"What do you mean by that?" Madia asked.
"I saw Ferris' own serfs carry your father's body out of his chambers, but they did not go to the vaults. They took him to the old dungeons. I think the body that went to the vaults belonged to someone else, and your father is still alive, or at least he was when they carried him away."
"Please, don't tell me my father lives, for if he does not and I believe you . . . "
"I swear, my lady, what I say is true!"
"But why?" Madia asked. "Why feign his death? If Ferris was intent on taking the kingdom from him, why not simply kill him and be done with it?"
"I don't know, but I know that Lord Ferris is an evil man, Madia. I know it. You have not seen the change in him since you and your father were declared dead."
"Oh, yes, I have! We met—briefly—in the castle just this afternoon."
"The master says he is a force from the nether regions, a demon prince," Rosivok explained. "One that commands powers not seen in this world for ages."
"Many have said he is not mortal," Anna told Madia. "Most fear him. He has had so many people killed these past months. Those who would speak against him. And many more have suffered. I made the mistake of questioning him about the imprisonment of a squire, one of my young nephews, and I was put out into the streets for it!"
Anna's voice cracked, then the sound of sobbing followed, and Madia thought of the things she had accused Anna of, the doubts she'd already had—another on the list of mistakes you have made. "I am sorry," Madia said, "for many things. It has been so hard to know what to do and what to think. And now you tell me my father may still be alive." She fell silent, waiting for the thoughts in her head to slow their terrible spin. Even as they did, the weight already gathered in her stomach seemed to grow heavier.
"I must avenge my father, Anna—and all the people of Ariman," she said. "I will learn the truth of what has happened. Ferris will not go unchallenged."
"He will for now," Rosivok said, moving in the darkness, a shuffling sound. "We stand no chance against him."
"What's happened to you?" Madia asked, finding Anna's sobs affecting her, fighting the urge to join in. "You were all so sure of yourselves before, so extraordinary! The great Frost and his Subartans! Masters of all, servants to none! How can it be that there is nothing to be done, no hope at all?" She stopped herself, realizing how it sounded, knowing that it was not that simple.
"We face not a man but a thing," Frost said, whispering from somewhere deep in his throat. "I know of nothing that can be done against him."
"How do you feel?" Madia asked.
"He nearly died," Sharryl said. "He may yet. Leave him alone." She moved near him, stroking his head, Madia guessed, listening more than seeing. His breathing seemed to soften.
"We must leave this place," Rosivok said. "There will be time to talk of this later."
"He is right," Sharryl said. "For now."
"I know," Madia muttered. "I know. I just find all this so hard to accept. I've never felt so awful about everything, not even when I was starving in the countryside. I want to find my father, dead or alive, and . . ."
"Do not dwell on that, my lady," Anna said.
"I came here to try and do something right, for once, and everything is going so wrong!"
No sound touched the darkness for a time. Madia felt an aching in her head, the weight in her gut turning solid. Nothing made sense anymore.
"You must come with me," Anna said, a very quiet voice. "There are dung wagons that leave the city each night. One of the drivers is a close enough friend. No one will look for fugitives in his cargo."
"With good reason," Madia replied.
"It is better than being found within the city by Ferris' mercenaries," Rosivok corrected.
"Much better," Sharryl agreed.
"Then you will let me help you?" Anna asked.
"Of course," Madia said, still more softly. "Yes."
"I will prove to you, Madia," Anna went on, "that I am worthy of—"
"Anna, I was wrong about many things, especially you, I think. It is I who must prove myself. I am in your hands."
"Yes, my lady. Please, all of you, come."
She led the way out into the darkened streets, using no torches, staying well out of sight. Not far from the stables, they came upon the wagons. Anna disappeared for a time, then returned with an armful of clothing and rolled burlap.
"Use these to wrap yourselves," she said, then helped them with the job. Madia joined the others, wrapping herself up first, then struggling to get into the back of the wagon.
