No words were spoken, yet he felt his innermost secrets laid bare and measured in that pure radiance—his moments of petty temper, his disappointed hopes, his pride, but also his generosity, his courage, his love of honor. A silent promise arose from his depths, As long as I breathe, I pledge to be a just lord and shield against all evil to my people.
The ritual words usually concluded, “The gods witness it, and the holy things at Hali.” Carolin needed no formal affirmation of his oath. As the vision faded, a warmth lingered on his brow like a token of benediction.
Late in the afternoon, they came upon a village, little more than an inn and a couple of barns with pole corrals in back. Smoke rose from the chimneys and lights shone from the windows.
“I don’t remember this place,” Carolin’s captain said.
“Nor I,” Carolin replied, reining his horse toward the friendly-looking lights. “Do you think we’ve been caught in a Ghost Wind and it’s really just a pile of rocks? Or even better, a banshee lair?”
Behind him, the men laughed, the tension of their journey broken.
“Vai dom, we came through here on a fair day, with the beds of Nevarsin waiting for us. There could have been a dozen villages with dancing girls and roast rabbit-horns hanging from every branch, and we’d never have noticed.”
Carolin swung down from his horse. They went into the inn, a single common room with a staircase at the rear. The trestle table that occupied most of the floor was uneven and much-repaired. A battered pot hung above the fire and a woman bent over it, stirring. She wore so many layers of skirt and shawl that it was impossible to determine her size or age. Without looking up, she said, “They’ve all gone back—”
She lifted her head and broke off, seeing Carolin in the doorway. “Oh! My lords!”
“Forgive the intrusion, my good woman, but could you provide us with a hot meal?”
They crowded into the room, damp cloaks already steaming in the warmth. The woman bustled about, taking out wooden trenchers and cups from a cupboard, dishing out helpings of soup thick with boiled grain and root vegetables, and filling pottery pitchers with ale from a barrel. The food was plain, but needed salt. She’d probably learned her cooking at the Nevarsin guest house. The ale, however, was superb, tasting of sun and malted grain.
As they were finishing the meal, two men entered, stomping off the clinging snow. By the welcome the woman gave them, they were clearly her husband and brother. The husband served up another round of ale for everyone. He hovered about the table, talking affably. His wife disappeared out back to begin another batch of loaves.
Despite the warmth of fire and ale, Carolin could not shake a feeling of growing urgency. “How far is the next village?”
“Oh, half a day, be it a fair one, m‘lord. But you’ll not be wanting to travel on so late in the day. Here’s stout walls and a merry fire. Soon there will be my good wife’s hearth cakes. We’ve but two guest rooms, but there’s space to spread a cloak by the fire.”
The man’s arguments made sense, even if they were fueled by the thought of what all these services would cost. This late in the year, rich travelers must be few.
Carolin’s captain leaned over, pitching his voice low. “Vai dom, you cannot be thinking of going on tonight.”
“Be at ease, my friend. We will remain here and leave tomorrow with the first light.”
The men made pallets of their cloaks in the common room, even as the innkeeper had suggested. Carolin went upstairs to one of the guest chambers, his captain and senior aide to the other. The room was narrow, with a single small window, set high in the rough stone wall, and of such thick glass that no details could be seen through it. As he had expected, the bed was too short for his height.
It was a good thing he had his own thick cloak to add to the patched blankets, yet everything was clean and very neat. With such ale and housekeeping, as well as its situation on the principal road to Nevarsin, the inn should have been prosperous. Was the poverty due to some personal difficulty on the part of the innkeeper, or taxes raised ever higher to support soldier and Tower?
I must see if I can ask discreetly, he thought as his body relaxed into sleep. In the morning.
Carolin startled awake into a dim, hazy light. It was still night. Around him, the timbers of the house creaked and settled. He heard snoring from the other side of the thin interior wall. The fragments of his last dream dissolved around him, bits of sound and image. Someone had been calling to him—Varzil?
He focused his mind as he had been taught during that season at Arilinn so long ago. There was no answer, but he kept trying—listening....
His thoughts drifted to the tasks which lay before him. Tales had come to him of actions both good and evil, of Lyondri’s cadre of guards, of stones thrown in protest of taxes, of bribery and nepotism in the cortes, of harsh and trivial decisions by an increasingly senile King Felix. Over the last few years, he had been less and less able to influence his uncle, who had not wanted to listen to any hint of criticism or disagreement. Rakhal’s flattery was far more pleasing. So, Carolin had bided his time, doing what he could. All that would change.
