The Singer's Crown (31 page)

“He knew!” said the other. “As I know, as any true man knows his death comes.”

“I do not know.”

Startled, Quinan took a step back from him. “You do not feel—?” He pressed a hand over his heart.

“I used to feel that I would die an old man, with my lady at my side.” Fionvar turned away and sank to the ground, eyes tracing Wolfram's face.

“Knew you knew!” Quinan crowed, clapping him on the back as he dropped down beside him. “The fire-hair lady?”

Now it was Fionvar's turn for surprise. Quinan plucked a long pipe from his belt and began to stuff it with dark weed. “No,” Fionvar said at last. “That is my sister. My lady's heart is no longer mine.”

“Sister.” The man grunted and nodded. He took a long draw on the pipe, smiled, and offered it to Fionvar. “Give her to me?”

“Great Goddess, you are a heathen! I can't give her away, even if I wanted to.”

“I give many furs!”

“Women are nearest to the Goddess. They cannot be bought!”

Quinan's face fell, and he sighed. “Wolf not selling his sister, too.”

A dark doubt crept into Fionvar's eyes. “Have you no decency?”

“Decency, yes; wife, no. She follow war chief when he ask her.”

“Mine too.” They gazed silently for a long moment. Fionvar held out his hand, and Quinan set the pipe in it. Wrinkling his nose at the unfamiliar scent, Fionvar nonetheless set it to his lips and drew deeply. He coughed a little, then looked at the pipe again, this time with wonder.

“Better than it smells!” Quinan took it back and inhaled deeply. He blew soft smoke rings into the firelight.

A bell rang in the distance, calling men to prayer. The stars drew Fionvar's gaze, and he began to chant, quietly, the prayer of Evening as he had not done in many years, being too caught up in other things. He was not now riding on his brother's errands, nor awaiting his lady's pleasure, nor even sawing away at his fiddle, though his hands missed it. Flames cast red highlights on Wolfram's hair, the color of the dead. Fionvar's throat ached, and something pricked at his eyes.

Quinan sat quietly, watching his companion, until the prayer was done. “You will take him to his Goddess.”

“Yes, I will.” Fionvar brushed his silent tears away. “If the Lady is willing, his killer will shortly follow.”

“GO TO
your tent,” the duchess said firmly. “You must rest.”

“How can I?” Brianna wrapped her cloak a little tighter. “We are at war, and my lord is wandering in darkness.” She stared down into one of the small braziers that heated the royal pavilion. The thrones stood before her, but she could not bring herself to sit. Duchess Elyn leaned back in her own chair, a mug of Teresan tea in her hand.

“That is why you must rest. At all costs, you must carry that child.”

The young woman shot a dark look over her shoulder. “To be called his heir.”

“We need but a midwife to announce the pregnancy, and we will stand as regents for the child. I wish you could have been wed by now, but it cannot be helped.”

“He will not die!” Brianna whirled to her grandmother, her face pale. “I will not hear you planning for his death!”

“I am glad to see that you feel so strongly about that. Nevertheless, plans must be made.” Her eyes were as twin sapphires, at once cold and gleaming.

“Can you have no feelings, even for this? He is your grandson, and your king!”

“Of course I have feelings!” The duchess was on her feet, and seemed to tower up in the eerie light. “My heart was torn from me the day my daughter died!” She flung the mug away, heedless of the hot liquid splashing across her chest.

“Forgive me,” Brianna stammered, but Elyn was not through.

“I have waited fourteen years to see her murderer brought to justice, and no man or woman or unborn babe will stand in my way, for that justice is at hand!”

“Do the rest of us mean so little to you that you would see us die to avenge yourself upon one man?”

“That one man took my home and country; he took my joy and left me empty.”

“And Rhys, he was her joy, was he not?” Brianna asked softly. “He is the last of her upon this earth.” Her hands caressed the life within her.

The duchess stared at her with unseeing eyes. She jerked when the curtains were thrust aside and anxious guards trotted in.

“Is all well, Excellency? Your Excellency?”

“What news of the king?” she asked, her voice resuming its accustomed weight.

“I have none, Excellency,” the man replied hesitantly. “Gwythym is just returned escorting the wounded and prisoners; he may have tidings.”

“Fetch him to me.” As he turned to go, she called out, “What of Captain Fionvar?”

“No sign, Your Excellency, since the scream. That Bernholt giant returned but he will not speak to us. Should I spare men for the search?”

She shook her head. “Go.”

Brianna looked sharply back to the fire. “Rolf of the Prince's Mercy, he is called. He might speak to me.”

“You may go.” The duchess held her chin high. “I will send you word of my grandson if there is any.”

