forced to watch something private, somehow being forced to
share a bond of grief with a man he should hate. ,”You said we
needed to speak, Guy.”

Guy nodded,
pushing aside his cup. He still stared off into the distance. “I
have need of you.” He turned to face Arutha. “I have need
of the Kingdom, at least, and that means Lyam.” Arutha motioned
for Guy to continue. “It makes little difference to me
personally if I possess your good opinion or not. But it is clear I
need your acceptance as the leader of these people.” He lapsed
into thoughtfulness. Then he said, “I thought your brother
would marry Anita. It was the logical thing to do to bolster his
claim. But then, he was King before he knew it. Rodric did us all a
favour by having one lucid moment before he died.” He looked
hard at Arutha. “Anita is a fine young woman. I had no desire
to wed her, only a need at the time. I would have let her find her
own . . . satisfactions. It is better this way.” He sat back.
“I’m drunk. My mind wanders.” He closed his eye,
and for a moment Arutha thought he might be drifting off to sleep.

Then Guy said,
“Amos told you how we came to Armengar, so I’ll not
repeat that tale. But there are other matters I think he did not
touch upon.” Again he was silent. Another long period without
words was followed by – “Did your father ever tell you
how there came to be so much bitterness between us?”

Arutha kept his
voice calm. “He said you were at the heart of every conspiracy
in court against the Western Realm, and you used your position with
both Rodric and his father to undermine Father’s position.”

To Arutha’s
astonishment, Guy said, “That’s mostly true. A different
interpretation of my actions might give a softer label to what I did,
but my actions under the reigns of Rodric and his father before him
were never in the interest of your father or the West.

“No, I
speak of . . . other things.”

“He never
spoke of you except to brand you as an enemy.” Afutha
considered, then went on, “Dulanic said you and Father were
friends once.”

Guy again looked
at the fire. His manner was distant, as if remembering. Softly he
said, “Yes, very good friends.” Again he fell into
silence, then just as Arutha was about to speak, he said, “It
started when we were both young men at court, during the reign of
Rodric the Third. We were among the very first squires sent to the
royal court - Caldric’s innovation was to produce rulers who
know more than their fathers.” Guy considered. “Let me
tell you how it was. And when I’m done, maybe you’ll
understand why you and your brother were never sent to court.

“I was
three years younger than your father, who was barely eighteen, but we
were of a size and temper. At first we were thrown together, for he
was a distant cousin, and I was expected to teach manners to this son
of a rustic duke. In time we became friends. Over the years we
gambled, wenched, and fought together.

“Oh, we
had differences, even then. Borric was a frontier noble’s son,
more concerned with old concepts of honour and duty than in
understanding the true causes of events around him. I, well . . .”
He drew his hand down over his face, as if stirring himself awake.
His tone became more brisk. “I was raised in the eastern
courts, and I was marked to command from an early age. My family is
as old and honoured as any in the Kingdom, even yours. Had Delong and
his brothers been slightly less gifted generals and my forebears
slightly better ones, the Bas-Tyras would have been kings instead of
the conDoins. So I had been taught from boyhood how the game of
politics is played in the realms. No, we were very different in some
ways, your father and I, but in my life there has never been a man
I’ve loved more than Borric.” He looked hard at Arutha.
“He was the brother I never had.”

Arutha was
intrigued. He had no doubt Guy was colouring things to suit his
purpose, suspecting even the drunkenness was a pose, but he was
curious to hear of his father’s youth. “What, then,
caused the estrangement between you?”

“We
competed, as young men do, in the hunt, gambling, and for the
affection of the ladies. Our political differences led to hot words
from time to time, but we always found a way to gloss over arguments
and reconcile ourselves. Once we even came to blows over some
thoughtless remarks I made. I had said your greatgrandfather had been
nothing more than the disgruntled third son of a king, seeking to
gain by strength of arms that which could not be found within the
existing Kingdom. Borric saw him a great man who planted the banner
of the Kingdom in Bosania.

“I held
that the West was a sap upon the resources of the Kingdom. The
distances are too great for proper administration. You rule in
Krondor. You know you govern an independent realm, with only broad
policy coming from Rillanon. The Western Realm is almost a separate
nation. Anyway, we argued about that, then fought. Afterward we
relented in our anger. But that was the first sign of how deep were
the differences we felt over the policies of the realms. Still, even
those differences did nothing to lessen the bond between us.”

“You make
it sound a reasonable disagreement between honourable men over
politics. But I knew Father. He hated you and his hate ran deep;
there must be more.”

Guy again
studied the firelight for a time. Softly he said, “Your father
and I were rivals in many things, but most bitterly for your mother.”

Arutha sat
forward. “What?”

“When your
uncle Malcom died of the fever, your father was called home. As older
brother, Borric would inherit, which is why he had been sent to court
for an education, but with Malcom dead your grandfather was alone. So
your grandfather had the King name your father Warden of the West and
send him back to Crydee. Your grandfather was aging - your
grandmother had already died, and with Malcom’s death he seemed
to fade quickly. It was less than two years later that he died and
Borric became Duke of Crydee. By then Brucal had returned to Yabon,
and I was Senior Squire of the King’s court. I looked forward
to Borric’s return - for he was to present himself to the King
to swear fealty as all new dukes are required to do during the first
year of their office.”

