“It can scarcely be said that our father loves us,” I mumbled resentfully.
“Who is to measure the love hidden beneath his hatred? But his pride will serve to preserve you two. Turn elsewhere for love.” The old man rose stiffly to his feet, our signal that the visit was ended. “Go with all blessing,” he said.
So we went, up the bare grassy Hill and past the altar and the glares of the priestesses and down the slope to the shade of the sacred grove. But I for one was not feeling particularly blessed.
Chapter Two
“Let us go”—Tirell broke silence—“and visit Mylitta, since you wish to see her.” He was quiet, his bearing as quiet as I had ever seen it, and his face unreadable.
So we turned aside from the track and rode northward into the grove that ringed the Hill. The trees stretched straight and tall; it seemed that the sunlight never quite reached the soft soil beneath them, and there was no young growth. There was scarcely a noise, even of birds, in the greenish twilight between those trunks. I kept looking about me nervously.
“She lives where the grove meets the river,” Tirell said, his voice sounding much too loud in that stillness. “It is a little place, a few fields, quite by itself. I have never come at it from this direction, but—”
I screamed and flung up my hands. A black shape was hurtling at us from the gloom beneath the trees, a shape of no creature that I had ever seen. It looked like a horse, but a grotesque horse with flaring nostrils and pale, flashing eyes. Black feathered wings rose from its shoulders, and from its forehead jutted a horn like a black dagger. And the noise! Thunder drumming and wind whipping in those wings—Tirell was in the lead, and the thing was on him before he could do more than stare. His white mare shied and bolted, throwing him to the ground. He lay there, winded, and the black beast reared above him, beating those monstrous wings.
I had stayed on my horse somehow, but it wouldn’t obey me. So I sprang down and ran forward, yelling like an idiot and waving my fists; I was half mad with fear for Tirell. The weird horselike thing threw me a glance of utter, withering scorn and struck me with a wingtip; even that slight blow was enough to send me sprawling. Then it turned and leaped away. It was gone as suddenly as it had come, and the thunder sound of its hooves faded away. Tirell and I sat on the dirt, staring at each other and gulping for breath.
“Are you all right?” he exclaimed.
“You should ask!” I retorted. “Can you get up?”
We both struggled to our feet and discovered that we were not hurt. I tried to brush the loam off of Tirell’s fine blue cloak. “That was quite a fright you gave the thing, brother,” he remarked. He was often ironical. I ignored him.
“What was it?” I asked. “Have you seen it before?”
“Only in dreams,” he answered, and I saw then that he hid something with the irony. He had the bleak look that presaged a sleepless night, and he quickly turned away.
It took us quite a while to catch the horses. I was jumping and glancing about the whole time, but we did not see the beast again. Finally we got on our way once more.
“We had better try a little circuit,” Tirell said with just a hint of a smile.
We left the sacred grove briskly and rode down through the cultivated land of the valley. Farmers at their spring planting straightened to give us a courtesy and then stared after us. They learned nothing. The homestead where Mylitta lived, as Tirell had said, was far apart from the rest, halfway down the river slope and beside the sacred trees.
“How did you ever meet her?” I asked curiously.
“Wandering. This is the sort of lonely spot that suits my fancy well. There she is.”
I could scarcely see her at first, in her brown homespun against the freshly tilled brown earth. She was sowing grain. She carried the seed in a girdle at her waist as she stepped barefoot over the warm soil to meet us. Like most women in Vale she was named after one of the many names; “Mylitta” was a name of the goddess in fair maiden form. But Tirell had spoken truth when he said she was not so very pretty. Her skin was tawny from sun and weather, her mouth wide, and her nose a bit upturned. Yet I watched her as if I had never seen a woman before.
It was her grace, I decided, that drew the eye. Or something less courtly than grace. Her movements were effortless, unstudied, her body strong and thoughtlessly lithe, like the body of a wild creature. She came to Tirell and met his eyes with such love that I felt my jaw sag in astonishment. She took no notice of me at all. Rites of courtesy would be lost on this one. Words like pride, rank, honor would mean nothing to her. The workings of her mind were like the rhythms of days and seasons; she loved Tirell, I believe, because he was young, and manly, and hers. She was a simpleton, but I felt no inclination to laugh at her. I felt awed.
