The Black Beast

by Nancy Springer

  “How?”

  “How can he send me away?” she retorted. “He has no hounds to chase me.” She rose and walked away. She still held her shining head high, but there was something half defeated in the pace of her steps. Frain looked after her with a sigh.

  “Whether she stays or leaves, my lord,” he said to me after a bit, “do you have a spare horse for her?”

  “To be sure,” I said gruffly, and added, “They are both mad!”

  “Can a goddess be mad?” Frain murmured.

  “Mad to face Prince Tirell’s wrath, yes. And you as well! I thought he would knock you into the fire, and still I couldn’t move!”

  Frain smiled in rueful understanding. “Yes, that is the power of the Sacred Kings. The fey glare of addled eyes … Yet I cannot believe that Tirell would ever do dishonor even in his wildest rage. But Abas would kill as soon as speak when his mood is fit. Him I would not face.” He looked bleak. I thought suddenly of a small and frightened boy.

  “You grew up with this?” I groaned with emotion I had not meant to show. He looked at me in puzzlement, at the guilt written plainly on my face. How I longed to beg his forgiveness. But he must have taken my despair for doubt.

  “Tirell was not always frozen in rage,” he told me softly. “Time was when we would steal away together to the forbidden places near the river, hunt eggs and snails and sail sticks in the puddles. When we played marbles, he would win all mine and then give them back. He built things for me, toys that Mother never thought of, like a catapult or a bow. I was always littler, tagging along, but no one dared to trouble me when he was around. He would swagger and lie to the schoolmasters to save me a blow when my lessons weren’t done.” He stared into the fire, remembering.

  “Was that often?” I asked, smiling.

  “Often enough,” Frain admitted. “But after Tirell was about fourteen or fifteen none of our masters dared to constrain us. We were wild things. We rode where we would, and fought each other sometimes and were sorry afterwards, though neither of us would admit it.… He always roamed in the night, and sometimes he cried. But he does not cry these days. Good my lord, it is not Tirell that you see, but a shell and a stranger—no more. Think on that.”

  “I will try to remember,” I said.

  I had to brace myself to talk to Tirell the next morning. But I did so, and got him off alone, and we agreed that, if he should take the throne, he would name Frain as my heir. That settled, we made plans. I told him that he could win the support of Sethym, my neighbor, king of Selt. Sethym was fervent in his adherence to the ancient rituals of Vale, eager to replace the aging King Abas with younger, more vital blood for the goddess. Also I hoped that Oorossy, ruler of Eidden, the northern canton, might aid us. I knew him to be a kindly man who hated Abas for his cruelty. But of Raz I could say nothing. He kept to his vast domain and vouchsafed no word, or at least none to me.

  I think Tirell would have liked to have stayed near the mountains. Their loneliness felt safe to him, though they filled me with dread I could not explain, especially these mountains of Acheron—why should a man be afraid of nothingness, of twisted trees where no birds sing? Anyway, Tirell was obliged to leave his retreat. Summer was well started, and he had to prepare his bid while the weather favored.

  So we made ready to ride to Ky-Nule, whence he would travel on to Gyotte in Selt. There was some juggling of horses. Frain took his place beside his brother on a big, bright chestnut, and Shamarra rode up on a white mare. I have never seen such a woman. She could not have been hammered out of silver or gold; she would have to have been carved from ice, or from water itself for delicate, fluid grace. Yet there was metal in her, hard metal in the way she confronted Tirell. He looked through her and turned to Frain with a cold stare.

  “I told you to bid her begone.”

  “How?” Frain retorted. “She is a goddess and goes where she will. Do you have power to bind the wind or stop rivers from flowing?”

  “I have muscle to bind her to one of her precious trees,” Tirell snapped. “I suppose your courtesy would not allow of that. But did you have to give her your own horse?”

  “Mine?” Frain asked coolly. “The white? Since when am I marked for the goddess? Let her ride her own sacred steed.”