Arutha
calculated and realized that had to be the time his father had
visited Brucal at Yabon, on his way to the capital. It was during
that visit that Borric’s fancy was caught by a pretty serving
maid, and from that union came Martin, a fact not known to Borric
until five years later.

Guy continued
speaking. “The year before Borric’s return to Rillanon,
your mother came to court, to be a lady-in-waiting to Queen Janica,
the King’s second wife - Prince Rodric’s mother. That’s
when Catherine and I met. Until Gwynnath, she was the only woman I’ve
ever loved.”

Guy lapsed into
silence, and suddenly Arutha felt an odd sense of shame, as if he had
somehow forced Guy to reexamine two painful losses. “Catherine
was rare, Arutha. I know you understand that; she was your mother,
but when I first saw her she was as fresh as a spring morning, with a
blush in her cheeks and a hint of playfulness in her shy smile. Her
hair was golden, with a shine to it. I fell in love with her the
first moment I saw her. And so did your father. From that moment on,
our competition for her attention became fierce.

“For two
months we both courted her, and by the end of the second, your father
and I were not speaking, so bitter was our rivalry for Catherine.
Your father kept putting off his return to Crydee, choosing to stay
and woo Catherine. We vied desperately for her favour.

“I was to
have gone riding with Catherine one morning, but when I reached her
quarters, she was readying to travel. She was first cousin to Queen
Janica and, as such, a prize in the game of court intrigue. The
lessons I had taught your father the years before had paid
handsomely, for while I had been riding and walking in the garden
with Catherine, he had been speaking to the King. Rodric directed
your mother to wed your father, as was his right as her guardian. It
was a politically expedient marriage, for even then the King had
doubts as to his son’s ability and his brother’s health.
Damn it, but Rodric was an unhappy man. His three sons from his first
marriage had died before reaching manhood, and he never got over
their deaths or the death of his beloved Queen Beatrice. And his
younger brother, Erland, was a late child and sickly with the lung
flux. He was but ten years older than Prince Rodric. The court knew
that the King wished to name your father Heir, but Janica had given
him a son, a shy boy whom Rodric despised. I think he forced your
mother to marry your father to strengthen the tie to the throne, so
he might name him Heir, and heaven knows he spent the next twelve
years trying to either make the Prince a better man or break him in
the trying. But the King never did name an Heir before he died, and
we were left with Rodric the Fourth, a sadder, more broken man than
his father.”

Arutha looked
on, his cheeks flushed. “What do you mean, the King forced my
mother to marry my father?”

Guy’s one
good eye blazed. “It was a political marriage, Arutha.”

Arutha’s
anger rose up. “But my mother loved my father!”

“By the
time you were born, I’m sure she had learned to love him. Your
father was a good enough man and she a loving woman. But in those
days, she loved me.” His voice became thick with old emotions.
“She loved me. I had known her a year before Borric’s
return. We had already vowed to wed when my tenure as a squire was
through, but it was a secret thing, a pledge between children made in
a garden one night. I had written to my father, asking him to
intercede with the Queen, to gain me Catherine’s hand. I never
thought to speak to the King. I, the clever son of an eastern lord,
had been bested by the country noble’s boy in a court intrigue.
Damn, I had thought I was so wily. But I was then only nineteen. It
was so long ago.

“I fell
into a rage. In those days my temper was a match for your father’s.
I dashed from your mother’s room and sought Borric out. We
fought; in the King’s palace, we duelled and almost killed each
other. You must have seen the long wound upon your father’s
side, from under the left arm across his ribs. I gave him that scar.
I bear a similar wound from him. I almost died. When I recovered,
your father was a week gone to Crydee, taking Catherine with him. I
would have followed, but the King forbade it on pain of death. He was
correct, for they were married. I took to wearing black as a public
mark of my shame. Then I was sent to fight Kesh at Deep Taunton.”
He laughed a bitter laugh. “Much of my reputation as a general
came from that encounter. I owe my success in part to your father. I
punished the Keshians for his having robbed me of Catherine. I did
things no general in his right mind should do, leading attack after
attack. I think now I hoped to die then.” His voice softened,
and he chuckled. “I was almost disappointed when they asked for
quarter and terms of surrender.”

Guy sighed. “So
much of what happened in my life stems from that. I ceased holding
ill will toward Borric, eventually, but he . . . turned a bitter side
up when she died. He rejected the idea of sending his sons to the
King’s court. I think he worried I might take revenge upon you
and Lyam.”

“He loved
Mother; he was never a happy man after her death,” Arutha said,
feeling somehow both uncomfortable and angry. He did not need to
justify his father’s behaviour to his most bitter enemy.

Guy nodded. “I
know, but when we are young we cannot entertain the idea another’s
feelings can be as deep as our own. Our love is so much loftier, our
pain so much more intense. But as I grew older, I realized Borric
loved Catherine as much as I did. And I think she did love him.”
Guy’s good eye fixed on a point in space. His tone became
softer, reflective. “She was a wonderful, generous woman with
room in her life for many loves. Yet, I think deep in his heart your
father harboured doubts.” Guy regarded Arutha with an
expression of mixed wonder and pity. “Can you imagine that? How
sad it must have been? Perhaps, in a strange way, I was the luckier,
for I knew she loved me. I had no doubt.” Arutha noticed a
faint sheen of moisture in Guy’s good eye. The Protector
brushed away the gathering tear in an unselfconscious gesture. He
settled back, closing his eye, his hand to his forehead, and quietly
added, “There seems little justice in life at times.”