Knight Or Knave

by Andre Norton

  First, ships. Rendel boasted but a handful of ships of war, and those were falling to pieces. But a few merchants' vessels could be commandeered and refitted to add to the Rendelian navy, which the Sea-Rovers proposed to man.

  Next, full title to the old Ashenkeep, renamed New Void Keep. This much land, reaching from the southernmost shore to a slight narrowing between the River

  Rendel and the Barrier River at the spot where the road forked with one branch leading to the city and the other toward the'Oakenkeep. Patrol of the road from

  New Void Keep to this fork. The eastern stretch of land to extend from the spot where the Rendel joined the Row-enstream and on south to the coast. The western boundary the Barrier River. Southern boundary the sea.

  It was roughly the area the House of Ash had called its own, when it was still in its fullness of strength. Ysa glanced at Royance, who nodded. "Agreed," she said.

  Reciprocal help, especially along the borders, to quell the increasing number of raids by the Bog-men. "We can take care of our own, Your Majesty," Snolli said.

  "In fact, we did so just a day or so before we started our journey here. But we aren't horse riders by nature. It goes hard with most of us to patrol the way the lands need looking after, both yours and ours. Our backsides suffer, if you don't mind my saying so." He grinned with perfectly transparent cunning and again Ysa had to stifle a smile. "So if we take sea and land patrols and your people take horse patrol, between us we should be able to drive those raiders right back where they belong, don't you agree?"

  "I'm certain that we can work out something along that line," Ysa said.

  "Royance?"

  "I will speak with Count Harous, who is the Lord High Marshal of Rendel, and work out the details as I have heard them discussed. Will this be acceptable?"

  "Of course," Snolli said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "There'll be fighting enough to go around, I'll warrant, judging from what we've seen so far."

  "Is there anything else?" Ysa said.

  The Chieftain turned serious. "Food," he said bluntly. "Your Majesty, if we do not have access to the storehouses here in the city, our people will starve.

  What we brought with us when we fled the north is gone. We hoped to be able to sustain ourselves, but this unseasonable cold will not allow our crops to thrive, and too much hunting will leave no meat for later. We have already eaten more fish than we like."

  "We here in Rendel face the same problems," Ysa said. "We have been prudent in laying food by, but even you must recognize that the supply is not inexhaustible."

  "We don't ask for much. Just enough to keep us going until the sun starts warming the fields again or we can figure a way to use the shelters some farmers have invented. They keep the ground and grain warm and let it grow, y'see. We are people who once lived in northern lands, perhaps a little rougher around the edges than the ones who call themselves Nordors, but they are our kindred by birth even as we now seek to become your kindred by adoption."

  Ysa suddenly remembered the nobleman who had come years ago, seeking permission for his people to enter Rendel, and the way she had turned him out over a slight involving the wretched manners of the then Prince. Perhaps—no, doubtless—she had acted in too much haste. But he had never returned, and she had had too much occupying her attention to think about it.

  Snolli was still speaking. "Your Majesty has to be aware as much as we are, that there is a great danger building in the far North."

  A whispering sound filled the chamber and the hairs on the back of the Dowager's head stirred. She knew Power when she encountered it—but where was it coming from? Then she realized that the small man, Kasai, was stroking his drum, and it was from him that the Power emanated. She had not believed Snolli, certain that he was merely boasting. Who would have thought such a rough people could be possessed of access to Power? And yet here it was, in her very presence, so palpable she might have reached out and touched it. She shivered a little, and touched the Four Great Rings, to comfort herself with the knowledge of her own store of Power.

  "Aye, danger riding upon danger and no man can know when it will come upon us, but it is sure to do." Kasai half spoke, half sang, in rhythm to his drum. His eyes were closed, his face perfectly devoid of expression. His words might have been the results of drinking too deeply of the wine except that his goblet was untouched. The Power surrounded him, almost visible in its aura. "Perhaps a year, perhaps not until the son of the Chieftain's son is a man full-grown. And yet they will come." Then he seemed to awaken. He glanced at Snolli. "Pardon,

  Chieftain."

  "No pardon necessary," Snolli said. "You speak true as always. As I told you,

  Kasai is a Spirit Drummer, and he can see what others cannot."

  "That is a great gift. Please, tell me more."

  Snolli took another pull at his goblet and refilled it. "Cyornas NordomKing is the guardian of the Palace of Fire and Ice. What he guards has begun to stir, and so he will face it first. He cannot prevail alone. Nor can your southern land, not without our help. The Great Foulness, as Cyornas terms it, will come down the coastline, pushing Nordorn refugees before it. The Sea-Rovers have fought minions of this Great Foulness, when we were forced to flee as well. We know how it is done. Help us to live, Your Majesty, and in return my fleet, and the command of whatever fighting ships you possess, are at your service."

