The Misbegotten King (20 page)

Angry words leapt to her lips and she bit them back. She tossed her head back and glanced at Annandale. “I am not going back
to Ithan.”

Vere gasped. “I—I thought you had agreed to stay— at least until the autumn—”

“I agreed to stay till Gost. But there have been changes—new information has come to light.” She glanced back at Annandale
once more. “I think Roderic needs me for what I am about to do more than he requires my presence in Ithan.”

“And what is that?” Vere’s face flushed scarlet beneath his tattoos, and he clenched his hands into fists. “Cross the Saranevas
before the first frost?”

She regarded him with cool disdain. “I go to Owen Mortmain. To ask him to send Roderic reinforcements.”

“Vada?” Vere whispered. “You go to Vada?”

“Aye. And if I don’t leave now, I may not get back across the Saranevas by the first frost. You know how long a trip it is.”

“But-but, M’Callaster—Deirdre, what made you think to do such a thing?”

“Take a look around you, Vere. The country’s in chaos. Can Roderic risk allowing the West to stay uninvolved?
How can he fight a war on so many fronts? Every man of the Congress is intent on protecting his piece of Meriga, which may
be as it should be, and maybe I should be doing the same—but by the One, Vere, I cannot sit back and watch Roderic flounder
for lack of troops and supplies.”

Vere stared at her. “You really think Owen will come?”

She shrugged. “He’s an old man. I doubt he will come. But under the circumstances—” She broke off and gazed over Vere’s shoulder.
“Aye. I think Owen will send troops to his grandson’s aid.”

Vere drew a deep breath. “In all these years, Owen has never sent men. The supplies have come, but only because Abelard’s
administrators have taken them. What is different now?”

“Well, for one thing,” Deirdre said, “Roderic is of his blood. What man would deny his grandson aid?”

Vere shrugged. “It’s a long risk, M’Callaster. You ride across the length of Meriga—ask an old man for aid— what if he says
no?”

“Then I’ll come back. And may the One forgive me for being a fool.”

“Will you—will you be all right? It’s dangerous—”

She gave a short laugh. “Aye—it’s dangerous. If I don’t return by Gost—count me lost.”

“Gost? You’d hoped to be back in the Settle Islands by Gost.”

“I guess my plans have changed.” She met his eyes as a grim smile stretched his thin lips.

“Shall I—may I tell Roderic where you have gone?”

She shrugged. “As you please. If I succeed he’ll find out, and if I fail it won’t matter.”

“Deirdre…” Vere began.

She looked at him expectantly and he continued. “Thank you. Thank you for your protection on this journey and forgive me for being angry with you just now. I—I didn’t understand
what you had in your mind to do”

She held up her hand and smiled up at Annandale, who was watching her with an unreadable expression. “Tis of no consequence.
And it isn’t the first time I’ve been accused of being too close-mouthed about my intentions.” She smiled at him. “Goddess
blessings, Vere.”

“And to you M’Callaster.”

She looked at Annandale and gave her a crooked smile. “And to you, lady. I honor my oath to the Prince.”

Annandale nodded, tears in her eyes. “Roderic is lucky to count you his friend, lady. You are the bravest woman I have ever
met.”

Deirdre shook her head. “No. Not I. You are.” She backed away and offered her hand to Vere. “Farewell, my friend. Take care
of the lady. She is well loved.”

Vere nodded, and, motioning to Alexander, led Annandale’s mare through the pass. Deirdre stood aside, surrounded by her men
as she watched the three disappear into the dusk. She adjusted her plaid around her shoulders with a sigh.

“M’Callaster?” One of her men intruded on her thoughts. “We make camp here?”

Deirdre scanned the hills, the thickly wooded valley.
An owl hooted deep in the forest, and the hair rose on the back of her neck. “Aye, Donner. By the goddess I’ll be glad to
see the last of this place.” And I don’t know why, she added silently.

