Sing the Four Quarters (15 page)

"Were they in trouble?"

"She says not, but who can tell at that distance?

"Well, if they're not in trouble, why are they traveling in the mountains at this time of the year?"

"Exactly, Your Grace."

"They can't think that the pass is open."

"I personally don't make those kind of assumptions about lowlanders, Your Grace."

Pjerin grinned and lifted his torch out of the ancient metal holder.

Bohdan sniffed. "Barbaric."

"You'd have had more to say if I'd wasted beeswax or oil down here, and a tallow dip would've been useless." Holding the torch over his head, he gestured at one of the huge, square-cut beams. "Does that look like rot to you?"

"No, Your Grace. It looks like frost."

Grin broadening, Pjerin took the hint and led the way up to the relative warmth of the ground floor. "Have Karli ski down to meet them. The sooner we know who or what they are, the better."

Bohdan clicked his tongue and shook his head disapprovingly. "You could be sending her into danger. Suppose they're robbers, driven out of their winter lair by the cold and storms?"

"Robbers?" Pjerin extinguished the torch in a bucket of half-melted snow he'd left at the top of the stairs for just that purpose. Peering at his steward through the cloud of smoke and steam, he had to wait for the hiss and sputter to die down before he could continue. "Even supposing that Ohrid could support a band of robbers twenty strong, why would they be on their way here?"

"To throw themselves on your mercy, of course. So that you'll keep them fed for the rest of the winter."

"Then they're not likely to slaughter my messenger. Besides, Bohdan, even robbers have better sense than to travel very far at this time of the year."

"A Troop of the King's Guard?" Karli stared at Troop Captain Otik in awe. "And you've traveled all the way from Elbasan?" Elbasan was on the other side of the world as far as she was concerned. "To see the due?"

"That's right," the captain grunted, plodding forward on a pair of borrowed snowshoes. He spoke the local dialect with an atrocious accent, but bardic tricks had given him a basic command of the language over the tedious days of travel.

"A Troop of the King's Guard from Elbasan to see the due."

"Why?"

"That's between us and the due."

Stasya watched, jealous, as the young woman poled herself effortlessly over the snow. The town where they'd left the horses could've supplied her with skies, but with the troop confined to the much slower snow-shoes there would've been little point. She hadn't wanted to push it as the situation had already left the captain in a decidedly foul mood.

"
There's no forage
," she'd told him bluntly, "
and past this point, if we find shelter every night
—
which I can't
guarantee
—
you've no right to have your beasts eat up someone else's winter supplies
."

"But we're on the king's business."

"And these are the king's people and I don't think he intended them to starve their own livestock for yours. We can
carry enough food for ourselves but not for the horses. From here on, we walk."

Fortunately, someone in Elbasan had been thinking ahead and most of the troop turned out to be country-bred even if their captain was not.

"So what am I supposed to tell His Grace?" Karli demanded.

Captain Otik's head jerked up and around. "You'll tell him nothing. You'll travel with us until we reach the keep."

"I don't think so." She glided half a dozen steps ahead. "We may be moving uphill, but there's not much of a slope until I reach the village. I can beat you back by hours."

"You don't understand," the captain told her, all at once sounding as though he were not a person to be argued with.

"You haven't any choice in the matter."

Stasya watched the young woman's face, anger rapidly replacing disbelief, and broke in just before the heated protest.

"He's an asshole, isn't he?" Half the strength of Charm was to find a common ground. "What's your name?"

"Karli i'Celestin." Grinning broadly, she skied to Stasya's side. "What's yours?"

"Stasya."

"Just Stasya?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, you don't look much like a priest… "Karli's grin slid into speculation. "… so you must be a bard."

"Right the first time."

"We had a bard here last quarter."

"I know. Annice. She's a friend of mine."

"Really?"

"Really. Why don't you travel with us to the keep and we can talk about her?"

"That'd be great. She sang a song called 'Darkling Lover'. Do you know it? It really steamed His Grace."

"I'll bet." Stasya shot Captain Otik a superior look as Karli expanded on just what she meant by
steamed
. The captain had wanted the approaching skier kept with them under threat of crossbow fire.

