Forging the Runes

by Josepha Sherman

  "Well?" the mercenary asked warily. "Find what you were hunting?"

  "No, curse this human Realm for its resistance. Or maybe yes. I can't be sure."

  Once again there had been, just for the quickest of instants, that faintest, most tantalizing trace of something, like a fading wisp of mist, but when he'd tried to pursue it—nothing. It wasn't Osmod's doing, that was all Ardagh knew with certainty. Ae, and now that he had time to consider it, he wasn't even sure that anything odd had ever been there at all!

  "I'm sorry, Cadwal," the prince said and, seeing the trouble shadowing the mercenary's eyes, truly meant it. "I can't tell you anything useful. The alien magic—or nonmagic—of this Realm is confusing my own."

  "Now that's truly comforting." Cadwal wiped a hand over his face. "Can you at least tell me this much: Was it my Gwen?"

  "Ae, Cadwal. I wish I could—or could not."

  The mercenary shuddered again. "I thought I was free of the dream. That it wasn't anything other than . . . well . . . longing. Hiraeth." That meant, Ardagh knew, that bittersweet ache for something that could never be again; in the days since his exile, he'd come to know that word all too well. "I mean," Cadwal continued, "I've heard of men having recurring dreams, and nothing supernatural about it."

  "You are in a land full of your people's ancient foe," Ardagh reminded him, fighting his frustrated rage at being reduced to platitudes, "as you've told me often enough."

  "Yes, yes, and having to be polite to them, too. That's certainly strain enough to trouble anyone's sleep, but—

  "If only the damned thing wasn't so real." Cadwal rubbed his hand across his face again, then glanced wryly at the prince. "This would be a good time for some mead, wouldn't it?"

  "The way it was that lonely night when we drank together? It would, indeed!" Ardagh got to his feet, stretching cramped muscles. "But I doubt these folk would appreciate our raiding their larder, particularly not at this hour."

  That forced a little bark of a laugh from Cadwal. "Now there's an image! A Sidhe prince and a Cymro mercenary caught in the act of robbing the King of Wessex."

  "Ridiculous, yes. This whole journey is ridiculous. Here, now, this should help for the moment." Reaching out a hand, Ardagh murmured a tranquil incantation. The words didn't take much concentration, Powers be praised, and while they wouldn't mean anything to Cadwal, hopefully the circle of calm would include him.

  Yes. Ardagh saw some of the trouble leave the human's eyes. "I don't know what you did," Cadwal said, "but— thank you."

  "Mm. Right now there's nothing else to be done but try to settle down for what's left of the night."

  Cadwal snorted. "I'm not going back to sleep."

  "Good." All at once very weary, Ardagh unpinned his brat, letting the length of wool unfold itself from about him, then threw himself down on the bed, glad of its softness, not bothering to undress any further. "Then you can stand guard."

  "Anything in particular I'm guarding against?" the mercenary asked with something of his usual self-control.

  "The Powers know. I don't."

  "Didn't learn anything useful out there, then?"

  Ardagh, just at the point of relaxing, sat up again in surprise. "You know I went outside? I thought you were asleep."

  "I was. But I'd never have reached this age, being what I am, I mean, if I slept heavily."

  Except when the dream has you in thrall. "Cadwal, I do tend to underestimate you. And no, I didn't learn anything other than what I already suspected: Osmod is, indeed, working magic, but his Saxon magic is not anything like that of the Sidhe."

  "Not a good thing, I take it?"

  "Neither good nor bad in itself. You need to know the—the shape of a magic before you can counter it." A yawn slipped in before he could stop it. "Right now, since Osmod knows no more about my Sidhe magic than I do about his Saxon spells, neither of us can use Power against the other."

  "Ah."

  "At least I've unnerved him a little. Which may or may not prove useful. Hopefully, it will keep magic out of my negotiations with Egbert. Though somehow I doubt it." He yawned again, and let himself fall back on the bed. "Ae, enough. At least you had a chance to get some sleep. I haven't been there yet." Closing his eyes, Ardagh added, "A lack I plan to remedy right now. Tomorrow—no, by now it's probably today, is going to be quite . . . interesting."

  "And why," he heard Cadwal mutter, "doesn't that surprise me?"