“I was kept from you last night, lass,” Tirell said, “but surely this night I will come.”
She nodded, accepting his assurance as she accepted sun and rain.
“We have seen a strange beast,” Tirell told her, “black, like a horse, but with a horn and wings. Do you know anything of it?”
“It lives in the grove and peers from between the trees,” Mylitta answered in a soft, rhythmic voice almost like a chant. “There is no harm to it, as far as I know.”
“No creature would harm you,” Tirell said, “but it seemed eager to harm me.”
“I will speak to it,” the girl said.
Tirell nodded and touched her brown hand; he could not have meant more in a hundred gallant posturings. “Till tonight, then, all peace,” he said softly. We rode away together.
“She is a child of the goddess,” I said when we had topped the slope.
Tirell turned to me with a rare smile. “I am glad you like her.”
“I do, I like her very much. But liking is the least of it. I mean she is a very daughter of Eala who is Vale. Are her folk anything like her?”
“No, they are ordinary peasants, flattered and frightened of me. Mylitta comes and goes as she will, and pays them little heed.”
“And what will she do about the black beast?”
“I don’t know!” Tirell shrugged, half laughing at himself. “All I know is that the birds sing before her without fear and the butterflies light on her hands.” He gave a sudden whoop and sent his horse leaping forward, leaving me in his dust.
“That’s not fair!” I shouted, urging my plunging chestnut after him. We raced along, but the chestnut galloped as if the air were water, and the white kept the lead all the way to Melior. Tirell was laughing, a sweet, ringing laugh from his heart with not a bit of scorn in it; I smiled just hearing him. Tears lay on his cheeks as we pulled up by the castle gates. It was to be a long year before I knew such laughter or such tears from him again.
We came to order and entered the courtyard at a seemly pace. But we had no sooner sent the horses to stable than a servant approached us. “The King sends for you, Prince Tirell,” he said, bowing low. “All day he has awaited your return.”
“Mighty Morrghu!” Tirell muttered in dismay. Rarely did the King wish to see him, and it was very ill luck that the notion had taken him on this day, when we had been absent so long. He was likely to be in one of his cold passions from waiting.
“Should I wash, think you?” Tirell asked me distractedly.
“It would take too long. You had better go straight away, before it gets any worse,” I decided. “I’ll come.”
“He did not send for you!” Tirell protested.
“He never does! And he will take no notice, you know that. Come on.”
“But it makes him angry, just the same—”
“Why? Who should have a better right to come before the King than his own son?” I argued perversely. “I am his son too, am I not?”
Tirell seemed to have no answer. “Well, come on, then,” he muttered, and we set off toward the audience chamber. I had no good reason for wanting to go along, risking the King’s wrath at such a bad time. I just wanted, like a young fool, to
see what was afoot.
Servants and courtiers stood clustered by the great carved doors, frightened and fascinated, like birds around a snake. They scattered before us, and we strode past and entered. I felt my step falter in surprise. Mother was sitting beside the King on her gilded chair that was scarcely less ornate than the throne. Rich hangings set the royal couple off on all sides: Adalis plucking her three apples, the white horse Epona, Eala and the dragon. Vieyra stared down from the wall behind Abas, holding the lotus emblem of Vale. He sat before her on a high throne with bodiless metal heads staring from the arms. More heads, twenty of them, stared from his huge circular brooch, the perquisite of his sacred office and destined death. At its center was the lotus, the sacred five, and the pin was a long knife that protruded beyond his shoulder. Kings of Melior always wore that reminder.
He turned his glittering eyes on me and spoke. “Get those vultures away from the door, then stand there.”
I bowed and hastened to do as I was bid. “Go,” I told the lackeys by the door, and they scattered, for they also had heard Abas’s words. I stood on guard, quaking and listening. Some great event had to be in the making, and I fervently hoped it did not concern me.
Tirell stood before the throne. As far as I know, only he of all the court was accorded that privilege; bent knee and bowed head were customary. But Tirell met the icy blue eyes that were so much like his own.
