“You’re looking very serious,” Avel said. “What’s bothering you?”
“The oath’s not as strong as I would like.”
Avel chuckled. “Come on. Do you really think any politician worth his thorny crown would pledge unconditional loyalty to another?”
Avel had come up with the oath’s wording too easily. He must have composed it before Lohor voiced his objection. Why wouldn’t Avel want to limit Garscap’s authority? Of course, he had been content to let another propose the restriction and become the target of Garscap’s ire. Perhaps, Avel had even prompted Lohor’s idea. Avel was another tricky character.
Having to deal with all these deceitful politicians made Garscap nostalgic for when Widan was his only rival.
Avel slapped Garscap’s shoulder. “You should rejoice. No matter the oath’s strength, it has made you the most important leader of our people since kingship was abolished.”
Garscap broke into a smile. It was true. And this was but the beginning. The other politicians were slier than he had imagined, but his cunning exceeded theirs. Eventually, they would bend to his will, as Charlin had.
Garscap spied the saint at the edge of the clearing. “Ah, here is my escort. I must bid farewell till our next gathering.”
Garscap quickly shook Avel’s hand, and then jogged over to the approaching Saint Charlin.
“It is good to see such friendliness between old enemies,” Charlin observed.
“Blessed are the peacemakers,” Garscap said, smiling.
He chatted with the saint about inconsequential matters till he was certain they could not be overheard by Avel. “The meeting was a great success,” he said. “We agreed to form an alliance against the Fair Folk. And the other politicians chose me to be its leader.” He was giddy, like an excited child.
The saint’s wan smile spurred Garscap’s generosity. “This wouldn’t be possible without your help. Future generations will recall your wisdom in the same breath as Saint Odran or Saint Valclar or Saint Apasapal.”
“Please stop,” Charlin pleaded. “I’m unworthy of your praise.”
Garscap nodded. “I meant no offense.”
“None taken,” Charlin assured him. “Thank you.”
Garscap silently thanked Grael Erol for all his help, too. Out of gratitude for sparing Grael or fear for his future safety, Charlin had shed a little of his circumspection and become more amenable to Garscap and his schemes.
Charlin stopped walking. “You understand your role is to lead the politicians, not to rule them,” he said. He wagged a finger, but he was friendly, even apologetic. “The days of kings and their sinful ways have long past.”
“Of course,” Garscap said, pretending dismay that anyone might suspect him of such grand ambitions. The golden thorny crown, the one Alackalas, Braer, and the other kings of old had worn, lay in some dusty corner of the monastery of Skyaltar, but some day it would be his. While he protested his innocent intentions to Charlin, he looked forward to the time when some saint placed that crown on his head.
18
She was a year’s beauty distilled—
Fierce as winter, gentle as spring,
Gold lips ripe as autumn’s harvest,
Eyes dancing with summer’s flowering.
FROM ALACKALAS AND THE FAIR PRINCESS.
The weeks following the Orstretcherists’ return to Leaftea Lake were a happy time for TrueFriend Peritus. The feeble spring gradually strengthened into a healthy summer, and the hardships of a seemingly endless winter were forgotten. Though he disclaimed the Pigsknucklers’ assertions that the Orstretcherists had brought the good weather with them, he nonetheless took pleasure in such superstitious gossip. More importantly, the cramped, sedentary existence of Pigsback, relieved only by the occasional hunting trip, was over. Frenetic activity packed his day. Much of it related to preparing the Pigsknucklers and other visiting Stretchers for combat, but there were many other chores to be done. Food to gather and cook. Fires to feed. Damaged equipment to repair or replace, and dirty clothes to clean. TrueFriend enjoyed all these tasks. Except the laundry. He hated the laundry.
Unfortunately, that job, due to its general unpopularity, was on a strict rotation, and TrueFriend’s turn had come. DayFlambeau and PureFaith took pity on him and helped carry the piles of dirty garments from their encampment to a nearby stream.
TrueFriend sighed as he observed the daunting mountains piled in a semi-circle around him. “I am outflanked by washing. Reinforcements would save the day. You two would not like to give me a hand?”
