A Crown Disowned

by Andre Norton

"We must go quickly," Hynnel added, "or risk losing them altogether."

  "Yes." Gaurin looked from Hynnel to Rohan, both his kinsmen, one by blood and one by marriage. "Are you with me?"

  "Of course," Rohan replied, and Hynnel also nodded assent.

  Gaurin turned to Royance. "Sir, diplomacy is no longer an option and this is a matter for younger men, as you your- self put it. Please remain behind in safety while we three go and bring our errant Lord High Marshal back to you."

  "I would almost argue with you for the privilege," Roy-ance returned, "but I see the sense in it. Go quickly, while you can."

  Without another word, the three slipped through the hole in the tent wall.

  Royance retreated into the main chamber, closing the flap firmly behind him.

  Stirring up the brazier for more warmth, he settled down to wait for their return.

  Ashen stepped outside the infirmary tent again to replenish the supply of snow needed to cool the water. No need to worry that the white drifts would run out, she thought wryly. Already the fresh snowfall was accumulating on every surface and had reached almost knee depth in the paths. Those would have to be cleared soon for passage among the blocks of tents.

  She discovered it was easier, somehow, to deal with the ones who had suffered wounds in the fighting with the Fry-dians. Their injuries were straightforward, and when their hurts were cleaned and bandaged, they began to heal.

  Not so with the men who had breathed in what they were now calling the Dragon's

  Breath. Everything she tried to do for them, it seemed, simply made matters worse. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and straightened up, easing a kink in her back, to see Lathrom approaching.

  "Greetings," she said. "And how does my Lord Gaurin? And my Lord Royance?"

  "Well enough, Lady Ashen," he replied. "We conferred and now they have gone, with Lord Hynnel and young Rohan, to pay a call on Harous. Lord Gaurin sent me to inform you."

  For no reason she could think of, Ashen caught her breath sharply. She twisted the opalescent bracelet she still wore on her arm, and realized that it had grown extremely warm—almost hot. "Gaurin is in danger," she murmured aloud.

  "What say you, Lady?" Lathrom said. "No, no danger, surely. You are tired—"

  "Gaurin is in danger," she repeated stubbornly. "Or will be, soon. Where did you say he has gone?"

  "To the command tent," he said. "Lady—"

  She had already left him behind. The command tent could barely be detected. The fluttering russet-colored pennon bearing the device of a tower showed in spite of the thickening snowfall, however, and Ashen floundered toward it.

  At the doorway of the tent she nearly ran into Lord Roy-ance. She stumbled and he caught her by the arms before she fell.

  "How now, Ashen," the old lord said. "What is your hurry? Has something happened?"

  He brushed snow from her shoulders, and belatedly she realized that she had forgotten her cloak in her haste to find her husband.

  "Gaurin," she gasped, searching for air. A knot of panic gathered in her throat, making breathing difficult. "Where is he?"

  Royance's snowy brows drew together in a frown. "I sup- pose I must tell you. He and Hynnel and Rohan have gone after Harous," he said.

  "I stayed behind."

  "Which way did they go?"

  "Come inside. You must be half frozen."

  "Please, my lord. Where did they go?"

  "I will show you."

  Half frantic at what she considered the old gentleman's waste of time, Ashen allowed him to draw her inside the command tent, where the brazier took the chill off the air. Royance opened a flap in the wall toward the back, revealing the private quarters. A small pile of snow was building ever higher on the wooden planking of the floor.

  "It seems our bird has flown the nest," Royance commented. "And so Gaurin,

  Rohan, and Hynnel have gone after him."

  "They are in danger," Ashen said hoarsely. "Great danger. I must find them!"

  "Ashen, my dear, please calm yourself—"

  "No!" she cried passionately. She shook from head to foot, not entirely from the cold. "I cannot! They—he is in danger, and I can help. Please do not hinder me."

  Royance looked into her eyes for a long moment. Then he nodded. "You are not to be gainsaid now any more than when you came to me determined to come to the Camp of the Four Armies. Very well, at least take my cloak. I will be warm enough here."

  "Thank you, sir!" she said. She fastened the fur-lined garment around her shoulders. As Royance was considerably taller than she, she had to be careful not to step on the hem and trip herself. "Let us hope that I am mistaken, but I cannot rest until I go to him."

  With that, she ducked through the opening in the tent wall. It took her a moment or two to get her bearings. Looking at the ground, she knew she had no time to waste. The footprints of those the three men followed had long been swallowed up in the fresh snowfall, but she could still see traces of those left by their pursuers. Unless she hurried, those, too, would vanish.

  She pulled the warm cloak closer around her and started off through the drifts, not knowing which direction to take if she should lose the trail or, for that matter, if she would become so lost that nobody could find her in the storm and she would perish.

