Zandru's Forge (47 page)

Rakhal
...

Rakhal with his soothing words, flattering and cozening the senile old man ... Rakhal insinuating himself into positions of greater power and authority ... Rakhal forming a cadre of guards loyal only to himself....

Somehow Rakhal had found out poor Alianora’s secret and used it to convince the Regents to reject Carolin’s rightful claim.

His life would not be worth a
reis,
once in Rakhal’s hands. Rakhal dared not let him live.

“Rakhal’s first act was to execute or imprison all those who opposed his claims, even old Lord Elhalyn, who had been King Felix’s chief counselor for all those years,” Orain rushed on. “Lyondri’s thrown in with him and his men are already out in force, smashing anyone who says a word against Rakhal.”

Carolin closed his eyes against the image of the streets of Hali, running with blood. Quickly, he gathered himself. There would be time enough for grief, for planning. Right now, he must act to save himself and his sons. He could become an outlaw, he knew, but there was no other choice.

He laid one hand on Orain’s shoulder, and remembered that Orain had once been Lyondri’s sworn man. “You must not return to Hali, my friend. If it were found out that you warned me—”

Orain bowed his head.
“Para servirte.”

A terrible thought crossed Carolin’s mind, of his sons left behind, trusting and defenseless, at the monastery of Saint Valentine of the Snows. Rakhal could not afford to let them live, any more than he would spare Carolin’s own life. The monastery kept no armed guards, not even for royal students, and the boys would have no reason to suspect a messenger from their kinsman.

Carolin’s first impulse was to turn Longlegs around and gallop back to Nevarsin. The folly of such a move held him fast. He was no longer a private man, who could indulge such passions. He bore the fate of all Hastur. He had sworn it in his heart.

Delay or detour could be fatal. If Orain had reached here, so far along the road, then Rakhal’s minions or, worse yet, Lyondri’s butchers could not be far behind.

His only hope—the kingdom’s only hope—lay in immediate flight. The sooner he placed himself beyond Lyondri’s reach, the better his chances.

“I cannot command you, my friend, I can only ask this, for it will place you in even greater danger,” Carolin said.

“My sword and I are yours to command.” Orain had reined his horse closer, his face even more gaunt than usual. “Once I swore service to Lyondri, but he has proven himself both dis honorable and corrupt. I do not break faith with him, for he has already forsworn his faith with you, who should have been his King. Ask anything I can give,
vai dom,
and it is gladly yours.”

“Then go on to Nevarsin as quickly as you can, and take my sons from there to safety.”

Orain frowned. “Two such tender lads cannot travel far in this weather, even on good horses and with warm clothing.”

“Make for Highgarth, the seat of
Dom
Valdrin Castamir. I trust his honor and integrity. He will not fail us. I will meet you there when Kyrrdis next greets fair Idriel in the morning sky, but if I do not come, you must take them yourself beyond the Kadarin River, into the wild lands. If I still breathe, I will find you there. Guard them well.”

“My life upon it.” Orain bowed his head, then turned his horse and galloped headlong along the road to Nevarsin.

Carolin watched the flurry of snow kicked up by Orain’s retreating mount. The loyalty of such a man was a gift beyond price. He prayed he would be worthy of it.

But only,
he reminded himself savagely,
if I stay alive!

“Ride now!” Carolin mounted up and his horse gave a little rear, throwing her muzzle skyward as if in challenge. “Let us ride together.

The black mare slipped and scrambled on the loose rock of a trail which was little more than a thread between massive out croppings, like bleak and angry bones of the earth. The lesser mounts of the guards struggled behind, heads lowered in mute endurance. Sleet fell slantwise, driven by fierce mountain winds. At times, Carolin heard the ululating cries of wolves, calling to one another. He did not know if they were welcoming him as one of them, or joining in the chase.

Days melted into one another, and Carolin and his men grew more and more like the wolves, shaggy, watchful, cautious. They reached the broken lands which led to the Kadarin. Twice now, they had to beat back outlaws, desperate men who preyed on travelers. One of the horses had been lamed in an attack, and two men injured.

Along the trail, Carolin had woken from sleep more than once, sweating with urgency. He wished he had
laran
enough to identify the danger, for danger it was.

Rakhal would have the Towers of Hali and Tramontana at his command, with the power of their circles, of
clingfire
and sentry birds and spells to bind a horse’s feet or cloud a man’s thoughts. Carolin thought of his friends and kin, of Lady Liriel at Tramontana, of Dyannis Ridenow at Hali, little Dyannis whom he had partnered at dance at Midwinter Festival so many years ago, and most of all, of Maura. Was she even now bending her thoughts against him? No, he could not believe that.

Not for the first time, he wished for Varzil with his courage and steady wisdom. He remembered the attack at the riverside on the way to Blue Lake, how Varzil had sensed the
clingfire
dart even before it burst from cover. He could use that kind of watchful protection now.

I am here with you
, ghosted through his mind. It was not a direct contact, for that was impossible over so many leagues, and although Varzil was a powerful telepath, Carolin was not. He sensed that Varzil held him in thought, that even in these desperate times, he was not forgotten.

