Harald (3 page)

"She was right. She won. They lost."

He caught the Lady with an arm around her shoulder, held her against him until she stopped shaking. Together they carried the body into the hall, laid it on the table.

"Back in a minute."

He spent it walking around the courtyard making sure there were no mistakes.

When he came back, the Lady had been joined by two more. She was young, they younger—by age and dress not yet full members of the Order. One, with a pale face, was holding a cloth tightly to her shoulder, blood oozing between her fingers and around the arrow shaft. He turned to the oldest:

"Heat water to clean her wound; I'll get my kit."

He went to the door, whistled; when his horse came he reached into the right-hand saddlebag, pulled out a wrapped bundle. Back inside he found the wounded girl seated, the other holding her hand with one hand, the bandage over the wound with the other.

"Arrow out, clean the wound, sew it up. Not fun but you should live—I did. Can you hold still?"

She nodded.

By the time the arrow had been broken off and the barbed head carefully drawn, the Lady was back with a basin of hot water. Harald cleaned the wound. From his bundle he got a small flask, pried free the wax seal.

"This will hurt. Sorry."

He carefully poured some of the contents onto the wound. The girl drew a hard breath. He reached into the bundle again, drew out a long strand of sinew, needle already threaded. In a few minutes it was over. He looked at her face; her eyes were still open.

"If you can put up with my surgery you can survive anything. Live."

She closed her eyes, drew a deep breath. He looked around, spoke to the Lady.

"She should be lying down. Do you have a pallet you can bring in?"

She nodded, left. There was a noise of hooves on stone. The unwounded girl looked up, startled.

"It's all right."

Hrolf came in.

"There was only one. I left their horses—too many to deal with by myself. Ours are all in the courtyard."

The Lady came back with a pallet. Harald helped her arrange it by the fireplace, picked up the wounded girl, laid her gently on it, kneeled there a moment. Stood up.

The Lady looked at him, suddenly shy. "I'm sorry. I should have thanked you. We, the sisters . . . We're in your debt."

"An old account, both ways; figuring the balance is past my powers."

She looked curiously at him; he fell silent a moment, then spoke. "The question is what you do next."

"What can we do?"

"You could complain to court of murder by His Majesty's Wolves, but from what I've heard of matters I don't recommend it."

"Or?"

"You can abandon the hold, flee to your sisters somewhere safer. You'll know more than I where that would be, but you could go north; Stephen's a fine man for failing when it suits him and I can't see him hunting you with any enthusiasm. I'm told Caralla is somewhere in the south plains with an adequate number of sisters, but finding her may not be easy; she isn't one to sit."

"Or?"

"We clean up this mess, get rid of the bodies, get someone to fix your door, sell the horses somewhere they won't tie to you, supposing anyone recognizes one, which isn't likely. Wolves—you never saw any Wolves. Sit tight, be very careful, ready to run if they try again. Far as their commander knows they've vanished off the map—maybe run, maybe dead. One more thing for their friends to worry about."

"Which would you do?"

"The last, at least for a while. You have one sister who shouldn't be moved just now if you can help it. Besides, it leaves your enemies with a puzzle. That's worth doing."

"And you?"

"Find someone can guide us north over the hills and keep quiet about it. We drop down into the valley, east road for Eston—what we would have been doing if none of this had happened. Who'll know we got there the long way?"

Two days later they reached the fork in the east road—left to Eston, right to the King's castle. Harald took the right fork alone, a shallow ford, then three miles through the woods to where the land lifted in a bare hill crowned with stone walls. Beyond the moat the gate was open but guarded.

"What's your errand to the King's castle?"

"To the King."

"He isn't hiring foreigners, last I heard. You think different, wait off the road; guard captain will be by in an hour or two."

Harald took the opportunity to look over the castle and its surroundings. Brush had grown back even farther since his last visit, cover for archers in easy bowshot of the walls. Position them at night, seize the gate with any of two or three tricks . . . it would take a fair force if the castle was properly garrisoned, and it probably was, but not impossible.