  In her hut in the Bog, Zazar stirred her kettle and droned a tuneless song. All of her varied sources of Power had told her much the same thing: Some great event was approaching. She knew not whence, or what this would be, though she did suspect. She was glad to be back in her home, if only temporarily, for this was where she could best perform the ritual she was now attempting. If she had remained in the Oakenkeep, she would have had to return for the proper materials anyway, so what was the sense in it? The Oaken-keep was not home at present, not with Ashen, Gaurin, Rohan, Anamara, and the other young people whose strength and energy brightened the very air around them being away in Rendelsham. She felt something very like affection for them, a feeling that annoyed her very much. A Wysen-wyf had no time for such frivolities.

  "Change wrought by a Changer," she crooned as she stirred.

  The concoction in the kettle displayed streaks of many colors never blending, only swirling endlessly under the strokes of her wooden paddle. Red, green, blue, gold, purple, they spiraled in the wake of the blade the Wysen-wyf wielded. She added a few bits of thread from a ball she had taken earlier from a secure hiding place. The mixture foamed and gave birth to a cloud of smoke. When that cloud cleared, the contents of the kettle had formed a definite pattern.

  Za-zar set the paddle aside and began another song.

  "A Changer I brought into this world, and nurtured. A Changer who knew not what she was. A Changer who has read, and learned, yet done naught until—"

  Was it to be now? No, the Wysen-wyf thought as she stared into the kettle. But soon. Very soon. Would it be in time? Experimentally she picked up the paddle again and gave the mixture another stir only to watch it settle into the pattern that it had shown after the addition of the threads. She knew she could stir until the dawning of another day, and this design would not alter. It was as unchanging as the Web of the Weavers.

  Which, Zazar thought with a trace of humor, was only to be expected, since the fibers she had cast into it were said to be trimmings from that same Web.

  She sobered again immediately, concentrating on what lay at hand. One at such labor must be ready for whatever came. At present she knew not what would be required of her, but it would surely be what she had always provided. Zazar turned aside from the kettle to begin opening jars and boxes, laying out various herbs, spices, dried grasses, and other items of her craft. From behind her came a sound as of a muffled explosion and, briefly, an orange glow lit up the interior of the hut. She didn't glance back; she knew that the colorful contents of the kettle had disappeared.

  The Wysen-wyf continued her preparations, knowing it was very necessary to be ready when the summons came. Another sound came f
rom behind her, a softer and more reassuring one. Then something soft and furry rubbed against her legs.

  "Hello, Weyse," Zazar greeted the newcomer. "You understand, don't you. I had hoped you would come."

  For answer, Weyse leapt up onto the table where Zazar was working and hunkered down on her hindquarters, her clever little paws crossed over her plump belly.

  She began uttering a series of squeaks interspersed with chirps and an occasional purr. Her head was cocked to one side, as if she knew she was being understood.

  "No, I don't know exactly when we will be summoned," Zazar said. "We shall simply have to wait until then." She stroked Weyse and listened to her burbling purr. Then she returned to her preparations.

  Weyse continued to watch Zazar for a while and then, growing bored, wandered off to another part of the hut where she poked inquiringly into a small bag left untied on the floor.

  "Yes, it's a bit of the mixture of dried berries and grain you love. I put it down for you to find. Don't eat it all at once."

  Despite herself, the Wysen-wyf smiled fondly on the unearthly little being who was her frequent companion, and on whom she relied more than she knew it was good for Weyse to know.

  Then she returned to her tasks. By the time she was ready to go to bed, she had a large pack filled with various supplies, good for healing or—she hoped it would not come to that— more deadly purposes.

  Weyse found her own sleeping place, as was her habit. Sometime during the night, a steady, cold rain began to fall and despite her fur coat that usually kept her comfortable, she snuggled her way onto Zazar's bed and curled up beside her. The

  Wysen-wyf, grateful for the extra warmth, tucked Weyse under the coverlet where they slept undisturbed until morning.

  Thirteen

  Gaurin set abrisk pace, Hynnel and Rohan following in his wake. The snow was not as heavy as it had been, though flakes continued to fall. It would not do for them to slow down, however, for those whom they pursued could still escape.

  Gaurin was still in the lead as they topped a small rise, from where they could get as good a look at the surrounding countryside as was possible through the snowfall. They were, Gaurin realized, close to the road to the valley of death.

  The snow had laid a kindly veil over the land and for a while at least, no visible traces of that terrible battle remained.

  With a motion of his hand he stopped his companions. "Look. But be careful. We must go with great caution now," he said softly.

  Hynnel and Rohan crouched so they could not be seen, and each peered cautiously over the edge of the ridge. They saw what Gaurin had glimpsed—a shadow, or rather two shadows close together, stopped for the moment at least, in a small clearing. And these shadows had left footprints!. Hynnel pursed his lips as if he might whistle, but made no sound.

  "The snow was our friend this time. I don't think they know we are here. I believe they are headed for the valley where the battle took place," Gaurin murmured. "Perhaps they have allies waiting for them there."

