by Andre Norton
New Void," Rohan said. "My grandfather SnoUi will want to know that his ships must be made ready for war. Also, he will be interested to know about the men of the Bog, and other matters we have discussed today."
"Of course you have our leave to depart," Ysa said. "I have one question, though. I see that Lathrom is with us. He is, if I remember correctly, your captain of soldiers, is he not, Gaurin?"
Before Gaurin could reply, Lathrom got to his feet and answered. "That I am,
Your Highness, and more besides. I dare to sit with the nobles of Rendel because
King Hynnel has made me knight. Also, I have married one of the noblest of them.
My wife is the former Young Dowager, Rannore of the House of Rowan."
Every nerve in Ysa's body quivered so violently she thought it would make an audible sound. With an enormous effort she maintained her composure. Despite her shock and dismay, she noted that the rest of the men in the Council chamber greeted this news with no surprise. Therefore, they knew it beforehand.
She forced herself to smile. "How very—very clever of you," she said. "And what good use you made of her visit at the Oakenkeep. Is your—your wife here in
Rendelsham with you?"
"Of course, Madame. We are but newly wed. I would not leave her behind, nor would she be left."
"Then send her to me within an hour, so that I may give her my congratulations in person."
With that, she arose from her chair and, ignoring the bows of the men who leapt to their feet in courtesy, she swept from the room. She was glad that her pace held steady; she did not sway or stumble.
"How could you!" Ysa raged at the young woman standing before her. "How dared you couple with a—a commoner!"
"I love him," Rannore said.
"Love," Ysa returned with a sneer. "Dishonor! You spit on the memory of my son, your late husband, the King—"
"He dishonored his own memory/' Rannore said. Her cheeks were beginning to redden and she clasped her hands low in front of her. Suddenly Ysa realized, with that gesture, that Rannore was pregnant.
"Not as much as you have," the Dowager said in a dangerously quiet voice. "I see that you must have anticipated your wedding by at least several months, just as you did before with my son. And who else have you bedded with, like the whore you are?"
At this, Rannore's reticence vanished. "You dare accuse me of whoring? With
Florian, I was forced. With Lathrom, I went to him out of love, not for gain."
Her expression hardened and her anger paled as well, making her cold and dangerous. "No, Madame, be careful whom you label. It is not I, but you! Oh, your sins are not ones of the flesh, to be sure, but you have whored after power ever since King Boroth placed the consort's crown upon your brow."
"You could be executed for the treason you are spitting now, and your paramour with you."
"And who will order it so? Not you, for Rendel's king, my son, favors my union, even though the tiny world of the Court might think it unworthy of my station.
He cares more for my happiness than you or anyone else, except Lathrom."
"If what you wanted was a bed companion, I could have found you one of a suitable rank."
"So that you could still dictate to me where I should go, whom I should see, how
I should behave? How often I should be intimate with this 'bed companion' you so graciously deigned to give me?" Rannore laughed harshly, a strange sound to come from one usually so meek and retiring. "No, Madame. Thank you, but I have arranged my life to suit myself."
"There is no place for you and your disgrace at Rendel-sham Castle. How do you propose to live with your commoner.'
"I will return to the Oakenkeep, where you do not rule," Rannore replied proudly. "And he is a commoner no more. Even now, my son, King Peres—" She put a faint but unmistakable emphasis on the words. "—is granting him lands and properties as befitting one of his loyal knights."
Ysa recognized defeat when she saw it, but she wasn't about to let Rannore know.
"Then go your ways, and be certain that if you ever come back here, it will be without my prior knowledge and certainly without my welcome."
"When was it never thus?" Rannore said, a little sourly. "You barely tolerated me while Florian was alive, except that I had borne the heir to the throne of
Rendel."
"And perhaps not even that—" Ysa tried to bite back the words, but they had already been spoken.
"Do not make idle threats," Rannore said. "I know your tricks. You might try to cast my son's heritage in doubt, but too many witnessed the marriage with his father. Peres is the rightful king."
Ysa's manner changed abruptly. Rannore had, unwittingly perhaps, presented her with a weapon she might use at some future time. It had been common knowledge that this conniving slut had been pregnant when she married the young King of
Rendel, aye, and farther along than she was now. Fainting and sick she had been as well, not blooming with health. Who was to say that Florian had truly been responsible for Peres's getting? With Rannore's subsequent behavior in taking up with someone who had once been a common soldier, who was to say how many more she had accepted into her bed, perhaps even while Florian lived? Some women did that—accepted lovers only while pregnant, so as not to have any untoward consequences from their dalliance.
Lore had it that physical characteristics for males skipped a generation.
Florian had been on the reedy side, but Boroth had been a spectacular specimen of a man in his prime. Peres did not take after the man presumed to be his grandfather.
Therefore, all Ysa would have to do would be to cast doubts on his paternity.