His thoughts were interrupted by a clatter of hoofs behind him. Turning, he saw a cluster of horsemen; one in the front carried a staff with the banner of North Province, beside him Lord Stephen deep in conversation with his captain. Harald looked down. After the first ranks passed he looked up again, raised his hand to one of the rearmost riders as the company came to a halt.

"By the gods. What are you doing cooling your heels outside the gate?"

"Gate guard thinks nobody matters less he arrives with a young army. Didn't feel like arguing; it's been a long ride. Besides, looks as though Stephen thinks the same. Isn't it safe to ride around the Kingdom nowadays?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. Hard times."

Harald joined the rear rank of Stephen's guard, with them rode through the gate to the stable where grooms were finding stalls for the new arrivals. He stayed to unsaddle one horse, unload the other, rub both down, see them supplied with water and hay. His armor, rolled up, went with pack bags, saddle and gear on a high shelf at the far end of the stall, bedding in a separate bundle, saddle blanket and armor padding spread out over the rest and hanging down. His warhorse butted her head against it a few times curiously, then settled down to the serious business of eating.

In the stable yard a small crowd by the tank where men, stripped to drawers, were splashing water on themselves, washing off the dust of travel. Harald joined them, stood dripping and shivering a few minutes more, dried himself with what he had been wearing, pulled on a clean tunic, went back in to fetch his bedding, then crossed the castle yard and plunged into the chaos of the great hall. He drifted over to a convenient corner, half behind a pillar, slid his bedding under a bench, sat down, back against the stone wall.

Talk among the men, castle garrison and guards of half a dozen provincial lords, was as always mostly food and women, save one cluster in a corner leaning over their dice with grim concentration. The handful of Wolves for the most part kept together. One tried to join a group of guards; they ignored him and after a few minutes he backed away. Four women in the dress of the Order, all strangers to him, stood at the far end of the hall, talking to nobody; one was wearing a plain circlet of gold set with a green stone. If there was talk in the hall about current troubles it was not in a voice meant for strangers.

Word came to clear the hall; men drifted out into the yard while servants set up the long tables. A tall stranger eyed Harald curiously.

"Come a long way?"

"Too long; getting old."

"Vales?"

"Mainvale."

"I thought I recognized the accent. Had a friend from one of the smaller vales south of you. Half the time I couldn't tell what he was saying. You're easier."

"Too much time this side the mountains."

"Who are you with?"

"Nobody yet—just me."

The man gave him a longer look.

"I know someone who might be hiring."

The doors of the great hall opened again, this time to a blast of trumpets, somewhat out of tune. Harald found a seat at one end of the length of table claimed by Stephen's guard, a friend one side, stranger the other. Stephen himself was at the south end of the hall, with the King and the other provincial lords at a raised table. A lady came in, sat by the King, dress particolored green and silver, red hair, graceful form, too far away to make out the face. On the King's other side a noble Harald did not recognize, a big man. Beside him a man in black, scarlet wolf's head plain on his chest.

Stephen was looking about the hall curiously; his gaze passed over the group of his own men, returned, shifted to the goblet in front of him. The doors to the kitchen opened. There was another fanfare, this time in tune. Servants in the royal colors brought platters to high table, a larger number, more plainly dressed, to the hall. Harald turned to his companion.

"His Majesty seems pleasantly occupied."

"Lady Anne, daughter to Estfen Province. Above my station. You might try your luck, but not this month."

"I'll leave that to youngsters like His Majesty. The other side?"

"That's Andrew, King's cousin—his mother's kin. Big man in the southern provinces."

"And his friend?"

"Wide fellow, gray streak? That, gods preserve us, is old Mark's successor. Mord. Turned the Wolves from what they were under the old king to . . ." He fell silent.