I am King now. These are my people. I will rule them with honor and justice.
Fine words, he knew, often crumbled in cold reality. At least, he would begin as best he could. He would gather advisers he could trust, men who would speak to him frankly and with no hidden purposes of their own.
A smile rose to his mouth. He would summon Varzil to Hali and together they would rebuild Neskaya, even as they had planned. It would be a symbol of a new age, a new hope for peace, a place where crown and Tower would lay down arms.
With that vision in his mind, he drifted back to sleep.
The next morning, the winds came up again, whipping the snow to a blinding flurry.
“We cannot travel in this,” the captain reported. He’d gone to the stables to look after the horses and had been almost blown off his feet. “We’d be lost before we went ten paces.”
Reluctantly, Carolin agreed. The night had left him with a sense of formless urgency. He told himself that Hali was safe in the hands of the Regents. The throne would wait for his return. He had no right to risk himself in a Hellers snowstorm. Meanwhile, the inn was snug and warm, and the landlord’s excellent ale flowed freely.
32
A full tenday later, Carolin and his party at last set out again. The air was very cold and clear. Ice had crusted over the snow, but the horses were fresh and eager. Their breath rose in puffs of white vapor. Their hooves broke through the brittle surface with crunching noises to the jingle of bridle rings and creak of saddle leather.
When the sun had come full up, light filled the valley. Behind them lay the peaks of Nevarsin. The road curved before them, passing fields and farms silent under a blanket of sparkling white. The day warmed slightly, enough to melt the ice. One of the men began singing, a traveler’s tune with a strong, driving rhythm. The others caught it up.
Carolin’s spirits rose. What a day it was to be alive! The wind of their passing burned his face and ran thrilling fingers through his hair.
He sensed the hoofbeats on the road ahead before any of them heard the sound. With a signal, he slowed his men to a walk. The unmarked snow on the road ahead muffled the noise, but within a few moments, there could be no doubt.
A single rider appeared, a dark shape against the whiteness of road and field.
The captain nudged his mount to the front, placing himself between Carolin and the rapidly-approaching rider. He slid his sword free.
Carolin started to tell him not to risk the truce of the road by rash action. Unease brushed the edges of his mind. His pulse leaped in his throat. His black mare pranced and pulled at the bit.
The horseman raced toward them, bent low at full gallop. Neither his colors nor any identifying emblem could be discerned.
“Hail there!” the captain shouted.
Carolin recognized the horseman, not from the man
’s face but his seat in the saddle. Only one man he’d ever known rode like that. That tall, almost gaunt frame was unmistakable, even under the layers of flapping cloak.
“There’s no need for steel,” Carolin told his men, He released the reins and Longlegs surged forward. “Orain! By all the gods, what are you doing here?”
The rider pulled his horse to a halt and leapt to the ground. “Vai dom! I have not come too late!”
Carolin swung down from the saddle and caught Orain in a hard embrace. As his cheek touched the bare, unshaven skin of his friend, a jolt of emotion flashed through him.
He drew back. Something was terribly wrong.
“I have heard the news of my uncle’s passing, if that is what troubles you,” Carolin said. “You need not have driven a good horse so hard to tell me. As you see, I am already on my way to Caer Donn, where an aircar awaits me. And,” with a glance back at his guards, “I am well protected.”
“All of Hali was making ready to welcome you,” Orain stammered, his words tumbling together. “But Rakhal—he’s seized the throne!”
“Rakhal? There must be some mistake.”
“He claims that Felix named him heir on his deathbed, though Aldones only knows if that’s true. The Regents, Zandru curse them, dared not stand against him.”
Carolin scowled. The old king had grown weaker over the last few years. Many times, he held conversations with people long dead, mistook son for father, forgot where he was. He could easily have forgotten that the throne must by law and custom go to Carolin, the son of his eldest brother.
Orain shook his head. “You must not delay! Rakhal’s already had himself crowned! He claims you are unfit and has declared you traitor and your lady wife a spy. Even now, the men are on their way to arrest you!”
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....
How could I have missed the signs?
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.
How could I have been so blind to what Rakhal was?
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.
They are searching for me, he thought. Lyondri’s trackers, Rakhal’s leronyn.
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 ma
gic 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.
I would be those things to my people, though I know they do not come from me, but only through me.
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.”
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