Given public doubts, she could set him aside at will, should a better prospect come along.
She smiled at Rannore. "Perhaps I was too hasty," she said, making her voice gentle. "I should be congratulating you instead on your newfound happiness. It was just that I was surprised. I thought you might have consulted me before you acted, not that I would have stood in your way. Come, let us be friends again."
She held out one hand to Rannore, who took it warily and kissed it. "Thank you,
Your Highness. I will be glad if there is no enmity between us."
"Of course not." The Dowager took back her hand and indicated that Rannore should sit. Then she sent for hot fruit juice and cakes. "I would give you wine, but that is not the best thing in your condition. Come, speak with me for a while. Have you begun thinking of a name for your new son, or daughter? Do you need any baby clothes? I have Peres's clothing packed away in silver paper and all we need to do is air it out and it will be perfectly usable."
Slowly, Rannore began to relax. Ysa continued to chatter about matters concerning new babies, providing no outward sign that her mind was churning with the possibilities of this new scheme of hers.
Who, she wondered, would she select if she decided that Peres should be declared the illegitimate child of some commoner such as the one Rannore had chosen this time, and be deposed?
Four
Rohan made the journey to New Void in record time, reluctantly leaving Anamara behind in Rendelsham. But he was obligated to confer with Snolli.
"Married, eh?" his grandfather said sourly. "The prospect of some good fighting pleases me but I don't want to have my backshield a puling bridegroom lonesome for his lady when he gets to lead my marines."
"Well, you won't have to put up with anything even near that," Rohan retorted.
He had long ago learned that when Snolli barked, he should bark back. "Anamara understands what we're up against, as much as I do. Incidentally, I actually made that alliance with the Bog-people you've only talked about so long, and there'll be a small army of them with the Rendelians."
"Now that I would pay good coin to seel" Snolli ex- claimed, his good humor restored. "How did it happen?"
Rohan proceeded to tell him of his adventures in the Bog, and how he had found
Anamara when he had feared her dea
d, and how brave she was. When he had finished, Snolli looked at him with a trace of respect.
"Maybe you'll do after all. And you say you want to have the marines bundled up and they're to leave off their ordinary gear?"
"I've tried both ways and have found this to be the more effective. We probably won't be quite as cold out on the water as the men who will be fighting on land, but we'll be among them sooner or later. I see no reason not to try their ways."
"They're nothing new," Snolli said. "You forget, because you were still in swaddles at the time, that we came from the north. On land, we make sure to dress so we won't stick out like bandaged thumbs among our neighbors. But at sea, we do as we please."
"I'm sure that nobody will object if you continue to do so," Rohan said. "Now.
This battle will be very difficult. Are you sure you're up to the effort—"
At this implication that he was too old to fight, Snolli came straight up out of his chair. Around him, his men tried unsuccessfully to hide their smiles and
Kasai, the Spirit Drummer, sniggered openly. "How much effort do you think it takes to give orders from the deck of a sailing ship?" the Chieftain demanded in a roar that shook dust from the rafters. "If you think I'm staying out of a good fight, then think again!"
"Sorry, Grandfather," Rohan said hastily. "I was only thinking of you—"
"Such thought is the last thing to occupy your empty head."
Rohan knew that he had to change the subject, quickly. "Grandfather, if you would, please tell me about how our homeland was destroyed."
"You've heard it before."
"Yes, but now I need to hear it again. Please, sir."
Snolli subsided with only a few additional rumbles, and Rohan breathed a little easier. His head was safe for the moment. Then, once more, the Sea-Rover
Chieftain began to recite the terrible tale of the invasion led by sinister riders mounted on beasts out of nightmares, armed with rods blasting a mist which seemed to burn out a man's lungs. None of Snolli's spies had learned what had dragged these horrors out of the ice regions to stamp a way into the fair land that the Sea-Rovers had held for time out of mind.
Yes, the enemy could be killed, those stunted, twisted creatures who followed the riders, but any captured seemed to die by will alone before any information could be extracted from them. They themselves took no prisoners; man, woman, and child coughed under the cloud of poison mist and quickly died.
"Thank you, Grandfather," Rohan said into the silence when Snolli had finished the story that was too grimly familiar to all of the Sea-Rover kin. "It's definite. I can now tell you what your spies could not. I know what these beasts are, and whence they came."
Now it was his turn to tell his kindred of the Ice Dragons that had awakened when the Palace of Fire and Ice, long guarded by Cyornas, had suffered great harm when a thunder-star fell to earth.
"From the reports of those who survived, one of the walls adjacent to the tomb cracked. This held the sleeping body of the entity who was only whispered about as the Great Foulness. Our Nordorn kinsmen now know it was at that moment the
Foulness began to stir and then to wake. The Ice Dragons demolished the palace of Cyornas NordornKing, killed him—" gasps around the fireplace, for Cyornas had always been a good friend to the Sea-Rovers—"and then turned south."
