The Stricken Field (14 page)

Now Eshiala understood. "And bring the Covin also?" "We fear so," the count said, squirming to ease his crooked back. "We must assume that our household is watched-all our houses, for we have several-and our relatives, also. We can think of no safe way to tap our resources, my lady, much as we are eager to do so."

Sometimes Eshiala wondered if she really believed in that mysterious army of sorcerers. If it did exist, it had proved strangely inept at fording her. Perhaps Zinixo did not much care about the imperor and his family. The Impire seemed to be surviving very well without them.

The centurion laid his cup on a nearby table, the fragile china incongruous in his powerful fingers. "The fault is mine, my lord. I inspected the supplies the warlock had provided. I did not think to estimate our requirements."

The proconsul shook his head impatiently. "You could not be expected to know them. Nor, I regret to say, would the warlock."

He meant that Raspnex was a dwarf, and a dwarf would live a lifetime on what an impish aristocrat spent in a week. Raspnex probably thought he had made ample provision. Shandie knew nothing about domestic expenditureslogistics of armies and whole impires were his expertise. Even the king of Krasnegar, who had not been directly involved, would not be familiar with finances of this kind. Eshiala felt a surge of anger at herself for not foreseeing the problem, but she was no more to blame than any of them.

"It seems very ironic." The count sighed. "We elude a legion of sorcerers and now we face being defeated by something as mundane as cold cash."

"There is no use worrying about what we have done or should have done," Eigaze said firmly. "The problem exists. What we must do is find a solution." Common sense was another of her strong points.

Hardgraa waited for someone else to speak, then said, "Art? Those pictures? Silverware?"

"Possible," the count agreed. "But the servants will chatter, the neighbors will hear of it, and who is to sell them for us? If you ride into Faintown with a wagonload of art, Centurion, you will be accused of theft. You might dispose of a piece or two at a pawnshop, but not very often. The normal procedure would be to summon a dealer from Hub ... That risks attracting attention and starting gossip. We have no legal right to be here, remember. I agree with your suggestion, but it is a limited one, if you see."

The soldier nodded impassively. "I'd like some time to consider the matter, if I may." He was speaking as Shandie's chief of security, but he must be feeling sadly out of his depth battling a matter of household finance.

And now it was Eshiala's turn. How could she solve a problem that had baffled the wily Ionfeu and his practical wife?

"Move to a smaller place? No, of course not." Shandie and the others might return here, to Yewdark. It had been designated a headquarters, as well as a sanctuary. "Well, why not just let . the servants depart? Let them spread the rumor that the place is haunted. We know it's not. The five of us could live here very cheaply, guarded by rumors of wraiths."

"It would be an uncomfortable life," the count said. "Stranger to you than to me, my lord. My mother never employed more than three servants, usually only two." He nodded uncomfortably and did not reply. He had thought of that obvious solution already, obviously. Eigaze nodded, her various chins pulsing. "It may be the only way out, dear. But it will cause gossip in the district, and we hoped to avoid that. Well, the problem isn't urgent, is it?"

Her husband shook his head. "Not very. We have gold enough for a few months; enough for a couple of years if all we need buy is food. But I am disinclined to hire a legion of gardeners."

"If only we could send word to Tiffy!" Eigaze said. "Let us all think about it." Hardgraa frowned angrily. He probably felt guilty at having failed Shandie.

"Awaken! Awaken!"

The shrill voice slashed into Eshiala's sleeping mind like a runaway coach and four. She gasped, struggling to make sense of the candle flames whirling in the darkness over her bed. Who? What? Her door had been locked. She always locked her door. It had been one of the first things she had been taught at court.

"He is here!" The bundled apparition was Mistress Ukka, of course, waving a candelabra perilously near the bed curtains.

"Who? Who is?"

"The duke! He has come!"

Eshiala hauled the covers up to her chin and fought her way back to consciousness. "What duke? How do you know? How did you get into my room?"

"Come, lady! He has returned to you as They promised!" Maya cried out from her cot in the corner.

Duke? The old hag meant Ylo? But if Ylo had arrived, then Shandie must have come, also?

"Get out of my room!" Eshiala snapped. "Now! Go wait in the corridor! All right, darling, Mommy's here."