  "With Ice Dragons?" Hynnel whispered. He shaded his eyes with his hand, trying to see through the falling snow-flakes. Unexpectedly, the snowfall abated.

  "Perhaps." Gaurin also shaded his eyes, to no avail. "There are three Dragons left that we know of unless more await in reserve to the far north. We must take even more care now that the weather has cleared."

  "Three Dragons. That's one apiece," Rohan said.

  Gaurin and Hynnel turned to him in disbelief, but he grinned to show that he was only joking.

  "Brave words," Hynnel said. "Let us hope you do not have to eat them."

  "They would not be very tasty," Rohan admitted.

  Gaurin shook his head sadly. "Alas for all of Lord Roy-ance's obvious hopes that

  Harous would not be found traitor, I am now convinced that is exactly what is happening."

  "He must be stopped," Hynnel said with equal softness, but his tone was grim.

  "Aye, and his companion with him," Rohan added. He took a grip on the hilt of his sword. "Shall we go at them in united charge?"

  "It may come to that," Gaurin replied. "But for now, I think they have not yet realized that they are being followed. Let us take what cover we may. There are trees and rocks off to the right. Thus, we may work to get ahead of them. Then when we have cut off their escape, let us take them captive. We will return them to the camp and the justice that awaits there."

  "If they do spot us beforetimes, then we can charge them, young Rohan," Hynnel said. He smiled indulgently.

  "We shouldn't split up," Gaurin cautioned. "Follow me, and from now on, no talking. Hand signals instead."

  Rohan nodded, and Gaurin knew that he remembered what he had been taught from the times they had gone out hunting at the Oakenkeep. Hynnel needed no reminder, having grown up with these same signals. Gaurin led them off the trail to the right and up a slight slope, where a stand of deep green trees promised a shelter from which to maneuver themselves into a good position.

  Carefully, with his two companions only a step or two behind, Gaurin searched for spots to tread where no snap of twig or squeak of packed snow would betray their presence. The ground was very stony in this area, and even on the floor of the valley entrance he could make out hillocks that could be hidden rocks.

  They could do no better than draw even with the ones they pursued, for more outcrops of rock barred their way. Crouching down to survey the land, it was clear to him that their present position was better than hoped for, however.

  Because of the trees' location they had managed to come very close to their quarry. All three realized their advantage; now the question was how to exploit it in the best way possible.

  Those two shadows had halted now, apparently believing they were free of pursuit. Voices drifting up to the hunters confirmed this.

  "I think that we are safe enough away to dissolve the shadow," a woman's voice said clearly.

  Behind him, Gaurin heard the stifled hiss of Rohan's indrawn breath and his hand snapped up in warning.

  "No one is even aware that we have gone," answered another voice, a man's.

  Gaurin recognized Harous. "Let that old fool Royance come knocking. Nobody is home!"

  One of the shadows moved, and then both people stood revealed. Gaurin frowned.

  Neither was clad in the kind of garments needed for frigid weather. Indeed, the woman—an astonishingly beautiful creature—wore only a thin dress that hid none of her charms, with a light cloak tossed over her shoulders. Harous was also lightly attired, though not as scantily as the woman.

  Gaurin turned to Rohan. Without a sound, he mouthed the word "Who?"

  With exaggerated movements of his lips, Rohan replied silently, "Flavielle."

  The Sorceress! A number of pieces of a puzzle abruptly fell into place for

  Gaurin. This could not be a new thing, this treason of Harous's. He must have been held in thrall by the Sorceress, Gaurin realized, well before the poorly planned battle that had almost cost them all too dearly to continue. But how had such a betrayal come about?

  His years of training at the hands of Cyornas NordornKing's military tutor took over. One of many things the retired warrior had drummed into him was to look at a situation from the enemy's point of view as well as his own. Therefore, the battle had not been poorly planned at all, from the viewpoint of the Dragon riders and their Frydian allies. That the Four Armies had managed to rally and then had come out of it as well as they had, killing a Dragon in the bargain, was remarkable.

  Gaurin decided to risk a whisper to his companions, hopeful that the conversation the two below were having would cover any sound that might carry to them. They were now discussing Dragons, and observing that the Sorceress's lieutenant, someone named Farod, was late arriving.

  "We must move to take them before the Dragon comes," he said softly. "The one representing the greater danger, I think, is Harous. He is mine."

  "I'll take the woman," Rohan murmured. "I know he
r."

  "I will help whoever needs it," Hynnel said. "But I think they will not go easily. We really can't be sure which of them is the more dangerous."

  "We will find that out speedily enough."

  With that observation, Gaurin arose from his hiding place. "Count Harous of

  Cragden, Sorceress Flavielle, surren-der yourselves at once! I command it by authority of King Peres, Lord Royance of Grattenbor, and all of the land of

  Rendel!" His words echoed, booming from the rocky heights all around them.

  Then he charged down the slope toward the two who now turned to stare at him, as thunderstruck as if he had erupted out of the ground itself.