“You’re right,” PureFaith said. “I would not like to give you a hand.”
“On the other thumb, I would, but unfortunately both of my hands are still raw from doing it the last time,” DayFlambeau said, as he passed a wooden paddle to TrueFriend. “Enjoy.”
“At least keep me company a while,” TrueFriend begged.
“We have to get back to the camp,” PureFaith said, yawning. “Duty calls.”
“I heard another bunch of novices arrives today,” DayFlambeau said glumly.
“They are from Wyrmery,” TrueFriend said.
“I do not care where they are from,” DayFlambeau muttered.
“I know what you mean,” PureFaith said. “New names and faces replace the old before I am familiar with them. First, it was Littleknuckle, then Highstep, then Bittenglen, and now Wyrmery. Their sojourns are so brief. They leave in the same hurry as they arrived. They hardly have a chance to master even the most rudimentary combat skills.”
“That is not what I meant,” DayFlambeau said, his voice sullen and low. He turned for camp.
“I have to go,” PureFaith said, hurrying after him.
TrueFriend sighed as he surveyed the mounds of disheveled garments. It was a pity that AscendantSun had not brought some decent soap from Tincranny. The Orstretcherists had been bereft of this vital commodity for some time. He had no choice but beat the dirt out of the clothes.
He immersed so many garments in the stream that they threatened to soak it up completely. Then he picked an item from the soup of apparel and began to pound it on a stone, rubbing the stained fabric together till the marks were gone. He wrung it out, threw it to one side, and then snatched another garment from the stream and put it through the same pummeling. Then another garment. Then another.
“You wash your own clothes. Have you no woman to do it for you?” It was an unfamiliar voice. A Stretcher’s voice. A female voice.
TrueFriend continued with his laundry, careful not to glance at the speaker. The pliant gentleness of her voice was alarming. The Orstretcherists were aware of the lust they inspired in some of the village women. The saints had taught them about the sins of the flesh and how women were especially prone to them. It was not clear why casual copulation was so terrible, but the saints must know what they were talking about.
“Have you no woman to do it?” the girl repeated.
“I have none,” TrueFriend admitted. “Here,” he added. The Orstretcherists had agreed to maintain the subterfuge that they had women in their homeland. They had settled on this plan by themselves, being unsure of the wisdom of saintly advice on such matters.
“I thought you were without desire like the saints,” the girl said. “You must get lonely without your woman.”
“I miss her terribly,” TrueFriend declared, redoubling his frenzied washing. Was she attempting to proposition him? If so, his professed devotion to another would stop her.
“My name is Ashin Carnath.” A long pause followed. “If you ever want company,” the girl said, her voice trembling.
“Thank you,” he blurted. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. He lay the breeches in his hands down on a stone, straightened his back, and looked around, but she was gone.
“So, what’s this about?” Grael asked.
“I will let TrueFriend explain. I cannot,” AscendantSun said as he lifted the flap of his yellow tent and waved Grael inside.
He stoope
d and entered. NeverFear and TrueFriend sat cross-legged on a blanket. Elfin countenances were as a rule inscrutable, but TrueFriend’s face radiated distress as it looked up at Grael.
After AscendantSun and Grael sat down, TrueFriend related his encounter with the girl at the stream. Horror crept up Grael’s spine as he listened. Everything about the story was disconcerting, including TrueFriend’s obvious naivety about affairs of the heart.
TrueFriend sighed and rubbed his hands down his face. “In the end, I thanked her. I have no idea why. I suppose I panicked.”
Grael rolled his eyes.
“She may not have even heard that. She was gone when I looked round.” TrueFriend pressed his hands against his cheeks and formed a triangle with his outer thumbs under his lower lip. “I don’t understand. My professed devotion to another woman should have ended the matter.”
Obviously, it hadn’t. Otherwise, Grael wouldn’t be here. “You didn’t get a glimpse of her?” he asked.