  Ysa sat back in her chair, impressed in spite of herself. Who would have thought someone so rough and earthy could be capable of such eloquence, let alone have a follower who could tap into the Power simply by stroking his fingers over a drum? She glanced at Royance. He seemed as much taken by Snolli's proposal as she.

  He cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, we have heard true words spoken by the

  Chieftain of the Sea-Rovers and by his companion as well. As both have noted, he has fought what presses down on us daily, and which we will not escape fighting in our turn, however long it takes to arrive in our midst. There is no doubt in my mind that the unseasonable cold that is plaguing us currently is a harbinger of worse to come—like the breeze that signals rain. So if I have advice to give you, it is this. Accept Snolli's proposals in full measure, giving even more than was asked, that both our peoples may survive the coming storm."

  "Then I accept," the Dowager said. "Send for a scribe, ink, and seals." She arose. "Tomorrow, the treaty will be ready for our signatures."

  "You're a fair woman, and smarter than most. Here, let's clap hands on our bargain."

  To her dismay, Snolli spat into his hand and held it out to her to take. She looked at Royance, appalled, but he was just sitting there, head averted and eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose and hiding his face as best he could. She thought she could see his shoulders shake.

  Snolli was waiting. And so, summoning all the statecraft of which she was capable and remembering that different peoples had different customs, the elegant Queen Dowager of Rendel summoned up a bit of moisture in her own mouth and managed to spit it into the palm of her soft, manicured hand. Snolli grasped it with enough enthusiasm to sway her on her feet.

  "You'll never regret it, lady," he said. "Kasai?"

  The small man likewise offered a spittle-laced, hard hand for her to take. And then, both insisted on the same ceremony with Lord Royance who had to stand and follow his royal lady's lead.

  The instant she could get away, the Dowager Ysa retired to her own chambers.

  There she scrubbed her hands and then took the secret stairway up to her private tower room, where her little messenger Visp awaited her. She would stir it from its laziness. For too long Visp had lounged idle in its silk-lined basket, dining on dried fruit and nuts, doing nothing as Ysa was consumed by the various details attendant upon a royal wedding.

  If Kasai, the Spirit Drummer, was correct, she had some time. If her plans worked out and Obern and Ashen married, any son of theirs would not be a man for many years yet. Still, she could not afford to be complacent. The attack c
ould always come sooner, and without warning.

  In addition to wanting to verify Kasai's predictions, she wanted to try a new element of her magical connection with Visp. Heretofore, she had had to wait until Visp returned, to take the information that Visp had gleaned. However, she had discovered a new spell, whereby she might be able to catch a glimpse of what

  Visp saw, while it was happening.

  According to her habit, she removed her cosmetics, dressed in the simple velvet robe, and intoned the spell. Her preparations thus accomplished, she drew the curtain and pushed open the window. Then she took the little winged, furry creature from its comfortable bed and held it up so she could peer into its sleepy eyes. "Go," she told it, "and report all that you learn."

  Then she gave it a toss toward the north window of the tower room. Visp flapped uncertainly, still drowsy, and righted itself. Then it began to fly in the direction Ysa desired. Before it had reached the curtains covering the window, it had become invisible.

  Ysa took a few moments to touch up her appearance and dress herself once more, and then settled into her red velvet chair to wait. She would see if her new spell was having enough effect to bother with strengthening or making permanent, and then, whatever her decision, she would retire below to await her messenger's arrival back to the tower room. She closed her eyes.

  A vision of the countryside began to form. She recognized Ren-delsham Castle, even from aloft, as Visp circled it in flight, seeking a direction. Then the little flyer began to head out over the countryside, not due north as Ysa had desired, but more to the north and west. She noted a cart moving along a road, and noted also that Visp seemed to want to fly down closer to this crude vehicle. The Dowager sent a mental command to her furred servant and the little creature—reluctantly, or so it seemed to Ysa—headed once more northward.

  The connection began to fade. But she could see the usefulness of it. Later, when there was time, she would reinforce the spell and make it permanent. Now, however, satisfied that she could contact her messenger if the need were great enough, the Dowager then descended the tower stairs. She wanted to write a letter, for it was time and past time to renew negotiations with the people of the North. Now she regretted the poor reception she had given their envoy—what was his name—Count Bjauden. He had never returned after that one unfortunate evening years ago, when Florian had been so rude to him.

  In addition, she needed to show herself to those of the wedding guests who were staying on for a few days after. And also she wanted to keep an eye on her son.

  King Florian had had a very satisfied look on his face when last she glimpsed him at the feast following the ceremony, and she felt sure it had nothing to do with his new status as a bridegroom.

  Five

  Obern couldn't find Ashen anywhere, though he looked in all the public rooms and even dared peek into some of the private ones as well. He made his way outside and along the covered walkway toward the building in which her apartment was located. As if she had been waiting for him, a young woman rushed out, weeping uncontrollably, and caught him by the arm.

  "You're Obern, of the Sea-Rovers, aren't you?"

  "I am."