As platters and pitchers emptied more were brought. At the end of the third course servants set out bowls of nuts and dried fruit, basins of water. Looking up the hall, Harald saw the King rising, saying something to his table companions. The provincial lords and the King's cousin rose, the rest remained. Stephen looked down the hall straight at Harald, turned, followed the King out the door at the back of the hall.

Harald took the outside stair; as he expected they were meeting in the room above the south end of the hall. There were two guards at the door; one stepped in front of him, spear held crosswise.

"Sorry friend. Royal business, visitors not welcome. The King's holding Council."

"Why I've come."

Harald reached into his pouch, drew out the scroll, unrolled it, handed it to the guard. He looked at it, handed it to the other. As he read it his eyes widened. He gave Harald a long look.

"Let him in."

"Orders are to let in Their Excellencies. If he's a provincial lord I'm Lady Commander of the Order."

The other one looked down at the scroll, read aloud:

"To Harald Haraldsson, Senior Paramount of the North Vales, His Majesty James, King of Kaerlia, Protector of Eston, Lord Warden of the Northern Marches, sends cordial greetings."

The guard with the spear stepped back. The other opened the door. Harald went through it.

A long table, the King at one end. At his side his cousin, his chair a little back. Along the table lords of ten of the twelve provinces, Stephen near the far end.

The King looked up. Stephen spoke, "Your Majesty will remember the Senior Paramount."

The King's expression remained puzzled.

"How did you get here?"

"I rode, Your Majesty."

"Alone? There was supposed to be an escort."

"Was there, Your Majesty? I do not commonly require an armed guard to ride in your Kingdom. Has the Empire invaded?"

"I am sorry. For some reason I was not informed that you were here. I hope my servants have taken care of your needs."

"Your Majesty's servants have provided space for horses and gear in your stable, dinner for me in your feast hall. I have no complaints as to your hospitality."

"We will try to do better than that." The King motioned to a servant standing silent by the wall, spoke to him briefly. The man went out. Harald seated himself. The King rose.

"My lords. I have invited you here for advice concerning affairs of the kingdom, assistance in dealing with them. Before we are done each will be free to raise such concerns as trouble his province. For tonight, the most pressing matter is the rebellion of parts of the Order against their Lady Commander. We offered her assistance in enforcing her authority. Our efforts have been defied with force, loyal men killed. In three provinces, it may be more, the rebels are up in arms. What is your counsel?"

There was a long silence. Finally Harald spoke. "If I understand the account your messenger brought me, Your Majesty, the trouble arose in a transfer of the office of Lady Commander from the Lady Leonora to your cousin the Lady Alicia, a transfer that the Council of the Order has not as yet accepted."

The King nodded, waited for Harald to continue.

"By the Order's custom, the Lady Commander can propose a successor but not appoint one; the candidate must be approved by the Council. If the Lady Leonora has resigned the office and the Lady Alicia not yet been approved, then there is no Lady Commander whose orders Your Majesty's servants might enforce."

"The Order cannot be allowed to fall into chaos. These matters occurred in my Kingdom, it is for me to resolve the dispute. I have ruled in favor of the claim of the Lady Alicia."

Andrew leaned forward, spoke: "Your Excellency will remember the dispute concerning control over Order lands in Estvale. The matter was put to His Majesty's father and his decision accepted."

Harald shook his head.

"That matter was submitted to His Majesty by the parties. In this case, as I understand it, the Council has neither requested his present Majesty's judgment nor accepted it. But in any case, surely there is an easier answer, one that costs blood of neither His Majesty's servants nor the Ladies."

The King looked down the table at him.

"Name it."

"As I understand Your Majesty's account, the Lady Leonora chose the Lady Alicia for her successor. She does not appear to have told her sisters in Council of that choice."

"I told them."

"Your Majesty's voice in Your Majesty's Council; her voice in hers. Let the Lady Leonora speak to her sisters. She persuades them to her choice or they persuade her to change it. In either case no more killing."

"That would indeed be an excellent solution, were it possible. The Lady Leonora has chosen seclusion. We cannot ask her to abandon her cell."