“Where have you been?” Abas asked.
“To see Grandfather.”
“Out nattering with an old man. It is a useless life you lead. You are twenty years old.”
“I would be glad to be of assistance to my sire,” Tirell said smoothly. “Are there duties for me?”
Abas scarcely seemed to have heard him. His stare had locked on nothingness a trifle above Tirell’s head. “If is time you had a wife,” he went on. “You will ride to Tiela as soon as possible, to Nisroch. Raz has one daughter left, and she is of marriageable age. Recilla is her name. Obtain her.”
I could not see Tirell’s face; perhaps it changed. But his voice as he spoke was level, with scarcely a hint of edge. “Is it not traditional that the Sacred Kings should wed a maiden with one of the many names, the goddess in mortal maiden form, and that on the night of coronation?”
Abas half rose from his seat in sudden passion. “Sacred King! Do you wish to be a Sacred King or a King in truth? Go to Raz, I say, and you will die in your bed, not on a bloody altar! I have some power, and he has more. What, youngster, would you spurn it?”
“I spurn no power,” Tirell answered quietly, “and I die on no altar. But a haughty wife will be a lifetime’s misery to me, Sire.”
“What folly is this?” Abas stood at his full height, towering on the dais, and his glare had taken on a fey light. “I have not told you to cleave to her, only to wed her! Kill her when you can, and save your passion for the whores! Of course you will need a son.” His blue eyes wavered, and it seemed for a moment that they wandered toward me. I wished I could run.
“You look too far ahead, my liege.” Mother spoke up suddenly. “Indeed, there is no hurry in this matter of Tirell’s wedding. Let it wait, I say, if he is doubtful.”
“And I say, Let it not wait.” The King settled to his seat again, but still with a look of stone. “Raz is ripe for the plucking. Princeling, you are to leave within the week. Go, make your preparations.”
Tirell bowed and left without a word. I longed to follow him, but I judged it wiser to wait until I had been dismissed. I had been noticed at last, and I felt all the danger of it.
“Let him wait, my husband,” our mother Suevi said softly.
“What, now!” Abas glared at her. “I thought we had agreed that he will need an ally.”
“Yes, and I assumed he would not mind. He is so much like you.” Her gaze would have melted stone, I thought. “But he has found a love, it seems.”
“You see that?” Abas was startled.
“Yes. Let him wait, my lord, and likely it will pass. I know surely he does not wish to be killed. But if he goes to Tiela now, he will make a sorry wooer.”
“He does not need to woo! He has only to say the word, and Raz will grovel at his feet! No, he must go at once. And he must learn soon that love is no asset to kingship.” Abas rose to leave.
Queen Suevi rose with him. “What, my lord?” she questioned softly. “Have you forgotten the worthiness of love? We were young once, and lovers.”
I tried not to stare, seeing her anew—her voice was vibrant, her pale, quiet face was fair, her form as fair as a maiden’s. Abas went as rigid as a statue, meeting her eyes. He raised his hand—to touch her, I thought—and then his clenched fist lashed out and struck her squarely across the face. The blow knocked her into her queenly chair. Abas turned from her and left, sweeping past me without a glance.
I did not go to Mother, for she was proud, and I knew my face was quivering; I thought it would make her angry. In a moment she also rose and left, with a streak of blood and a dark shadow of bruise on her set face. I waited until her footsteps faded far down the corridor. Then I hurried away to find Tirell.
He was in our bedchamber, pacing furiously, like a caged panther. I decided not to tell him more than I had to.
“Mother tried to get you your way,” I said. “She knows about Mylitta.”
“What!” Tirell froze in midstride.
“I don’t mean that she knows her name. She only said that she could see you had a lover. She had not thought at first that you would mind going to Tiela. You know you have been yearning for years to get away from Melior.”
“Yes, and now I have my chance, hah? I’m not going.”
“Oh, come on, Tirell,” I said tiredly, “what choice do you have? Mylitta will understand.”
