The Fall of Neskaya (40 page)

“Of course!”

“Then as soon as the snows have passed and it is safe to travel, you may go to Thendara and put your ideas before King Rafael.”

Coryn found himself again on the road, this time in the company of a traders’ caravan and two younger landless sons of minor lords on their way to Thendara to serve in the Cadet Guards. Coryn, listening to their bravado, wondered if he had ever been so young. Had the world gone in another direction, his father might have had to make a similar provision for his future, although he doubted that would have included a cadet’s commission.

More than ever before, he appreciated his place in a Tower. Here he had honorable work which used his talents to the fullest, as well as companions he respected and who valued him. Perhaps, he thought in a moment of expansive gratitude, Rumail had not served him ill after all.

Coryn presented his packet of introductory papers to the Hastur Castle sergeant, was courteously greeted, shown to guest quarters rather than barracks, and given an appointment for the following morning. He had arrived too late to visit Hali and meet the workers whose minds he had touched over the relays, or to see the mystical cloud-filled Lake or the holy place called
rhu fead
.

Instead, he went down into the city. Somewhat to his surprise, people moved out of his way, murmuring respectfully and occasionally bowing as he passed. A few children pointed to his red hair before their mothers hurried them away. The deference amused and troubled him, but each place had its own ways and he felt only uncomfortable, not in any danger.

Energy sizzled through the Thendara streets in a brilliance of colors—banners, trade booths, tartan skirts and cloaks, the emblemed livery of servants, even the headdresses of the carriage horses. Music skirled from street-corner musicians to mingle with the cries of fruit peddlers. Everything seemed to be for sale at one place or another and Coryn had no doubt that if he asked discreetly in the right neighborhood, he would find illicit Dry Towns drugs as readily available as apples or boot-knives.

He suspected that with the right contacts, too, a message could be sent to Verdanta, to let Eddard and Tessa know he was alive and well. However, he had only a few coins to his name, not nearly enough to pay for such a service, even if he could find someone both trustworthy and brave enough to venture it.

The afternoon sun bathed the narrow streets in a reddish light as it sank over the horizon. Although it was summer, the temperature in the shadows fell rapidly. Coryn drew the hood of his lightweight cloak over his head, covering his hair. Within a few blocks, people no longer avoided him. After the careful distances of the Tower, the jostling felt oddly intrusive.

A half-grown street urchin tried to pick his purse. Coryn caught the small hand as it reached out. The boy froze, rigid. Button-black eyes glared out from beneath a mop of hair so filthy and matted, its true color could be only guessed. The wrist bones were small, fragile. Coryn caught a flash of emotion—anger, fear . . . hunger.

“I’m new in town and looking for a guide,” he said in a conversational tone. “Do you know anyone who’d like to earn a few
reis
?”

“If ye’r lookin’ fer a guide, I’m it,” the urchin chirped. “Ten
reis
, all in advance. Anywhere yer want to go.”

Coryn released the boy with a smile. “Two, for the evening. An inn with decent food and some information.”

“Throw supper in?”

“Done!”

The boy led him through twisted alleys, down a street or two, deliberately circling so that a confused stranger might be willing to pay double for finding his way again. Coryn had always had a good sense of direction, and his time at Neskaya had given him a sense of familiarity with city landscapes. He would have no trouble finding his way back to the castle, although he was not about to let the boy know. The adventure of the moment was too appealing.

A couple of men in patched leather-plate armor watched from a doorway as they approached. One took a step into the darkening street, hand on a well-worn sword hilt. Coryn picked up a flicker of half-formed
laran
from one of them and sent back soothing, inoffensive harmlessness.

“Now then, lad,” he said to the urchin, “you wouldn’t be leading me into a den of thieves, would you?”

“Oh, no, sire! It’s just everyone’s jumpy these days. Looks to be war comin’ on.”

“War?” Coryn tried to sound unenlightened. “What war?”

“I couldn’t say, not me, no.”

Coryn halted, gesturing as if to turn back. “Then maybe I should ask someone more grown up. Perhaps our friends back there?”

The boy grabbed his hands and pulled him further down the street. “No way messin’ with
them.
Let’s get indoors.”

Within minutes, they entered an inn which from the outside resembled a bordello that had long since seen better times. They found a cracked wooden table in one corner. Coryn settled himself against the wall facing the door, sipping a tankard of ale whose acrid taste belied a dubious ancestry, while the street urchin dug into his second trencher of stew. From this vantage point, he could hear snatches of passing conversation from the street beyond. He was not telepath enough to pick up any thoughts, even if his years of training in Tower ethics would permit it.

Below the expected anxiety, he
sensed
deeper emotions. There was no resentment at the Hastur King for having brought the city and all its lands to the brink of a war which had not yet been declared. He remembered how the people in the street shrank away from his red hair, the mother scurrying her child out of his path, the whispers.

Laranzu
. . . wizard.

Fear?

“So,” said the boy, wiping his gravy-smeared lips on a tattered sleeve edge, “what d’yer want to know?”

“I’ve been traveling for a long while, out of touch. Who dares to make war on Hastur?”

“Oh, it’s him that’s stirrin’ up the pot, not that the other one don’t deserve it. Seems the King’s taken it into mind to put a baby to rule over some place Old Oathbreaker claims as his, or maybe it’s the other way around for all the difference it makes. No wonder Smarky don’t go for it! You tell me! A baby king! What would he do, play daddles with his crown?” The boy whooped at his own wit.

“There would be a regent,” Coryn said mildly.

“How’s some more stew?”