“I was afraid to look upon the face of my would-be seductress in case my glance aggravated her passion,” TrueFriend admitted. He lowered his hands and took a deep breath. “However, lately, I have been followed around the camp by a plump-cheeked girl with dark hair and light brown eyes.”
“It sounds like Ashin Carnath,” Grael said. “It must be her.” It explained why she was hanging about the Orstretcherists’ camp so much. If the details of this infatuation became common knowledge, she would be ruined.
TrueFriend rested his head in one hand. “I’ve tried to find the humor in the situation, but the girl’s misplaced passion disturbs me. I am incapable of reciprocating it.”
“Grael, please understand, TrueFriend means no offense,” NeverFear said. “After you have beheld an Elfin maiden, you become blind to all other feminine charms.”
“Everywhere I go, she follows,” TrueFriend said. “Even when I cannot see her, I can feel her gaze on me. I despise those imploring eyes. Even in sleep, I cannot escape them. They invade my dreams.”
He shook his head. “Her ability to pick me out from the midst of my comrades is unnerving. I wonder why I alone must endure her obsession? We all look alike to Mixies. I have overheard Stretchers comment to that effect. What have I done to inflame her fascination?”
“I can recognize you all by the tattoos on your foreheads,” Grael said. “She can probably do the same.”
“Recognition is one thing. Attraction is something else. Your suggestion is reasonable but it fails to explain why her passion fixed on me before all others,” TrueFriend said.
Grael thought of Harath. “The heart’s impulses are sometimes wayward, and the root of its caprice is obscure even to its owner.”
“We learned of this matter only this morning,” NeverFear said.
“I have been hinting about it for some time,” TrueFriend said, directing a sharp glance at NeverFear.
“You must admit, your clues were pretty cryptic,” NeverFear observed.
“Embarrassment does not lend itself well to eloquence,” TrueFriend replied. “And what was my friends’ reaction to my plight? They made light of it.”
“Our mirth was not spiteful or mocking,” AscendantSun said. “We acted out of kindness. We hoped humor might ease your distress. Having never experienced such unwelcome attention, we had little appreciation of its gravity. Your stricken countenance quickly dispelled our levity.”
He turned to address Grael. “I invited you here because we need the advice of someone whose discretion can be trusted. We realize the delicacy of this matter, and we want it resolved with minimum fuss. If we tell Saint Charlin, he is liable to demand the girl’s public censure. Saints despise sins of the flesh above all other wickedness. As for Garscap, he might consider the affair to be the concern of saints rather than politicians and hand it over to your brother. What do you advise that we should do?”
“Women have no business hanging around your camp,” Grael said. “Widan would have never tolerated their presence. Ask Garscap to impose a general ban on their visits. That will prevent Ashin from harassing TrueFriend without singling her out.”
AscendantSun smiled and nodded. “NeverFear and I had considered what you propose already, but we needed to hear it from you to be sure of its wisdom. Of course, it will not prevent her from approaching TrueFriend outside the camp.”
“I will not leave it,” TrueFriend said. “At least, not until her ardor has cooled.”
“That might take a very long time,” Grael admitted. “These feverish vexations can take months and even years to wane.” He was a hypocrite to speak of love as someone else’s disease.
“You could talk to her,” TrueFriend suggested. “You might be able to dissuade her of this foolishness.”
Grael’s cheeks warmed. “It would not be appropriate for me to make such an overture. It should come from another woman.” There was only one candidate for the task, though he was eager to avoid her. “Garscap’s wife, Harath, is the ideal choice.”
“Are you sure?” AscendantSun asked.
“Yes,” Grael said. His face and ears burned. “There’s an independent streak in her character which would make her more sympathetic to Ashin’s situation than, for example, my mother. I might as well tell my brother as ask for my mother’s help. Charlin might be more forgiving.”
“I understand there may be some difficulties in speaking frankly to Harath,” AscendantSun said.
“It’ll not be easy,” Grael conceded. “It may take some time before I get an opportunity.”
“In the meantime, we will ask Garscap to banish women from the camp,” AscendantSun said. “Perhaps, that by itself will be enough.”