By the time the door closed, Maya had drifted back to sleep.

Heart thumping madly, the impress swung her feet to the cold rug. Moonlight drifted through the window. Ylo returned? The tiny old woman was crazier than the hares, but she had never pulled any stunt like this before. It would have to be investigated.

Having dressed warmly and confirmed that her daughter was sleeping soundly, Eshiala went out to the passage. Ukka was waiting there, fidgeting, a rotund mass of clothing under five flickering flames. She might have duplicate keys to fit every lock in the house, and no one had ever thought to ask her.

"Now, tell me." "The duke-" "So you said. Where is he?" "Outside. Not here yet." "What? Then how do you know?" "They told me. The Voices."

Eshiala relaxed. Ravings, only ravings! Still, she had better investigate. The old hag probably meant Ylo, who was theoretically Duke Yllipo.

"This way, lady!" Ukka shrilled.

"Oh, no!" The impress went the other way. "First we waken the centurion."

The crone squawked shrilly behind her. "He's not there! He's downstairs." Her candles were following, though. "How do you know that?"

"Don't want him. Dangerous, that one." "We do want him."

Hardgraa's door was open and he was obviously not in the bed. Head spinning, Eshiala demanded to be taken to him. Grumbling, Ukka led the way along the gallery and down the great staircase.

The night blurred into a series of disconnected images. At the foot of the stairs, Hardgraa emerged from the shadows, a lantern in one hand and a naked sword in the other.

"She says the duke has returned," Eshiala explained, eyeing the sword nervously.

"There's no one around," the soldier said flatly. "Where is he?" she demanded.

The old woman raised her shrouded head to peer up at the high rafters. She seemed to listen for a moment. "Out by the gate. He's hurt, hurt!"

"She's crazy!"

Eshiala's heart thundered in her chest. "She's never done this before, Centurion. We must go and see."

"I'll get some men."

"No!" When had she ever tried to overrule Hardgraa before? "He may not be alone!" That ended talk of servants:

Shandie may be with him. She did not speak her next thought-I may not be alone when I go back to bed.

She wanted to accompany Hardgraa herself, but he would not hear of it. He went and roused the count. She knelt by the hearth, trying to blow life back into the embers, shivering with cold and trepidation. The men left. Ukka had vanished. Eigaze arrived and huddled in a chair, swathed in a voluminous housecoat, her hair in curlers. If she said anything at all, Eshiala did not hear her.

Shandie? She was not ready to be his wife again. She needed warning, time to prepare. Or Ylo? The daffodil season was over.

Either way, Yewdark's precious sanctuary had been violated.

Then Ukka had gone. Ylo was spluttering and cursing as he tried to gulp the hot brew, spilling it on himself in his haste.

"Where is my husband?"

He spoke without looking up, between gulps. "He's dead. The goblins got him."

Later ... Eigaze kneeling at Ylo's feet, washing mud and dried blood from his leg. He had screamed when they removed his boots. Something had ripped his hose away from the knee down, and ripped his calf, also.

And even as that was happening, Hardgraa had the point of his dagger at the man's throat, demanding the whole story.

Dead? Shandie?

She barely recognized Ylo. He was covered in mud, and not completely conscious. Hardgraa carried him in over a shoulder and lowered him into a chair. She marveled at the older man's strength.

"What's wrong with him?" she demanded, staring at the lolling head, the blurry, unfocused eyes.

"Exhaustion, mostly." The count deposited two lanterns on the floor without having to stoop. He handed Hardgraa's sword back to him. "But he's wounded. Hot water, dear, and cloths?"

"Of course!" Eigaze snatched up a lantern and then squeaked in alarm.

A shrouded figure scurried into the light. It was Ukka, bringing a tray with a steaming mug on it. She sank down by the invalid.

Ylo blinked at her and spoke for the first time. "Food? Oh, Gods, food!"

Eshiala forced out the question, dreading all possible answers. "Where is my husband?"

He peered around to locate the voice.

"Wait!" Hardgraa barked. He grabbed Ukka's shoulders and lifted her to her feet. "You go to your room now and stay there! Is that clear?"

"The duke-"

"Go away! Stay away!"

Later still ... Eshiala lying in bed staring at the darkness.

Dead?

She was a widow. She was dowager impress.