Vere was silent as he led Annandale’s mare down the steeply curving path. In the deepening dusk, the shadows lay beneath the
trees in dark pools and nothing moved in the branches. Doves cooed invisibly, and pale white flowers shone like stars in the
shadows beneath the trees. A hush seemed to hang over the place. The only sounds were the clop of the horses’ shoes on the
broken surface of the ancient road.

Annandale looked over at Alexander. He took a deep breath and gave her a tight smile. Suddenly Vere stopped. Annandale looked
up. In the road, silent as wraiths, three white-wrapped figures stood, arms tucked into the wide sleeves of their robes. Their
hoods were pulled low over their faces, revealing nothing. Annandale gasped.

Fear not,
said a musical voice in her mind.
Be welcome here at the College of the Elders, Daughter of the Greatest Magic.
Annandale glanced wonderingly at Alexander, knowing from the expression on his face that he had heard a voice, as well. A
dove cooed again, and a soft breeze brought the scent of honeysuckle.
May the Power which orders the universe keep you in Its care.

The words seemed to echo, reverberate into the deepest recesses of her mind and beyond, into the very core of her being, and
an intrinsic rightness, almost a recognition, surged through her. Annandale smiled, feeling more at ease, more welcomed than
she had ever felt in her
entire life. This, she thought, this is what it feels like to come home.

Vere made a motion and the horses began to move down the path. The three hooded figures turned as one and led the way, their
white robes gleaming in the twilight. The road seemed to fork off abruptly, but the three walked straight between two trees
and disappeared.

Alexander gasped. “No,” murmured Vere, “it’s only an illusion. You will see.”

He turned to Annandale, holding out his arms, and indicated she should dismount. As she slid from the saddle, two squat figures
appeared from the trees. They took the reins from Vere, and Alexander slowly swung out of his saddle. Annandale winced as
she heard his joints creak. He walked stiffly to join them. Vere gave them a tight-lipped smile. “Come.”

He walked between the trunks of two of the great trees and reached out and pushed. A doorway materialized where none had been
before, and Annandale gasped. She raised questioning eyes to Vere. He smiled. “I told you— the Elders are well hidden.”

She followed Vere through the doorway and found herself on a landing at the top of a staircase. The air was stale and musty,
the floor beneath her feet covered in a material of ancient manufacture. Torches burned in makeshift sockets, and Annandale
shivered in the dampness.

Vere gestured toward the staircase. “Lady, I should warn you. The Elders are in hiding for their lives. There is not much
comfort here, especially not the sort you are used to in Ahga, but what there is, you are welcome to.”

Annandale raised her eyes to Vere. “I didn’t come for comfort, Vere. Lead on.”

Alexander coughed. Vere looked at him, an expression of sympathy and concern on his face. “Come on, Alex. We can rest here.”
Vere led the way down the steps and finally they reached the bottom.

“Vere, what is this place?” Alexander asked.

“The foundations of a high tower,” Vere replied. “In the Armageddon, all this landscape changed. These are new mountains,
raised by the earthshakes. There are many such places in these hills, if you know what to look for.” He led the way down a
long corridor. The floor was cracked in many places, and water dripped through the low ceiling to form shallow pools on the
uneven surface. Finally, Vere paused before a door. He gave them both a crooked smile and opened it.

Annandale stepped over the threshold. The room extended further than she could see in the dim light, but she could see white-robed
figures clustered around small fires. Near the doorway, a small cooking fire burned in the center of the floor. The woman
who bent over the steaming iron pot which hung from a trivet looked up. “Vere,” she said, a smile of welcome creasing her
face in a web of wrinkles, “just in time for dinner. As always.” The woman looked at Annandale as though she knew her. “I
am glad to see you at last, my dear. I knew your mother. My name is J’lin.”

Annandale blinked. More and more of the white-robed figures were coming forward, shuffling toward them, their backs bent,
their faces hooded. In her mind, she seemed to hear whispers, and a myriad of emotion
swept over and through her: welcome, trepidation, relief. She raised her eyes to Vere. He touched her arm.