“She should not have to understand! I am a freeman; no law of Vale can make me wed against my will—”
“Except the law that weds you with the goddess in death,” I reminded him. “Father grasps for power, but Mother seeks only for your life. Go to Tiela, Tirell. Perhaps the maiden is fair.”
He snorted in scorn. “A daughter of that swarthy Raz? She will be a proper crow. But even if she were as fair as any flower in Vale, I would still cleave to Mylitta.” He had calmed now, and he spoke with a sober conviction that I had never seen in him. I stared at him hard for ten breaths or so, trying to believe.
“All right, brother,” I said at last. “It is you and Mylitta, then, and I will aid you for all that I am worth.”
He reached over and touched my hand. I remember that.
“But go to Tiela nevertheless,” I continued. “You are clever. You will find a way out. Make the lady hate you. I will go with you—perhaps she will wed me.”
His eyebrows shot up. “The King our mighty father did not say you were to go!”
“No, but he did not say I could not! I will be gone a week before he misses me.”
“Maybe,” Tirell muttered. “Go to supper and let me think. Go on, fill your belly. I don’t want any.”
I left him, hoping he had the sense not to bolt. For sake of company and diversion I went to the great hall. It was filled with courtiers, and they scarcely let me eat between flatteries and petitions. I stayed, even so, for I knew that Tirell needed time to fret in solitude. I sat and listened to the chanting of the bard.
When the others were yawning I took my leave. I was glad to find Tirell lying on his bed, staring and apparently calm. I handed him some packets of meat and fruit, and he sat up to eat.
“I have not been entirely sulking,” he remarked, straight-faced. “Before the gates closed I took out a horse, a black, the better to prowl the night. I have hidden him in a copse down by the Balliew. To give me more time with the lass.”
“You will tell her about Tiela, then?”
He gestured irritably. “I suppose I must! But you at least could spare me more talk of it until the morrow, hah?”
I took the hint and kept silence. After quite a while the bedti
me noises of the castle ceased. Tirell had changed into black clothing: black tunic and hose, even a black cloak. Only his torque of hammered gold reflected a gleam of light. “So she’ll know who I am,” he joked sourly, but the truth was that we very seldom removed the things, even to wash or sleep. Torques are devilishly hard to get off. Tirell had once observed that being a prince was just a step above being a slave; their collars were of bronze, and ours were of gold. Tirell was often sarcastic that way.
He paced, impatient to be off. I would have waited a bit longer, in his place, but I couldn’t detain him. So we tied the rope to our heavy bedstead and sent it coiling through the high window. I held it, too, while Tirell went up and over, and I held it long after I was certain he was well gone. Finally I pulled it in, stowed it, and wandered restlessly into the corridor. I went to one of those grim little balconies meant for throwing things down on attackers. Melior had never been attacked, but every building in Vale was a stronghold if it was not a hut. I looked lazily over the toothy wall into the courtyard, and I knew at once that trouble was afoot.
Chapter Three
Men and horses were forming ranks amid a glare of torchlight. The men wore the blood-red livery of the King’s personal force, the Boda by name, they who called themselves messengers of doom. I saw the gleam of swords and lance-tips, and amidst it all a tall figure and the glint of a torque and the moonlike glow of an enormous brooch. No one less than the King our royal father himself was riding in the mid of night.
I gaped for a moment or two and then I ran downstairs, scuttled across the courtyard in the shadows, and got to the stable. I loosed the first proper horse I could find, one of the royal white mares. I vaulted onto it and clattered out just as the gates were closing after the last of the Boda. I shot through on their heels and veered off into the night, riding hard. The rearward men must have seen me, but they did not pursue me. They were probably afraid to tell the King. He was as likely to skewer them as not.
I rode as directly as I could toward the sacred grove and Mylitta’s cottage, but far aside from the main road, for the King and his Boda rode there; the gleam of their torches was visible for miles. I could only assume that this nocturnal sortie concerned Tirell, and I had to give him what warning I could. I raced along the twisted byways and came to Mylitta’s house at last with a winded horse, over a hedge and a ditch. I pounded on the cottage door. The man peered out at me stupidly.
The Black Beast Page 3