  Diplomacy

  Chapter 15

  The hour, Ardagh mused, blinking in the sunlight just creeping over the edge of the royal palisade, was still disgustingly early. Egbert seemed to share that concept with Aedh: Keep the rest of the world off balance by acting before everyone but he was quite awake.

  Sure enough, there Egbert sat in his great audience hall, his tall, well-built figure brilliant in scarlet and gold, his hair gleaming like a heavenly halo in an early ray of sunlight filtering in through a smokehole (a deliberate positioning of the royal chair to get that effect, the prince thought cynically), and looking as coolly alert as an experienced warrior. Which, in a way, of course, a king was.

  A successful king at any rate. Which is to say a still living one.

  As Ardagh had expected, Osmod was there at the king's side, definitely not as awake as Egbert (the result, no doubt, of too much late-night spellworking) but looking even now so charmingly urbane and downright likeable, Ardagh thought, that one could almost forget what he truly was.

  Hah.

  Not exactly to the prince's surprise, only a few members of the royal council, the Witan, occupied the rows of padded benches: These would be the most important—and the most trustworthy—of the nobles. News spread quickly enough in a royal court as it was; in Egbert's place, Ardagh knew he would have wanted at least a brief respite before the envoy's message became common knowledge.

  Egbert met Ardagh's gaze as though just noticing his arrival and dipped his head to the prince with a nicely calculated smile, not too thin, not too warm. The regal blue eyes remained coolly speculative, however, as the king bade him enter with a gracious wave of a hand.

  No more of this casual 'Enter, servant,' eh? Learned our lesson about that, have we?

  Two servants scurried forward with a cushioned chair, which they placed facing Egbert's own. Ardagh stalked forward and sank to it with full Sidhe grace, wishing again for a spidersilk cloak to fall into elegant folds about him; the stiffer woolen brat just didn't allow the same grand gesture.

  "God give you a good morning, Prince Ardagh."

  "And to you, King Egbert."

  "You are quite recovered from your sudden fatigue?"

  Ardagh smiled. "I doubt I'll need to make so dramatic a rush from your hall again."

  They went on for a time saying nothing much, playing the political game of polite, meaningless pleasantries that seemed to be the same, Ardagh thought, in every court, human or Sidhe. He waited with inhuman patience; sooner or later, it would be the human, not he, who surrendered.

  Sure enough: "And how fares my brother king of Eriu?" King Egbert said without warning.

  Ah, at last. "Quite well. He sends you, as I'm sure you know, the warmest of greetings." He sent them to the king of Wessex, at any rate. Whoever that turned out to be.

  "As do I to him." The king paused. "It's rare to hear any word at all out of Eriu. How are matters there these days?"

  "Quite prosperous," Ardagh said pleasantly. "King Aedh is a wise ruler, strong in arms, strong in his people's welfare. And Eriu thrives under his rule." All of which is true. Hyperbole aside.

  "A rich land, I hear, fertile and green."

  "Frequently." When sorcerous storms don't destroy it. "Of course . . ." the prince added, almost casually, "there are the occasional nuisances. Any rich land is certain to have thieves hungering after it."

  "Thieves?" Egbert asked, so very carefully without expression that it sounded an alarm trumpet in Ardagh's mind.

  So-o! Are we that ambitious, oh King of We
ssex? "Why, King Egbert," Ardagh purred, "surely you couldn't have thought I referred to you when I mentioned thieves. I would never be so insulting!" Not in so crass a fashion, at any rate. "No, no, of course I was speaking of others."

  He saw by the faintest of starts on the parts both of Egbert and Osmod that this last little not-quite insult had struck home. Ambitious, indeed, the two of you. And that raised an intriguing new question. I wonder, King Egbert, just how much power is behind you. He hardly meant Osmod. Are you secure enough on your throne to be backed by nobility and military in any potential . . . expansions?

  That was something he really needed to learn before he could strike any alliances. But right now he could hardly not deliver some message from Aedh. "Surely," Ardagh continued smoothly, hiding with every bit of Sidhe charm the fact that he was now feeling his way along, "you have heard of the Lochlannach?"

  "Not by that name—" Egbert began, but stopped as Osmod whispered in his ear. "Ah. The Northmen from the Land of Robbers. What of them?"

  "Perhaps you've had no personal experience with them." Yet. "But of course you know of the Lochlannach raid here in Wessex during the . . . ah . . . late king's reign."