  "Oh, sir, sir, please helpi" the girl cried. "My lady's been taken—"

  "Calm yourself," Obern said. He gently disengaged the young woman's fingers from his sleeve. She had it in such a tight grip she seemed fair to tear the samite.

  "What do you mean, your lady's been taken?"

  "Just that, sir!" To her credit, the girl wiped her eyes on her sleeve, obviously trying not to create a scene. "Lady Ashen. She's gone."

  "I know she's nowhere to be found, but—"

  "Come inside, please do, and I'll tell you what I know. I saw everything."

  Willingly, Obem followed the girl into Ashen's living quarters. Once inside, she began to talk even more freely, to the point of babbling.

  "Oh, I saw it all—five men in King's livery, and they took her and covered her over with one of the formal tablecloths that was put away for the feast so they wouldn't be spoiled and plain cloth put in their place, and she fought but there was too many of them and I would have cried out only who'd tell what happened if they took me too, and oh, sir, you must help her—"

  "Be sure of help," Obem said. His voice sharpened. "But you must take hold of yourself. First, what is your name?"

  The girl gulped and wiped her eyes again. "I'm Ayfare, sir, Lady Ashen's maid and her friend, too."

  "I can see that. Now, tell me why, if you know, should Lady Ashen be abducted?"

  "I don't know about that, sir, but they took her. And the brocade was thick enough so nobody could hear her screaming, or maybe she fainted dead away. Oh, sir, can you help? Will you help?"

  "My life and honor on it," Obern said grimly. His hand closed on the hilt on the sword at his side—one loaned by the man he had to consider his patron, Harous, and nowhere near as fine as the Rinbell sword his father had given to him as his man's gift. "But first I must know where these men took her."

  "As to that, I don't know. I was afraid to show myself, as they went. But if they wore the King's livery, they must have taken her to one of the King's houses. Such has happened before, with a lady of rank."

  Obern frowned. "Then the question is, which house?"

  "Somebody who knows the King must be found to answer that, sir."

  Obem nodded, thinking. Of those he was acquainted with here in the city, the one most likely to be aware of the workings of the King's mind would be Harous, but

  Obern knew he could not approach the High Marshal of Rendel. Count Harous himself had sporadically wooed Ashen. He would be sure to take whatever Obern told him, give nothing back, and go off in pursuit alone. Obern, cold with the anger of men from the North, was determined that when Ashen was rescued, it would be by his own hand and none other.

  Most of the Rendelians Obern had become acquainted with were simple soldiers, not likely to know anything useful. Could he go directly to the Dowager? Obern's lips twisted wryly at the thought. All knew well the animosity that Ysa held for the bastard daughter of her greatest rival. Any concern that might be expressed by the Dowager publicly was, Obern knew, prompted by politics and liable to vanish without much warning. She would be highly unlikely to give him any assistance.

  Who, then? Obern scowled, trying to think, and then a name and face swam into his mind.

  Royance of Grattenbor, head of the Council. Obern had picked up the information that his family was ally to the House of Oak, and in his youth he had been a close comrade to the old King. Though past his prime, he had been a fighting man by choice and this was clear in his manner and bearing. Obern could see the resemblance between the burhawk that Royance had taken as his personal badge, and the man. If some of the fierce nature of that bird was his, then he would see the kind of injustice that had been perpetrated and would help, if only to the extent of aiming Obern in a likely direction. Making up his mind, he determined to seek a private audience with Royance.

  "Stay here," he told Ayfare, "and try to act as if nothing untoward has happened, that your mistress is off enjoying herself at the feasting. I will return as soon as I am able."

  "Oh, thank you, sir, thank you." Ayfare made a visible effort at control though she still shivered visibly. "My lady has spoken of you more than once. I think that if anybody can bring her back, it will be you, sir."

  Stifling a flash of impulse to discover what else Ashen might have said in his favor, Obern set off to find the head of the Council of Regents.

  He discovered Royance easily enough in the main Hall, in serious council with a small gathering of older men, among them the bride's grandfather. Obern knew that he himself could not push, unasked, into that company but a servant well might. He beckoned to a steward and sent him to Royance with the request that he be allowed a few moments' private audience, and to be sure to impress upon him that the matter was urgent.

  He watched the steward whisper discreetly in Royance's ear
. The white-haired noble glanced up, and Obern nodded vigorously. Then Royance nodded in turn and the steward returned with Royance's message.

  "Lord Royance said I should show you to his privy office," the man said, "and he will join you in a few moments."

  "Thank you."

  Obern followed the servant up a flight of stairs. Beyond several passageways they came to a door which his guide opened, displaying a large, imposing chamber, with a smaller, private one beyond.

  "Could I bring you something, sir?"

  "Whatever Lord Royance might desire," Obern replied. "For me, nothing." The thought of such indulgence when he must make plain Ashen's danger aroused further the anger burning in him.

  The servant bowed. Almost before the door closed behind him, Royance entered. To