  Tirell seemed mollified, and we were able to get off without much more ado. Tirell and Frain took the lead, side by side, torques gleaming and cloaks thrown back from their shoulders in the summer heat. All my men admired Tirell; I could see that from the first. His stature and his boldness inspired awe without demanding it. He would make a King that men would die for. I rode just behind him, beside my lieutenant, and I passed my time in watching my son. How I longed for him, in my grief, and how I hated Tirell. Frain should have been riding with me.

  For his own part, he watched Shamarra when he could. She did not keep ranks, but ranged all around the troop, ahead or to one side, with the black beast gamboling after her. She rode effortlessly, as if she were of one body with her horse, aside, with her pearly gown trailing down.… No one could laugh at Frain for gazing at her. We all kept glancing at her like enchanted things. All except Tirell.

  When we had journeyed about a week, Tirell turned around to speak to me—the first time, I think, that he had done so. “Boda,” he stated tersely. “Are you willing to fight?”

  “Where?” exclaimed Frain and I simultaneously.

  “Beyond the rise, I think. Their red shirts swim before my eyes. About a dozen. There is still time to turn aside.” I could see that he, himself, had no wish to turn aside. He was trembling, a tremor scarcely visible, with rage he could not entirely contain, and his face twitched. The beast snorted, and he spoke to it sharply.

  I could scarcely believe that he had given me warning and choice. “If I fight the King’s retainers,” I said slowly, “it will be an act of war, and my throne the forfeit.”

  “Then, since you will be of small use without a throne and an army,” Tirell growled, “I suppose we had better turn aside to that grove yonder.” He gave the signal, and we rode into the copse that hugged the rise. There were twenty-three men of us, the lady, and the beast.

  We waited a while, Tirell still quaking with his subterranean rage—rage that went as deep as grief, Frain said, rage that was grief transfigured. Perhaps it was his own blood-red rage that swam before his eyes. I was just about to think he had misled us when the troop of Boda rode over the brow of the rise. There were fourteen of them, in scarlet tunics hung with long fur fringe—in the old days it would have been human hair—and bronze greaves below, and helms winged like the raven of war. The land was dry already, even in early summer; it looked as if we were in for drought again. But a troop of riders such as ours cannot help but leave a track even on the dryest ground. I watched anxiously, hoping the Boda would overlook it. But when they came to the place where we had turned aside, their captain stopped and studied our traces. He gave a command, and they pivoted toward the coppice.

  “Frain and I will slip out the other side.” Tirell muttered to me. “You tell them what tale you will—you suspected robbers, or some such. Perhaps we will see you again before we leave Vaire.”

  “No!” I blurted, suddenly panicky at the thought of being separated from my son. “I will protect you. Let it come to fighting if it must, and let none of them live to tell of it!”

  “Wait,” whispered Frain. “It’s Guron.”

  “What?”

  “He taught me archery and a bit of leathercraft.… Let me see if I can talk to him.”

  He rode forward. I gasped and reached to stop him, but too late. Frain rode out in the open, his hand raised in greeting.

  I have remarked before now on Frain’s courage. But besides and beyond that he had an air of artless self-assurance that had astonished me before then. The lad had good common sense; he had showed me that in conversation many times. And he saw as clearly as anyone I knew—but, Mother of us all! that he would ride out alone before a troop of armed enemies! How co
uld I call him foolhardy? His daring provided its own shield. The troop stopped abruptly, spears leveled, but no one hurt him. They must have been as flabbergasted as I.

  “Guron,” Frain called out, almost gaily, “whatever are you doing in the Boda now?”

  “Half the castle is in the Boda and out looking for you,” returned the older man grimly. He gave his followers the signal to stand and rode forward to where Frain awaited him. I started to sweat for fear of treachery, but I saw his face, a furrowed, thoughtful face, and breathed easier. He held no weapon. He would have given his hand for Frain to clasp, I think, if it were not for all those watching eyes.