With a brief curtsy, Brianna turned for the curtain-door, which was held aside for her by blood-spattered hands. Gwythym nodded to the lady and entered. “Your Excellency.” He bowed deeply and approached carefully when she did not turn.

“What news of the king?”

“He broke the enemy's shield wall and rode on, Excellency, and Lyssa yfSonya with him. I lost sight of them in the fighting, but one of the wounded saw them dismount not far from the funeral ground. A prisoner told me that he then raised a dead man, and with those three, went to the castle.”

“To the castle? The man must be lying.”

“He's not the only one telling this tale. Many of Thorgir's men surrendered to us, offering themselves in the service of the True King.” He grinned. “I warrant it was the wizard who raised the dead, but our young king is already making his legends.”

They stared at one another for a long moment. “Have you any other news?” she breathed.

“Only that we have broken the resistance by the temple. With the coming of night, their archers can do us little harm. The men are eager to follow their king, but the captains dally over the remnant of the enemy and will not command another charge.” His face was bright. “I was on my way here to seek your command.”

“Can we make good our attack in darkness?” She crossed her arms. “I was rather expecting an embassy from the Usurper after we breached his wall.”

“He is not as great a coward as rumor would make him. No doubt he waits for reinforcements from behind our lines.”

“He cannot get them. Athelmark was unexpected, but still the nearest. Even had he sent for others at the same time, they cannot prevent our entering the city and laying siege to the castle proper.”

“They might arrive at any time now if they march through the darkness.”

“Give the order, then. No—hand me my cloak. I shall give this order myself.”

 

JORDAN PEERED
into the gloom beyond the narrow opening. “There is an army in the temple!”

Evaine offered him a distraught nod. “I fear the castle has not been made ready for the True King's return. Those men await your assault.”

Lyssa laughed sharply.

The guards shared worried glances, unsure if they should obey their queen's command.

“Well”—Kattanan turned to Lyssa—“we are now a five-person assault; perhaps that betters our odds?”

She grimaced, tilting her head to examine the wall. “Is the mason's way still open from the vestibule to the well?”

“I believe it may be,” Evaine said.

“A pathway opens, Your Majesty. I hope it is long enough, or yours will be the shortest reign in history,” Lyssa said.

“Lead on.”

“What about these?” Jordan bobbed his head to the guards.

A horn blast startled the little gathering, and they turned to see horse- and footmen launching toward the castle. Within, a captain cried orders, readying the defense.

Jordan and Kattanan shared a wild look, then Lyssa grabbed the king's arm, hauling him off-balance toward the dark wall of the vestibule. Evaine gathered her skirts and ran after, followed by Jordan, with the silent wizard in his arms. Not a moment too soon, for armored men began to pour out of the temple, and they had barely gained the safety of the passage. The guards struggled to reach them or sound an alarm, but were swept aside and lost in the confusion.

A gap in the wall formed a passageway left open to allow the workers a more direct route to the well in the inner court. Lyssa led them between pillars and mounds of paving stone intended for the floors of the inner chambers, a series of dark cells and partial galleries for the clergy who would serve there. Her companions stumbled after, gasping with relief when they finally won through to the courtyard. Jordan lay the wizard down beside the well. He stroked her brow, smiling when her eyes fluttered open. “How do you fare?”

“Tired,” she said. The moonlight increased the pallor of her features.

“What can I do?”

She shook her head weakly, shutting her eyes. The Liren-sha leaned back against the stone also, taking deep breaths.

“Where now?” Kattanan asked.

Looking up from a draught from the well, Lyssa shrugged. “This expedition is not my folly, Majesty. Why not wait here for the victorious army?”

In answer, he gestured toward Jordan. “You said yourself that we were not up to this. And I am not certain we should linger so close to the wall, in case they bring the catapults to bear.”

Evaine looked from one to the other in surprise. “Then you came here only to escape the battle?”

“Why did you think we came?” Lyssa snapped. “We have two injured members, one but lately returned to life, and I cannot defend the king in pitched battle. Just what did you think we planned to do?”

“I know what my husband is now, and myself by extension. I thought you came for us, to capture the usurpers,” she murmured.

Jordan laughed. “Of course we shall capture the Usurper!”

“You are mad! Or do you jest with us?” Lyssa narrowed her eyes at him. “Is this when we go to Thorgir and demand his surrender?”

“No,” said Kattanan thoughtfully, “he will come to us, anyplace we choose.”

“Great Goddess!” Lyssa exploded. “Have you all taken leave of your senses or forgotten where we are?”

Kattanan walked once around the well, frowning, arms crossed. “He will come if you are willing to help.” He looked to Evaine.

“You are the True King,” was her reply. “The Lady has shown me my wrongs, and I repent of them. Let me redeem myself.”