"
If the due finds out what we are
," he'd declared in a tone that suggested no room for argument, "
he'll close the gates
and we'll never pry him out. If we keep his messenger, he'll have no idea of what happened; a request for assistance, a
broken ski, a sudden love affair. He may suspect trouble, but he won't know for sure
."

Stasya had not taken the suggestion, had argued, and had won.

Weapons remained undrawn.

Karli remained with them.

They'd be at the keep by noon.

"You told her to come right back?"

"I did." Bohdan hunched his shoulders against the cold wind blowing down from the mountains and funneling out through the gate of the keep. "I told her to find out who the travelers were and what they wanted and to return immediately."

Pjerin beat his fist lightly against the stone of the north gate tower as he peered down the length of the valley.

Although they were still some distance away, individuals could now be picked out of the moving mass and counted.

Twenty-two; twenty-three including Karli. "I wouldn't worry about it, Bohdan. Karli's probably just found someone new to talk to."

His steward grunted and didn't seem reassured.

He wasn't particularly reassured himself.

The Cemandian has spoken to no one since Tadeus found him. The due cannot have been warned of your coming.

Inform me immediately upon questioning.

The messages the kigh carried were high in concept and low in structure and therefore open to interpretation depending on the personal style of the bards involved, but in this particular instance, there hadn't been much room for flexibility.

Stasya lifted her gaze to the imposing bulk of the keep where it perched on a steep-sided spur of rock, brooding over the pass, the village, and the valley below. Even the Citadel seemed open and welcoming in comparison. What kind of a man would such a stronghold produce?

By all accounts, one who knew his own strengths and had every intention of keeping Ohrid safe behind them.

"… well it's a pretty well known fact that the due's aunt—that's his father's youngest sister, she lives in the keep, too—

wants more trade with Cemandia, but he says that he won't be relegated to just a tollgate between the two countries, that he wants more for Ohrid than that."

"You heard him say that?" Captain Otik barked.

Karli shot the captain a disgusted look. "Of course I have. Well, mostly.
Everyone
knows that's what he says."

As they came closer, it became apparent that distance alone had not created the similarities between the travelers.

"Twenty-one in a Troop of Guard," Pjerin muttered. But who the twenty-second might be he had no idea. Why would a Troop of Guard be sent to Ohrid? He had no need of them. He didn't want them. He didn't care what kind of lowlander lunacy brought them into the mountains in Fourth Quarter. Whatever their reason, they weren't staying and that was final.

He buried the urge to strap on his own skis by joining his forester at the splitting stump, but his unease grew as he returned again and again to watch the slow, inexorable progress up the valley.

"The next trader through here with a distance glass," he growled in frustration, "makes a sale."

When the strangers reached the village but continued on up the steep path to the keep, snowshoes shouldered and Karli mad obvious by the silhouette of her skies, he sent a message to Bohdan and another to Olina. The tabards proclaiming them King's Guard were now visible over bulky winter clothing.

"You didn't mention we were being invaded," Olina pointed out as she arrived at the gate, nodding at the heavy splitting ax Pjerin still carried. "Should I have brought you the Ducal sword and taken the time to arm myself?"

Bohdan, hurrying up in time to hear her question, shot a startled look at his due. "Your Grace! They're King's Guard.

'Ties treason to deny them."

"And an unenclosed pain to feed them," Pjerin grunted, laying the ax aside; but not so far aside that he couldn't reach it if he had to. "I wonder what they want?"

Together they stood and watched the twenty-two cover the last bit of ground followed by a chattering crowd of villagers, mundane tasks abandoned in the face of this unusual occurrence. The last time a troop of King's Guard had come to Ohrid, it had been as a part of the army that had secured the mountain principalities for Shkoder.

A similar crowd, consisting of the inhabitants of the keep, had gathered just inside the gate—the majority ranged behind their due, the more adventuresome risking ice-covered stairs for the better view from the top of either gate tower.

"Is it the king, Papa?" Gerek pushed his way through until he could peer wide-eyed around his father's legs. "Is it the king?"