"I will come back, no matter what," Madia mumbled, trying to talk through the material. "I swear it."
"I know," Anna said. "Now shut up."
Madia held still while Anna and the driver wrapped her face and shoveled extra straw and manure over her. She felt the wagon being covered, then felt motion as the driver urged the horses on. There was a brief pause, then the wagon was moving again. The gates, Madia thought—they aren't even going to check.
She kept silent, fighting the urge to vomit as the heavy odor in the wagon caught in her throat with each breath. After a time, the smell didn't bother her. Finally the wagon stopped again, and the driver called everyone out.
As the cloth was removed and she looked about, Madia saw that the moon was high in the night sky, but barely a quarter full. Still, its light revealed a small dirt road that wound through grassy fields and disappeared into a vast stand of woods ahead. The driver was alone. He was back in the wagon even before the Subartans had finished getting Frost unwrapped.
"Thank you, and tell Lady Anna again how grateful we are," Madia told the man. The driver looked at her, eyes hidden in the shadow of his hat, an old man, she saw, and a kind man, certainly. He nodded without a word, as if he were afraid to speak, and Madia realized that many in Kamrit must be that way, in the habit of being afraid to say anything at all. He swung the wagon around and drove away north, back up the road toward home.
Madia turned and followed the others south—walking away from home again.
Chapter XV
"The roads in northern Ariman are no place to be these days," Mauro said. He glanced at his younger brother, Umblic, who was standing just behind him. "Especially for a lady like yourself," Umblic added, with a nod.
"All of Ariman is no safe place for anyone not loyal to the Lord Grand Chamberlain," Anna replied. Mauro's house was small and his dinner fire had been a hot one. Anna used the sleeve of her dress to dab sweat from her brow. "Should we stay in our beds, then? Or hide beneath them?"
"We should wait, Anna, for the right time. For things to change so that others will offer their—"
"Things have changed enough for me already."
"I think," Umblic offered, choosing a softened tone, "that what my brother is trying to say is—"
"That he is of no use to the good people of Kamrit any longer, and that he is as fearful of Ferris' power as everyone else!" Anna glared at both of them, then felt some of the fire within her cool as she fathomed the look in their eyes. They were good men, but like so many in Kamrit, they had lost something of themselves in recent months—their notions of self-worth, the foundations upon which had stood their convictions, their chivalry, their loyalty. Both saw little good to come from Ferris' reign, Anna was certain of that; but they were sworn to a duty that required them to defend a leader who was no longer theirs, and to aid him in turning Ariman into something not theirs as well. They had no immediate solution. In all Kamrit, no one did. Anna, regardless, could no longer live with that.
"I'm going with or without you," Anna said, getting up from the little table, moving away from the hearth. "We need help, and there is no one else."
"You waste your time," Mauro said, which prompted another nod from Umblic.
"You two may find it easier just to lay about, counting woes, but I do not," Anna said, looking at Mauro, a man of great strength and experience, though age was beginning to take its tol
l. Lately he was spending most of his time training younger men, and Umblic, like so many others, had been doing his best simply to stay out of sight. There were fewer citizens every day willing to speak openly against Ferris. And for good reason.
"Counting woes and going on a wild goose chase are two different things," Umblic replied. "My brother is right."
"I am right!" Anna persisted. "Hoke is one of the few men I know we can trust who can rally the others."
"But what can he do?" Mauro asked, shaking his head. "What can anyone do against Ferris? Hoke is an old man, much older than me, and a cripple. He commands no one anymore. The army follows Ferris' captains now. Even the greatest knights of Kamrit follow him, or they pretend to, and that will likely continue. Pity Hoke, my lady. You would ask a minnow to save a drowning man."
"Those with enough courage would be inspired. You are not the only knights who disapprove of Lord Ferris," Anna reminded him.
"Yes, like this, among ourselves, but public dissent is a different matter. How many men have been found guilty of crimes and executed, how many have been banished? My friends and yours."