“This is the Lady Annandale, J’lin.” He touched Annandale’s arm gently and led her forward to where a small, nearly child-sized
figure sat hunched before a battered grate. He sat upon a carefully folded pile of threadbare blankets. “My Father,” he murmured,
bending down. “The Lady Annandale.”

Annandale gasped as the figure on the ground looked up and she saw that, except for the one eye in the center of his forehead,
his other eyes were gone, the sockets thick twists of scars.

Did you not warn her, my son?
The voice which shivered through her mind was soft, kind, achingly gentle, and Annandale stared at the ruined face before
her.
Fear not, daughter. This is but one of the precautions we take to ensure that our Magic will be safe.

Annandale raised questioning eyes to Vere. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, lady. I forgot to warn you. When the Pr’fessors
take their final vows, they give up their hands, their eyes and their tongues. It keeps the secrets safe. This is Sirak. He
is the oldest of the Pr’fessors.”

Annandale gazed down and the Muten’s thin mouth curved in a smile.
Be welcome here, daughter. You are long awaited.

But-but how,
she thought.

Ah, you already know how to reach the mind of another. So effortless your gift. We shall do well together, you and I. Rest
now, and eat. Tomorrow comes in its time.

He turned away, and Annandale knew she was dismissed. She looked at Vere once more. He gave her a crooked smile. “Let’s eat.”

A
nnandale opened her eyes. A long shaft of light streamed through a window set close to the ceiling of the underground room.
She lay on the narrow cot watching the dust motes twine like a ribbon through the gold light. Her thoughts were a jumble.

For the first time, she understood something of the grinding poverty the Mutens endured, the terrible chasm which separated
them from the human population. Their deformities were not so appalling or disgusting once one became accustomed to them.
Was it simply that humans were taught to find the Mutens repulsive and therefore did? She rolled on her side, her head pillowed
on her arm.

The thin quilt which covered her was adequate for the cool June nights, but in the winter— She fingered the neat patches and
hoped they had more blankets than these.

Her breasts ached, her nipples swollen and taut. She sighed. Rhodri, she thought. She closed her eyes and thoughts of her
baby brought a rush of milk, the hot liquid gushing from her engorged breasts, soaking the front of her nightgown. She pressed
her lips together as a tear
slipped beneath her lashes. She thought of the last sight she had had of him, one tiny fist tucked securely in his mouth,
the other beneath his chin. His lashes were small crescents over his plump rosy cheeks, his thatch of dark hair as downy as
a baby bird. She remembered how Roderic had looked at her as she had turned away from the cradle, his mouth compressed and
grim.

Let me go home, she prayed instinctively, knowing that someone, something listened. Give me strength to do whatever is required
and then let me go home. For I do not want to die. I want to hold my baby again—lie in Roderic’s arms again. Do not deny me.
She shut her eyes as power from an unnamable source seemed to pour through her. The long shaft of light seemed to glow, until
it seemed to be a living, shimmering thing, shifting into a million prisms of every shade of color. A voice seemed to fill
her mind, a voice which spoke without words and yet seemed to be the embodiment of all that was good and right and true.

Your time of trial is upon you, daughter. Hold fast to the Pattern, for the Power of it will bring you home.
Annandale sobbed. The light was unlike anything she had ever seen before, and yet she knew she had a place in it, knew she
belonged to it, and it to her. She wanted to crawl into it and rest.

Not yet,
soothed the awareness in the light.
Not yet. But soon you shall rest in the Pattern, for the Power which orders the universe holds you dear.

Annandale took a deep breath and opened her eyes to see J’lin standing over her. “Child,” whispered the Muten woman. “What
is it?”

She swallowed hard and shook her head. How to explain what she had felt? The overwhelming sense of Power, of knowing, of something
greater far than she, and yet, something to which she belonged, something she was of, and yet was not—her thoughts swirled.