Coryn had grown restless listening to the urchin’s speech. He had come on a fool’s errand, unlikely to yield anything of real value. A boy king and a regent, claims supported and disputed, these were the machinations of lordly powers, as like as not pretext for something else. He shifted in his chair, debating a third round of stew for the child, who certainly looked hungry enough to devour it.

Two men had paused outside the inn, just out of his line of vision, so that he could not see the details of their faces or clothing, only the shadowy outlines.

“. . . attack on the borderlands . . .” one was saying in heavily accented tones. “Half the fields gone up in smoke . . . some kind of witchery . . . fires kept burning and burning . . .”

Clingfire?
Coryn sat straighter, focusing.

“I say, strike back hard,” came another man’s voice. “Make the filthy
ombredin
pay. Land’s ours, that’s what I say. Take it all back and more.”

“Aye, a clean fight is one thing, but when those accursed Towers get involved—” Fear edged with hatred resonated in the man’s voice.

“Rafael Hastur’s a just king—”

“Where was he and all his fine men when Maire’s village was burned to ashes and there weren’t nothing left to bury? By Zandru’s bloody bones, some day there’ll be a reckoning. Some day—”

“But not tonight and not here in the open. What do you say we get a drink?” One shadow moved to fill the doorway.

The other man, the one who’d spoken first and whose Maire had lost her village and perhaps her life, held back. “No, I’ve had enough tonight . . .” The man’s voice muffled. “. . . nothing for me here . . . Maybe . . . enough Ambervale blood, her shade will let me rest . . .”

“What, enlist in Hastur’s army?”

The answer was indistinguishable, even though Coryn strained to catch it.

“. . . take you home . . .”

The street urchin had fallen silent, eyes glued on Coryn. The calculating stare had returned. Coryn got up and tossed the boy another small coin. “Here. Finish your dinner. I can find my own way back.”

He was careful to draw his cloak hood down around his head as he left the inn.

T
he next morning, Coryn washed, combed his shoulder-length hair, dressed in a gray robe edged with red bands to denote his status as under-Keeper, and presented himself for his interview with King Rafael Hastur II. He was greeted courteously by an older man who did not name his position but carried himself with quiet authority, perhaps a
coridom
or paxman.

“Please follow me,” the man said, and led the way past the entrance to the great hall. Guards in Hastur colors, impeccable in their appearance and alertness, stood spaced along the corridor.
This must be the private royal wing,
Coryn thought. The walls were of a stone so fine it resembled marble, interspersed in decorative fashion with pale blue, translucent panels. The effect was one of depth and spaciousness, although the passageway was not exceptionally wide.

At the end of the corridor, Coryn was ushered into what looked like a council chamber, with six chairs drawn up around an oval table. A bowl of snowdrops perched on a lacy round beside half a dozen blown-glass goblets and a pitcher glistening with condensation. No fire burned in the grate, although Coryn judged that even a small blaze would make the room cozy in the worst weather. The mullioned windows had been thrown open and sunlight streamed through to glitter on dancing motes like a golden bridge to the sky. The entire effect was one of richness, order, and serenity.

From the far end of the room, in a corner beside the fireplace, a woman arose from her chair and came toward him. She smiled in greeting, although she did not hold out her hand. Gray frosted her dark red hair, coiled low on her neck. She wore a tabard and underdress of midnight blue. A starstone of unusual brilliance sat in the cleft between her collarbones. Coryn prepared himself to bow to her, although he had not known that King Rafael had a Queen.

“Coryn of Tramontana and now of Neskaya, on behalf of my brothers and sisters at Hali, I bring you greetings.” Her words, although formal, came with such an ease and elegance that his hesitation vanished instantly. Her mind touched his briefly, almost playfully.

“Caitlin of Hali!” He would know her
laran
signature anywhere. “I did not realize you were part of the royal household.”

“Yes, I have been Rafael’s family
leronis
for many years, besides serving at Hali,” she said. Now that they were closer, he saw the tracery of lines around her eyes and mouth that betrayed her age. “I was to return yesterday, but Rafael asked me to stay a little longer. I am so happy to meet you in person.”

The door swung open and a man of middle age and height, slender yet in no way frail, entered. He wore riding leathers and smelled of the outdoors. The room seemed to vibrate with his energy as he crossed to Caitlin, gave her a kiss on one cheek, and turned to Coryn.

“So this is our young Keeper-to-be? Bernardo has great faith in you, and I have great faith in
him!
”

“Your Maj—” Coryn began what he hoped was a properly respectful bow, after having stared like a farm boy at his King’s entrance.

“None of that now!” Rafael forestalled any further awkwardness by clapping Coryn on one shoulder and steering him into one of the chairs at the table. Caitlin took the adjacent seat, hands folded neatly on her lap. Within moments, a convoy of servants carried in pitchers of
jaco
, trays of meat pastries still steaming from the oven, fruits in honey syrup spiced with cinnabark and nutmeg, boiled eggs, and a casserole of mushrooms simmered in white wine and herbs.

Coryn had not realized how hungry he was, or how good food could taste. The cooking at both Tramontana and Neskaya had been simple fare designed to meet the strenuous energy needs of
laran
work. This food was its own enjoyment. He feasted as if he’d been up working the relays for three nights running.

While they ate, Caitlin asked polite questions about the various people at Neskaya and Coryn replied with equally polite questions about the news from Hali. Very little of note had happened at either Tower since he’d been on the trail and out of touch.

“Last night, we sent word to Neskaya that you’d arrived safely,” she commented.

“My thanks.” Coryn glanced at King Rafael, who had been finishing his mushrooms and
jaco.

The King turned his chair so that it faced half away from the table and toward Coryn’s. “Welcome as you are to Thendara and delighted as we are to see you, what brings you all this distance? What was so important it could not have been sent along the relays and passed through Hali?”