"Your friends suffered less because they stood up for themselves, for what they believed, and more because they did not stand together." Anna held his gaze for an instant, then turned her head away.
"Or they were simply foolish," Mauro told her. "What difference if Ferris destroys ten good men or one hundred? Those that have fallen can little help you or anyone else now. And what of the lord's powers? What if he is truly a demon as you say? All the knights in Ariman might stand no chance against him."
"So you would rather sit and ponder," Anna snapped. "And let your fears betray your honor. Very well, but I must do something. Have you not heard a thing I have said? Can you simply forgive the demon his nature, accept that he has poisoned your true king, or forget that Kelren Andarys may yet live, imprisoned in his own dungeons?"
"All things you have said might be true," Mauro told her, "but we have been to the dungeons and he is not there."
"The old dungeons," Anna corrected.
"They are long abandoned."
"Not anymore."
"There is an order that no one is to go there," Umblic said. "It might make one wonder."
Mauro set his jaw. "Then we will go."
"There are guards posted, loyal to Ferris," Anna said. "You will not get past them alone. We would need many men, and someone to lead them. If not Hoke, then perhaps Madia."
Both men made a sour face. "Hard to imagine," Umblic said. "And no one else has seen the princess, either. Perhaps in the darkness your eyes and ears fooled you. Or you saw a ghost after all. And the story about the lost young Duke Jaffic, that is just too much to endure."
"But true!" Anna glared at them, feeling as though she might scream loud enough for Ferris himself to hear if she spent another second in the presence of such men. Yet they were still her best hope.
"There are only a handful of knights and squires I can turn to," she went on, controlling her tone, "and fewer women, and none of you are willing to take any chances. I do not mean to say that yours is not a sensible approach, but if you had been witness to the pain in Madia's eyes, the defeat on the faces of those who had been with her, if you had heard them tell of Ferris—things that a part of everyone in Kamrit already knows—" Anna stopped herself. She drew a long, troubled breath.
"I cannot content myself with observations and secret discussions, not any longer," she said. "Believe what you want to believe." She pulled her cloak around her shoulders and started toward the door. "I will go alone." She paused and looked back as the two men rose and stood beside the table. "I believe Kelren deserves better," she added, her voice growing faint. "As does his daughter."
"Too bad she didn't feel as you do," Umblic mumbled.
Anna felt her features tremble. "She does now."
The brothers looked at each other, expressions Anna could not read. She pulled at the door, and realized her cheeks were wet.
Mauro spoke: "Wait, my lady."
They were looking at each other again, then both at her.
"Yes?"
Umblic cleared his throat. "We . . . we will be going with you."
* * *
Ingram and Kaafk stood gazing out the window of the tower at the streets of Kamrit below. Tyrr enjoyed receiving men up here. The tower seemed to lend them a sense of power and importance, the view seemed to inspire. He stood just behind these two, encouraging their reverie. He made the mouth talk, easy conversation, as he had heard so many men do, then he gradually turned their talk to his own agenda. The construct was not holding up nearly as well as he had hoped; it would not last as long as the pace of events seemed to dictate it must, therefore events, for this and other reasons, must be speeded up.
But there was a second urgency as well. The threat remained small, but real enough. And any threat to his true being must be removed without delay.
"I want the Demon Blade," Tyrr said, "and yet I do not have it. This must change."
"My men are still searching for it," Ingram said. "They follow every clue."
"It lies in Golemesk Swamp, I am certain," Tyrr replied. "That is where you must continue your search." He was not, in fact, completely certain, but nearly so.
"We have searched as we could, my liege, but the northern lords object to our presence more strongly every day. My men have been run off of some lands altogether. And in the swamp itself we still encounter leshys who—"
"I have no patience for this anymore. If Lord Jurdef Ivran or any of the other great lords dares to object, then you will mount a force and attack them, Captain. I suggest you start by sending men enough to keep their armies occupied. Wear them down, for it is only a matter of time before we march against them. As for the swamp itself, take as many men as you need to complete the search, and this time, I will send my advocate with you as well."