The two-year-old in the corner was Impress Uomaya I of Pandemia.

The day dawned hot and sunny, but Eshiala felt she was moving in a thick fog. The same conversations seemed to take place over and over, always accompanied by cautious glancings around to make sure there were no servants within earshot.

Ylo slept on upstairs and could almost be dismissed as a nightmare that had not happened.

Mistress Ukka jabbered and giggled without ceasing, prattling to all the bewildered domestics that the duke had returned, just as the Voices had said he would. Eigaze trailed after her, explaining that the old woman was hallucinating, repeating the agreed story about Sir Yyan, a friend who had dropped in unexpectedly. There was no Duke Yllipo, just a chance resemblance to someone Mistress Ukka had known in her youth.

The pastry cook gave notice.

Even Eigaze could not find a bright side to look on. The proconsul seemed to have aged twenty years. He was haggard and his hands trembled. He made the same speech several times, as if the words were going around and around in his head and he had forgotten he had already spoken them aloud. "Prince Emthoro, ma'am. The Law of Succession states that the next in line is regent during a minority. We shall have to get word to the prince somehow."

By the third repetition, Eshiala had her response prepared. "But we don't know whether he's at court or not. And the Impire seems to be running itself without Shandie. You've been to Faintown. You haven't heard any rumors of vanished imperors, have you? The Covin must have bewitched the court somehow, mustn't it? And the army. And the government. They must all believe that Shandie's still there and in charge, mustn't they? Emthoro will be as convinced as anyone. How can he ever believe us?"

The bent old man just shook his head like a turtle in despair.

Eshiala herself was haunted by lost futures. She could not stay much longer at Yewdark. Shandie would not be coming to take her back to court. She most certainly could not risk returning to her parents at Thumble. There was no way out.

Hardgraa was another sort of ghost, dark and implacable. He hardly spoke at all, and when he did he had no need to repeat himself. "He went with Shandie as bodyguard. Either he betrayed him or he just ran away and left him. I don't believe his story yet and when he does tell me the truth, I will kill him."

"If he betrayed Shandie, why would he come back here?" she demanded.

Hardgraa raked her with a glare of naked suspicion. "You tell me, ma'am!"

Evening came at last and they gathered for dinner, all five together. The world seemed to steady and clear.

Ylo came in, hobbling and leaning on a cane, with Mistress Ukka fawning all around him, babbling and gibbering. He was still haggard, but his marathon sleep had restored his spirits and his old air of mischief. His face was thinner than Eshiala remembered it, and he needed a haircut. He was weatherbeaten and lean and more startlingly goodlooking than ever. The Gods should never make a man so beautiful. He regarded his audience with an amused disdain, especially Hardgraa.

They could not wait until dinner was over, their need to talk was urgent and yet they must fit the conversation into the gaps when the servants were out of earshot-or speak in code.

"I told you everything," Ylo insisted. "We did what we said. I won't say where the others went, but ... Yshan ... and I set off for ... the faun's house. He'd agreed, and told us of a shortcut, at a place called Kinvale. So we headed across Julgistro, staying off the main highways, of course."

"Tell me some details," Hardgraa growled. He was sending whole courses back untouched. He still wore his sword, as he had all day.

Ylo shrugged. "Nothing much to tell. We had a little trouble at the beginning, but nothing important."

"What sort of trouble?"

"Nothing important. Apart from that, we had a good ride. In an odd way, I think we were both enjoying ourselves. It was a vacation."

"That doesn't ring true!"

"It is true, though," Ylo said without losing his easy smile. "He had no army to worry about, only one companion. It was a tough ride with no posts to help, and a physical challenge. You know, he relaxed in a way I've never seen him do .. ." He chuckled, but his unfathomable dark gaze moved to Eshiala and they were not smiling. "We became friends."

She started. Obviously that remark was meant to mean more than it seemed to, but she could not decide between the possibilities.

Hardgraa had flushed. "I don't believe you!"

"It's true, though-fetch a sorcerer. Unexpected in Yshan, I agree. Near Rivermead we came on the trail of a legion on the move. Dust cloud one day, then it rained and we saw the tracks. The locals confirmed it. He couldn't rest until he'd found out what was going on, so we followed." Ylo sighed and resumed his meal.