  Something flickered in Egbert's eyes: Annoyance? Impatience? "That was nothing more than a brief attempt at plunder. It came to nothing."

  "Really? I had heard that a Saxon reeve lost his life in the encounter."

  Again he saw that odd little warning flicker in Egbert's eyes. "He made a mistake. And paid for it. And you most certainly did not come all the way from Eriu to tell me what I already know."

  How much of this is you, Egbert, I wonder, and how much Osmod's prodding? "Oh, I would not waste my time and yours. But I wonder if you also know that there have been other unwanted visits from, as you so nicely put it, the Land of Robbers, both in Eriu and on Charlemagne's own coast."

  "My sympathies to the rulers, but again, those are matters that hardly affect this land."

  In other words, Ardagh thought, if those lands are weakened, so much the better for me. "Your land has a coastline. And yes, forgive me for reminding you of what you already know. But I saw how nicely your prosperous town of Hamwic lies there on the sea's edge, openly waiting for visitors. How, if I may ask, could it be defended with no walls at all?"

  "There are far closer landfalls for the sea thieves than Hamwic."

  "Granted. But I've seen their ships, beautiful and swift in the water as so many dragons. And I don't have to tell you how quickly information flies. Nothing as minor as mere distance is going to stop them should the Northmen choose Hamwic as a target."

  "Prince Ardagh, exactly what are you trying to say?"

  "Perhaps," Osmod murmured, "that he knows a little too much about these thieves."

  "Perhaps," Ardagh returned, just as gently, "because I have fought them at King Aedh's side."

  That caused quite a stir among the nobles. Egbert held up a hand for silence, one golden brow raised. "I've yet to hear of anyone battling the Northmen."

  "It can be done. And yes," the prince continued before anyone could speak, "the battle can be won. Without," he added as a sly stab at Osmod, "magic."

  And thank you, Osmod. You've given me a nice chance to put in a casual word of warning about Aedh's military might.

  Egbert frowned slightly. "If Aedh can fight off the Northmen so easily, why come to me? Surely this is more than a social visit and warning."

  "Your pardon, King Egbert, but I hardly said the battle was an easy one. We won, yes, but what we held off were only two ships. There are certainly going to be larger forces sailing from those harsh northern lands."

  "We can't know that."

  "Can't we?" Osmod wondered. As Egbert glanced at him, the ealdorman said, "I may be doing our guest a grave injustice, and if so I crave his pardon, but . . . Prince Ardagh, you are very much a foreigner, as foreign to Eriu as you are to these lands. We've already had evidence of your clever wit."

  "What are you saying?" Ardagh asked, very softly.

  "We have only your word that you are who you claim. Oh, I'm not saying you have not come as King Aedh's envoy. And I don't doubt that the High King of Eriu is a shrewd and clever man indeed. But even the shrewdest of men can be tricked by—"

  "What's this, ealdorman? Do you think me in league with the Lochlannach? Do you call me a liar, ealdorman?"

  It was said with such quiet menace that Ardagh saw Osmod flinch. "No, of course not! But how would you know whether or not there will be larger raids—or even if there will be raids at all?"

  The human's eyes were guileless, his face open and innocent. Oh, nicely acted! Ardagh thought, but could not say. "There will be more raids, King Egbert, because simple common sense dictates it. Look you, if you were a land-poor warrior with a swift ship to your name and heard of rich loot to be taken with minimal fighting—and as you, yourself, have said, no one, save King Aedh, has battled the Lochlannach—what would you do?"

  Egbert smiled thinly. "Point taken. But why should you think there will ever be more than the occasional . . . nuisance?"

  "Ae, King Egbert, think." His voice slid into smooth Sidhe charm, his will put smooth Sidhe persuasion behind the words. And not a man so much as stirred as he continued, "The lands to the north are harsh and chill, the winters long and dark and empty of sun. The ground is rough and rocky, the harvests few." See those lands, he told them under the words, see their cold bitterness. "The Lochlannach sail out from that desolation, sail south to these fertile, warmer lands. Do you think they have no eyes, oh king? Do you think they have no memories?

  "The Lochlannach see these lands, these warm, lovely, green lands." As do you, see them with a Northman's wonder. "Returning to their cold northern wastes, they remember. They hunger. And they envy.