Tyrr paused in concentration, and summoned the remaining imp to the tower from the small, darkened room where it waited below. It scurried in and obediently stood beside him. The two men turned and grimaced slightly as they looked upon the thing, then controlled their expressions. They had yet to question Ferris about his true nature, about the source of the powers he had let them see, though surely by now they must wonder. But they didn't seem to mind the idea enough to chance losing their authority, or cutting themselves out of the increasingly lucrative situation Tyrr had created. Men had always been like this, Tyrr knew; their weaknesses were legendary.
"The imp is sensitive to the aura of the Blade, and to the approach of a leshy," Tyrr said. "He will supply much of what you lack."
"Why is the Blade so important?" Kaafk asked, watching the face of Chamberlain Ferris closely as he waited for a reply. "Why do you . . . fear it so?"
Forethought, Tyrr told himself, and control. He was already losing sight of both. "I do not fear it, but in the wrong hands, the Blade could be an unfortunate obstacle. I am not so sure of its value as I am of yours, my merchant friend. But in my hands, it could be the key to this world. I need to learn its secrets before anyone else does. There is no alternative. Do you understand?"
The old stories spoke clearly of the time when the demons of the world had been driven out by men possessing the Blade, but the nature and limits of the Blade's magic, and the methods used, were not at all clear—to man, or to demon, so far as Tyrr knew.
Kaafk grinned tightly, nodded slowly. "Of course," he said. "Certainly."
"What happened to the other creature like that one?" Ingram asked, indicating the imp. "My men say it was wounded in the battle against the intruders."
"I had to . . . dispose of it," Tyrr made the mouth say. A considerable loss of resource—a thought that brought with it another small surge of outrage to add to those still smoldering within. He sought to control this, too, renewing his resolve yet again. Yesterday's incident had not gone as he had planned. Frost and his companions had surprised him by coming directly to the castle and had
proven far more resourceful than expected, which gave rise to questions of how many others there might be, just like them, or more powerful still. . . .
Control, he reminded. His plans were intact otherwise; almost nothing had gone wrong. And he was not truly angry with Kaafk, after all, or Ingram, really—so following his plan still made sense. He had vowed not to give in to that part of his nature, vowed not to kill humans indiscriminately simply because at times it made him feel better.
"Tell me, my liege, were the intruders ever found?" Kaafk asked.
Tasked yet again, Tyrr thought grimly. He disliked the look on the merchant's face, a poorly hidden glimmer of amusement. Kaafk remained the best man for the job, of course, but Tyrr took pleasure in reminding himself that he was not the only one.
"No," he admitted. "My commanders insist they are still within the city, but I have searched for them as well, in my own way, and believe this is not so. I have ordered a thorough search of the countryside."
"Begun yesterday," Captain Ingram said, nodding respectfully.
"Good luck," Kaafk said. "I have heard of this Frost. He is said to be a formidable enemy when he wants to be."
"The question is, why would he want to be?" Tyrr replied. "Why risk death by coming here to confront me? He is not of this land."
"Well paid by the lords of Bouren and Jasnok, Thorun and Vardale," Kaafk suggested. "Some of them have their own court wizards, but none such as Frost. I am more curious about the girl that travels with them, the one who resembles the princess. Reports have come to me from the road, from others who have seen her before she arrived here. They say it truly is Madia."
"It is a spell the mage has put on some wretched swordswoman," Tyrr said. "A false image."
"Then she has worn it for some time, I'd say." Kaafk looked to Ingram and rolled his eyes.
Tyrr despised the implications.
"My men have told of similar stories," Ingram said, taking it up. "There are rumors throughout the city today that Madia is alive, that only the princess herself—" The captain stopped himself, averting his own eyes.
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