“You have a plan, Your Majesty?” Lyssa asked.

Kattanan nodded. “Evaine will tell her husband that I've been captured when I crossed the lines in a vain attempt to reach my friend. If I do not miss my guess, he wants his people to believe I do not even exist, so he should be eager to come and deal with me himself.” His face seemed suddenly to have lost its youth. “Does the queen's garden still open out into the orchard?”

“A small gate, near overgrown, Your Majesty,” Evaine said.

“I would like to meet him there.” His memory flashed back to dawn, and the scents of blood and lavender.

“And we'd be able to get out through this gate?” Lyssa asked.

“It is the way my mother intended for my own escape.”

“There may be archers on the wall above, but they will be expecting enemies from without,” Evaine said.

“She can bring him to you, Your Majesty. What then?” Lyssa inquired.

“We find a way to disarm and bind him, and bring him out with us.”

“Why not just…?” Lyssa trailed off, glancing toward the queen. She nudged the sword that hung by her side.

Kattanan shook his head. “There are too many he has wronged. He should live to see those things set right.”

Evaine nodded. “And I, too.”

“Then it's agreed.” He knelt by Jordan. “I may need your sword,” Kattanan whispered. “Are you well enough?”

Jordan met his gaze. “When the time comes, the Liren-sha will not fail you. Mayhap that alone will disarm him.” He flashed his most daring grin, but Kattanan could see the darkness of his eyes and the way his breath still labored.

“We must go, then.” From the direction of the temple came the cries and clangor of battle, apparently creeping closer.

With a deep breath, Jordan rose and gathered the wizard to his bare chest once again. She pressed her face into his neck with a little sigh. At the first step, he stumbled, and Lyssa caught him. “I can carry her,” she said, looking down at the other woman.

Jordan glanced from one to the other, and nodded. “Thank you.” He carefully placed the wizard in Lyssa's arms, and the fighter held her gently against her armor.

“Evaine,” Kattanan said, “will you lead us?”

She nodded. “I know a way little used, from the old temple up to the queen's chambers. I found it most welcome.”

Lifting her skirts once again, Evaine took the lead. Kattanan followed, with Jordan beside him, while Lyssa followed after. “I wish I did not feel so tired,” Jordan murmured. “I hope I can be of some good to you.”

“Just so long as you live through this, I don't care if I must do it all myself.” Glancing up at his tutor, Kattanan added, “I feel such a coward, running for safety and creeping about in the dark.”

“On the contrary, Your Majesty,” Evaine put in, “those who saw you at the temple spoke of your horse flying over the defenders and of starlight in your hair.”

He let out a harsh laugh. “They will be dreadfully disappointed to meet me, then.”

“I think not, Your Majesty.”

“Nor I,” Jordan said. “You have the opportunity here to personally deliver the Usurper to Duchess Elyn, and I believe you could do it alone. You are the True King, and he knows it. He has claimed you dead for years, and may believe that the attack on the monastery indeed killed you. His men have been telling him grand stories of your coming. Look him in the eye, let him believe you are a ghost and a legend, the hand of the Lady come to take back what he stole from you. And the Lady is with you.”

“Wolfram said so once, and look what happened to him,” Kattanan pointed out.

Jordan shook his head. “Whatever happened, I do not think he feared it.”

“I am not Wolfram, and I am afraid.”

“Of course you are. You are not used to being a king or a ghost or a legend. I have some experience with the last two. I'll teach you all I know.”

“And kingship? Is not a king expected first to be a man? I cannot claim even that without lying.”

“Is a man defined by flesh alone? Is that all? I'll wake the wizard and get you some illusory testicles!” Jordan shouted, flinging his hands in the air. “Look at Thorgir! Or King Gerrod—both whole men, both cruel, murdering swine, is that all you aspire to? Great Goddess! If ballocks are all it takes to be a good king, then take mine!” He fumbled with his pants. “Give me a knife, and let's take care of this right here!”

Evaine turned away sharply, but the others stared at Jordan standing suddenly naked in the hall before them. Lyssa blinked in astonishment. Oblivious to her gaze, Jordan locked his eyes to Kattanan's.

The younger man had stopped trembling, the shock slowly leaving his face. Jordan's lean, scarred body glimmered with sweat in the faint light. Kattanan could not look away.

“Is that all?” Jordan repeated intently.

Kattanan shut his mouth and folded his arms across his chest. “No one,” he began softly, then cleared his throat, and began again with sudden strength, “No one speaks to the king that way.”

Jordan grinned, though tears were in his eyes. “No, Your Majesty.”

Tears glistened in his student's eyes as well. “Put your pants on. We have work to do.”