Carolin stood before the roaring fire in the great hall of Highgarth, relishing the feeling of being warm and dry again. He had lost track of the days of hiding, traveling by night, jumping at shadows. Too many times, he had thought only of enduring the next hour of cold and hunger, the next stretch of trail.

If it goes on like this, we will forget who we are and why we seek this terrible refuge.
The lands beyond the Kadarin had a fey, wild magic that sank its claws into a man’s soul.

Orain had been waiting for him, along with his two boys. They ran to Carolin, as delighted to be set free from the Castamir nursery as to see him. So far, their journey had been more of a holiday than a desperate flight.

Valdrin Castamir had welcomed Carolin as lord and brother. “Many will stand with you against Rakhal the Usurper. He trades upon men’s greed, for few would support him otherwise. Already we have heard stories of how he seizes the lands of any man who fails to please him and gives them to his flattering lackeys. Even smallholders who should have been apart from these troubles become his victims. He surrounds himself with those who tell him only what he wishes to hear, instead of restraint and mercy. And Lyondri Hastur, his executioner, has become a wild beast fattened on blood.
Vai dom
, the situation will only worsen as Rakhal tightens his grip.”

Valdrin’s words pierced Carohn’s heart. He glanced from the old lord to Orain, watching him with shining eyes. These men would follow him, even at the cost of their own lives. They saw in him a symbol of hope, a just and honorable King.

Over the next tenday, Carolin met not only with
Dom
Valdrin and Orain, who had quickly become his most trusted advisers, but with smallholders and minor lords within the area. A common thread of fear ran through them all. Sooner or later, on one pretext or another, they each risked prison or worse.

Dom
Valdrin urged Carolin to use Highgarth as his headquarters, the center from which to launch his campaign to retake the throne. “These people lack only a King to follow.”

Carolin shook his head. “I would not repay your loyalty by placing you at such risk. If Rakhal learned that you had aided me, he would stop at nothing to destroy you.”

He must return to the wilds, he knew, to cold and hunger and always glancing behind. For the moment, his sons were safe, but how long would that last? Though the very thought sent a shiver of fear through his marrow, he must take them with him.

“Do not ask me to leave you again,” Orain said in a private moment. “Every day, I feared the worst.”

Carolin laid one hand on his foster-brother’s shoulder. “I shall almost certainly need you as emissary, for I cannot be in more than one place at the same time. I cannot imagine anyone I would trust more to speak for me.” Then, when he saw Orain would protest further, “I am no longer a private person, I am Hastur of Hastur. We both of us serve a greater cause.”

Orain bowed his head in mute agreement and offered no more objections.

Over the time he spent at Highgarth, Carolin’s small band of followers had grown. Sons of neighboring estates, afire with idealism, begged to join him, as did a number of Castamir’s own men. Carolin divided his forces, for he must travel quickly and with as little notice as possible. To the guards who had accompanied him on that desperate flight from Nevarsin, he offered a choice.

“You served me as a Hastur Prince and heir to the throne,” he told them. “I am grateful for your loyalty. But I cannot ask any of you to go further. Some of you have families, or oaths of loyalty which bind you elsewhere. Any man who wishes to return to Hali may do so with my thanks.”

Some of the men fell to their knees and vowed they would follow Carolin to the Wall Around the World, but the captain, with tears in his eyes, begged leave, for his wife was sewing woman to Lyondri’s own lady, and he feared for her life should he be named deserter and traitor.

Carolin embraced the man. “Go with the blessings of all the gods, for I greatly fear the war which sets kinsmen against each other, and men forced to choose between the lives of their loved ones and their own honor.”

At Orain’s urging, Carolin determined to disguise himself as one of his own men under the name of
Dom
Carlo of Blue Lake.

“That will help to spread the word that you are free, even if in exile,” Orain said. “That knowledge alone will help to keep hope alive in men’s hearts.”

On a morning when the air held the first soft promise of spring to come, Carolin, his sons, and a small band of loyal men rode forth from Highgarth for the perilous journey back to the Kadarin wild lands.

It was a good thing, Eduin reflected, that he had learned patience, for it was the better part of a year before he arrived at Hestral Tower. He had been ready to leave as soon as word came from Loryn Ardais, Keeper of Hestral, that a
laranzu
of his skill and training was most warmly welcome. Before he could make arrangements, however, all Hali erupted with news of the old King’s death. That in itself would have meant only a short delay for the funeral, but word that Rakhal and not Carolin had taken the throne rocked the city.

News came daily of this lord or that declaring for either of the cousins. Lyondri Hastur and his men stormed through the streets, struggling to restore order. Not a day passed without some other man, lordling or trader or disaffected soldier, being named outlaw. Carolin himself had fled beyond the Kadarin River, living among bandits, with a bounty set upon his head. For an entire season, the Keepers at Hali forbade any travel outside the Tower. The roads were not safe in these perilous times.

So Eduin remained, doing the work assigned to him. He’d lost all interest in the archives, but he had learned how to present a good appearance, and he wanted no cause for rumor or complaint on his account.