AscendantSun lay awake in his tent, watching the dull yellow light passing through its fabric slowly brighten. With the ban in place, TrueFriend hopefully had slept more soundly.
A swooping screech lifted him from his mattress. Wearing just his tunic, he grabbed his batonaxes and dashed outside. More screams drew him southward. The camp rattled awake. Dazed faces peered out of their shelters. Tents shuddered with frantic movement as their occupants dressed and armed.
On the fringe of the encampment, AscendantSun discovered the origin of the distressful cries. Ashin’s face, so raw with murderous fury, was hardly recognizable. Tearful streams coursed from her bloodshot eyes. Her body shivered as if in the grip of fever. Her screams were reminiscent of those that a wounded animal might direct at its injurer, brimful with pain and warning. Though NoonBlest, PureFaith, and NeverFear barred her way, they were intimidated by her ferocity. Their glances pleaded for AscendantSun’s intervention.
“You are not welcome here,” he said. It was a relief to see two approaching Stretchers, undoubtedly posted by Garscap to maintain a discreet vigil over the Ors’ camp.
“You can’t keep me from him!” Ashin roared. “TrueFriend and I are meant to be together. He avoids me only because you make him.” She punched NeverFear in the face.
The two Stretchers grabbed the girl’s arms from behind and began to drag her away.
One of them chided, “Daughter of Carnath, you should be ashamed of yourself. Pull back your claws and end your fussing. You bring shame on your family’s name by striking a guest of Pigsknuckle and carrying on like a cheated strumpet from Formicary.”
Nodding at NeverFear, who was trying to staunch the blood pouring from his nose, the other Stretcher quipped, “She doesn’t need much combat training.”
“Let us hope this settles the matter,” NeverFear said, tilting back his head as he pressed a handkerchief to his nose. “Older Pigsknucklers will have more experience of this sort of wayward attraction than us, or your friend Grael. They will know how to cure her affliction.”
AscendantSun agreed, despite his doubts.
Days passed, and the girl did not reappear. None of the Stretchers mentioned her. When pressed by AscendantSun, Grael politely refused to speak of her. The incident gradually slipped from conversation. With so much to be done to prepare
the Stretchers for war, and so little time to do it, nobody had much opportunity to reflect on distractions like Ashin Carnath. Even TrueFriend forgot his misguided tormentor.
Then, one evening, Grael raced into the camp. Sensing something was terribly wrong, AscendantSun put aside his dinner, and ran over to him.
“What’s happened?” AscendantSun asked, unnerved by Grael’s wide-eyed stare.
Through labored breaths, Grael said, “Ashin has disappeared.”
Fapath Carnath pointed out the distant figure scrambling over the boulders by the Witchmilk’s raging waters. “There she is. We’ve found her.” He waved to his sons, who were farther down the river, and signaled them to head upstream.
“It’s a great relief she’s alive,” Evram said. He wanted to maintain a grave mien suited to the circumstances, but he was unable to restrain a smile.
“You respect my daughter still, despite her bewitchment,” Fapath observed.
“She is an innocent victim of the Orstretcherist’s magic. She is to be pitied rather than hated.”
“Would you marry her?”
“She wouldn’t want me,” Evram said. She had been cold toward him since the incident with Joraem. Still, that cheeky flirt had to be taught a lesson after trying to muscle in on Evram’s girl.
“Her wants have little to do with it,” Fapath said, patting Evram’s shoulder. “In all honesty, I doubt she’d find a better husband.”
“My father might not approve,” Evram admitted. Maergan was a potential rival for Ashin’s hand. Since his mourning for his wife had drawn to a close, Maergan had made no secret of his desire for another wife.
“I’ll give a dowry more than adequate to silence his objections. All you’ve to do is stand firm against his remonstration. You’re a man now, not a child that your father can bully.”
“Will we go down to her?”
Fapath’s chronic scowl deepened a little. “I think it may be best if you approached her first. We don’t want to startle her into doing something even more stupid.”
A Bright Power Rising Page 26