"We are all in grave danger," Snolli said.
"How many ships will you command?" Rohan asked.
Snolli began to tick them off on his fingers. "Well, there's my flagship, the old Gorgull," he said. "She's showing her age a little but she's still sound.
And then we have Stormbracer and Wave-Ruler. Wind-Singer needs some refitting.
Two ships are no longer seaworthy, and another ship was lost at sea last sailing season."
Rohan nodded. It was a Sea-Rover custom never to mention the name of a ship that had sunk.
"Since then, though, we've built Spume-Maiden," Snolli continued. "She's small, but swift. Harvas is her captain, and we have a couple more ships close to completion. We can put five in the fight now, with the two new ones still to come."
Rohan nodded. "That is better than I dared hope. There is a harbor, close by
Castle Bilth."
"I remember the place. Poor anchorage, but as good as is to be found along the coast."
"There is the best place to gather, while the armies prepare. I will go and tell them to expect you."
"We will be there, with a full complement of marines for you to command."
Snolli's eyes gleamed, and Rohan knew he was in for at least one more sharp verbal jab from his grandfather. "Never fear. I'll have men stationed to save you from making a fool of yourself in front of your friends."
The laughter of the Sea-Rovers still rang in Rohan's ears as he started the long, cold trip back to Rendelsham. If only, he thought, he could persuade
Snolli that he was a capable fighter in his own rightl But that, like so many things, would have to be proven in combat. Never would Snolli accept Rohan's claim otherwise.
He wondered if his father Obern had had to endure the same sort of half-amused, half-contemptuous treatment from Snolli and then decided that yes, probably, he had.
The city of Rendelsham could not hold the muster of fighting men who were rapidly assembling. Thus, a great camp was erected on the plain between the city walls and Cragden Keep. Only a few of the mustered men visited the city occasionally. Those whose wives were nearby wanted to be with them, but all knew that it was better for morale if they remained with the rest of the soldiers.
Rohan felt that he suffered more than the others did, from being separated from his bride, but reason told him he was not alone in this. Upon his return to the city he discovered he had been given a small apartment in one of the buildings near Rendelsham Castle, and there Anamara waited for his infrequent visits. He dared not tell her they would grow even fewer and farther between when Snolli had brought his ships up to the harbor at Bilth. Then he would join his ma- rines and they would be based on the vessels until the combined armies would begin to march and the ships move out to support them from the sea.
His daily routine and their preparations were not things she wanted to hear about, which meant they had less and less to say other than how much they loved each other and how greatly they would miss each other once Rohan was gone.
In his eyes, however, the goings-on in the camp were fascinating. Many if not most of the soldiers had adopted the Nordorn way of dress, setting aside their regular armor for the many layers of clothing, which were almost as good as chain mail for protection. Every woman in the city was kept busy sewing the many tunics and breeches now required, while all the armorers and leather workers toiled to create hooded outer garments and warm boots. Wulvine fur became more valuable than gold, and those men of the city who weren't going to war were kept busy hunting the animals.
Rohan had never been able to get the marks from the fire off the left sleeve of his chain mail, no matter how hard or how often he polished it. He now considered the burn mark a badge of honor, and had a pang of regret when he packed away the armor in a chest entrusted to Anamara's safekeeping.
Gaurin and Hynnel, along with others of the Nordors, had to be everywhere at once—supervising the construction of sleds, choosing likely dogs to harness for the pulling of such transport. There were arguments with those who tried to insist on taking their familiar weapons. The Nordors organized daily drills with mace, axe, their own type of spear, and a particularly nasty weapon that was just two metal rods joined with a short chain. When used as a club, however, it was deadly indeed.
From the area between Grattenbor Keep and Yewkeep came trainers with prized war-kats, now unfortunately so scarce that only the highest ranked nobles rated a pair. If Rohan had not been assigned to a ship where war-kats would have been useless, he, too, would have found himself in possession of a pair of the coveted, intelligent animals.
Once these sleek and beautiful creatures had
roamed free and deadly in the winter wastes to the north. As their numbers grew they made a pact with men.
Taller than most dogs and much fiercer, these elegant felines with their long legs and heads small in comparison to their lithe bodies had golden fur marked with dark rosettes in the summer. In winter, that fur faded to almost pure white. They stalked through the camp with the kind of careless arrogance that bespoke their superiority as fighters alongside the nobles to whom they had been assigned.
The dogs gathered for the sleds had to have some protection from the weather, and so they, too, were provided woolen garments and well-lined mittens for their feet. Not so the war-kats, who actually seemed amused by this, judging from how often they gathered to watch the dogs at training. War-kats had triple-thick fur coats—the outer sleek and waterproof, the middle dense and all but impenetrable, the one nearest the skin the texture of warmest down—while their paws were covered so with fur that if they even felt the snow and ice over which they trod they gave no notice.