  "And so it is, oh king, so it is that someday they will return with an eye not just for loot. Ah no, they will return in wave after invading wave to make the warm, green lands their own. To stay. To rule.

  "Now, easy to say, That's another land's problem.' But how can you be sure it will be another land they pick? Ah, but now picture this:

  "See the Lochlannach sailing south, sure of their luck. Their guard is down, their minds are easy. After all, have they not been looting these lands without the slightest bit of trouble? Such shock, such horror to find the warm green lands barred to them, to find not one but many kings confronting them! Let it be so, oh king. Let the land-thieves find no safe harbor, no easy landfall. Let them leave enough of their dead in the south to abandon all hope of ever ruling here. Let them flee forever!"

  There was a long silence when he had finished—a silence all at once broken by the sound of one man's ironic applause. The nobles came back to themselves with a collective start, stirring and murmuring restlessly. Ardagh, ignoring them, turned to meet a cold blue stare. Osmod. Of course. He would have had just enough Power not to be held so easily.

  "Well spoken, Prince Ardagh," the ealdorman drawled, "well spoken indeed."

  And you don't believe a word of it. More, you're going to try insuring that Egbert doesn't, either. Not if I have any say about it, sorcerer! "King Egbert—"

  But: "We will think on this," Egbert said, scrambling to his feet with the air of a man waking from a dream, causing a storm of activity among the nobles, who'd been caught off guard by his sudden move, and effectively declaring the meeting at an end.

  Yes, we shall, Ardagh told him silently, watching the king leave. We shall, indeed.

  Now what, Osmod wondered, following his king, had that been about? Oh, the prince had just given a beautiful performance, no doubt about that; with that elegant voice and delivery, Prince Ardagh had almost had him believing. But what had been behind it? Just how ambitious was this foreign prince and, for that matter, the High King of Eriu behind him?

  "Well?" That was King Egbert, turning suddenly on him. "Come, walk with me. Alone. What did you make of all that?"

  Osmod feigned a cheerful smile. "The prince would make a
wonderful scop."

  "Indeed. He had me fairly held in that web of words he spun. But what about their message?"

  What, indeed? "Oh, a pretty tale, my liege," Osmod hazarded, "well calculated to make us believe that the danger is real."

  Egbert looked sideways at him. "You don't believe it, then."

  "Ah well, it is a bit difficult to accept that thieves could band together like something out of a scop's song, let alone that they could actually gather in such great numbers as to form a unified army."

  The royal glance was skeptical. "Stranger things have happened, Osmod. Such as a queen murdering her husband. Such as a man returning from sixteen years of exile to successfully claim a throne. Do you really think it so very impossible that the Northmen could ever become a threat?"

  Osmod sighed. "I won't say yea or nay to that; no Christian can hope to see truly into the minds and hearts of pagan thieves."

  Egbert's narrow smile showed he'd caught the emphasis on Christian. "Implying that our foreign prince is not of the Church? That, I should think, is more a matter for Bishop Cynbert—assuming he returns from Rome in time to meet Prince Ardagh—than either of us."

  "Ah well, true enough. And yet . . ."

  Egbert stopped short. "You seem very sure the prince is in league with the Northmen, Osmod. Have you any proof?"

  "Not a word, alas. Nothing but my instincts. Which," the ealdorman added steadily, "have yet to play us false."

  "Instincts."

  "They brought me to Aachen, my liege."

  "And of course ambition had nothing to do with it. No, don't answer that; we've been over that ground often enough since you brought me back to Wessex. I'm not challenging you, Osmod. On the contrary, I must admit that I'm more than a little uneasy about our visitor myself."

  You should be; I've been willing it into your brain strongly enough! But Osmod waited silently until Egbert said suddenly, "I'm not about to send him rudely away, if that's what's bothering you. We've had almost no dealings with Eriu, but I don't need sudden discord with King Aedh. However, I'm not about to rush into an alliance with a stranger, either. At least," he added, "I assume that's what our smooth-tongued visitor was implying. An alliance with a foreign land, an unknown land, against the Northmen." Egbert shook his head. "It seemed so likely, so logical while Prince Ardagh had us snared in that pretty web. Now . . . are the Northmen a threat? I don't have time for that to be," the king continued dryly. "There are too many other matters to attend."