Before he could answer, Karli called out, "They've come to see you, Your Grace. All the way from Elbasan. This is Stasya. She's a bard."

Pulled forward, Stasya inclined her head; pack and snowshoes precluding a bow. The due was, as Annice had said, absolutely gorgeous: tall, broad shouldered, narrow hipped, a thick mass of blue-black hair tied at the nape of his neck, dark violet eyes surrounded by a fringe of ebony lashes, high cheekbones, a straight nose, and good teeth. I
suppose
for people who like that sort of thing
… His bearing stopped just short of challenge.
And Nees has never been able to
resist a challenge
.

While he certainly didn't look happy to see them, neither did he look like a man guilty of treason suddenly faced by a Troop of King's Guard and the prospect of being questioned under Bardic Command.
Annice believes he's innocent of
the charges
. Tadeus had sent that message right after he'd returned to the hall. Stasya wasn't sure it helped.
Why
did Annice believe the due innocent? Did she have a rational reason or was it merely the influence of the child she carried?

"Pjerin a'Stasiek, Due of Ohrid." Troop-Captain Otik dropped his pack and squared off in front of the gate, his eyes narrowed and his beard jutting out aggressively. "You have been charged with high treason; with the breaking of your oaths to Shkoder; with the surrendering of Defiance Pass to the Cemandians, the enemies of Shkoder. These charges have been Witnessed and confirmed."

The crowd, shocked into disbelieving silence by the captain's words, drew in its collective breath. The charges were Witnessed and confirmed. The bards had already determined the truth.

Stasya felt a number of eyes on her back. She kept her own on the due's face which, so far, showed no emotion at all.

"We are here," the captain continued, "in the name of Theron, King of Shkoder, High Captain of the Broken Islands, Lord over the Mountain Principalities of Sibiu, Ohrid, Ajud, Bicaz, and Somes, in order that you may answer this charge and that the truth may be determined." His tone made it plain that, for as far as he was concerned, the truth had been determined already and every moment the due spent out of irons was wasted time.

Stasya watched a muscle jump in the due's jaw, noted how both hands curled into fists, and was impressed by the tight grip he kept on his rage. Although his lips had thinned to bloodless lines, he said only, "Bohdan, open the Great Hall."

"Yes, Your Grace." The old man's voice barely rose above his shock.

Pjerin turned and unfolded one fist long enough to touch his trembling steward gently on the arm. "It'll be all right, Bohdan."

Bohdan nodded and squared his shoulders. "Yes, Your Grace."

There was the strength of belief in this second declaration, belief and trust, and Stasya found herself more impressed than she had been. Guilt or innocence aside, she couldn't let Captain Otik turn this into some kind of power-tripping sideshow.

"Your Grace?" When he faced her, she could feel the force of his emotions, even contained as they were, and had to stop herself from stepping back. "Perhaps," she suggested, "it might be better if this were done more privately."

"No." Pjerin shook his head. "These are my people.

What concerns me, concerns them. I have nothing to hide."

"Pjerin a'Stasiek, Due of Ohrid, step forward."

Pjerin did as commanded, hating the feeling that he had no choice but to obey. He heard Gerek mutter angrily behind him and wanted to turn and reassure his son, but his gaze had been locked in place by the dark eyes of the bard. His lips parted slightly and he growled, "Go on."

If only because it annoyed Captain Otik, Stasya approved of the way the due had just declared to those assembled in the Great Hall—his people, the guards, herself—that he was Commanded only because he allowed it to happen. She hoped that Annice was right, that the due had been set up by Cemandia for whatever reasons, that he wouldn't be witnessed a traitor, that he wouldn't have to die.

"Pjerin a'Stasiek, you will speak only the truth."

The captain advanced half a step ahead of the bard. It would be witnessed that he asked the only question necessary.

"Pjerin a'Stasiek, have you broken your oaths and agreed to allow a Cemandian army access to Shkoder?"

"Yes."

For a moment, Pjerin had no idea whose voice had spoken, then he realized it was his own. He fought to take the word back, but his throat and mouth defied him. The bard's face was expressionless, the captain's triumphant, and all around him he could see, and hear, shock and horror and disbelief.