  “How is Grandfather?” Frain asked softly.

  “Wandering,” Guron replied, “like so many of us these days. He is to be shunned for betraying his trust in regard to the Wall. Abas’s orders. But I expect some folk will dare to help him, for he is well loved.” Guron spoke rapidly and very low, but he stood so close to the trees that I could hear every word.

  “And Mother?” Frain asked, swallowing. Your mother died a few weeks ago, I thought with a pang. But Guron’s answer was scarcely kinder.

  “Imprisoned,” he replied. “She must have pleaded for you both too strongly. But no one except the King wishes her harm. The guards give her food on the sly.”

  Frain flinched at the thought of that proud queen in such need of charity. “And us?” he asked. “What are your orders concerning Tirell and myself?”

  “Capture. I may injure you if necessary, but you are not to be killed.” Guron could not quite meet Frain’s steady gaze.

  “The King desires that royal privilege himself?”

  “I can’t tell, lad,” said the man unhappily. “It’s true that he’s been wild as the very wind since you went, furious and still as stone by turns. But he looks for Tirell.…” Guron looked down in confusion, trying to explain. “He sits without eating, sometimes for days, chanting to himself—Tir-ell! Tir-ell! Sometimes he screams, something frightens him, but he keeps trying. He sensed something to the southwest and sent us here, several troops.”

  At my side, Tirell stiffened and muttered to himself.

  “More are all over Vale,” Guron continued. “Lad, I feel… It is not all hatred that seeks Tirell so.”

  “I saw his face,” Frain said flatly. “He would kill us both in a minute.”

  Guron lowered his eyes and did not reply.

  “There are twenty-some men hidden at my back,” Frain added after a pause. “Are you willing to be put to rout by them, Guron? Certainly I do not wish this to come to fight.”

  “Let them show their numbers to my red-clad minions yonder and I will be glad to flee. I must attempt to capture you, but I will say farewell first, and all good come to you. Now I will reach for my weapon, thus.” Guron grabbed at his dagger, but Frain started back with convincing quickness, and I shouted a command. Spears bristled out of the coppice where we hid. Guron wheeled and galloped back to his troop.

  “There is no need for him to see whose retainers are hidden here,” Frain said by my side.

  “He is an ass if he does not know,” Tirell remarked sourly.

  “He knows—but perhaps he will find a way not to know. Did you hear what he said about—”

  “I heard.” Tirell turned away.

  The Boda kept their distance, watching the wood. As long as Guron had an excuse to think we were still in it he could do that. So we crept out the other side of it, using it as our shield, and hastened away. I deployed scouts rearward, for I reasoned that sooner or later Guron would have to make a show of pursuing us. We did not stop that night, but rode on through the darkness, changed our direction several times, and rode hard all the next day. In three more days we reached Ky-Nule with no further sign of the Boda.

  Chapter Three

  It had been planned, or at least I had let it be planned, that Frain and Tirell would continue their journey without me. What excuse could I have, I, a canton king, for roaming about with two renegade princes? I could send some men with them, certainly, first relieving them of the stag-hound badges that identified them as mine. I could even send Wayte. There were few men whom I trusted more. Surely, at this critical time, it was my duty to keep close to my throne, watching narrowly over my canton and raising the army that would march to aid Tirell when his time came.

  “Red shirts lodged here while you were gone, my lord,” Wayte told me when he made his report. “Three troops of them are camped now by the bridge of Epona, and more by the Varro bridge. Fifty men in all.”

  I sighed, stood up, circled my chair and sat down again.

  “My lord, it is no secret that they seek the princes, and it is no secret that you ride with them,” Wayte said quietly. “The countryside is filled with talk of it.”

  “The princes prepare to snatch the throne from their mad father’s grip,” I stated. “Will you aid them, Wayte?”

  His sober face looked as surprised as I had ever seen it. “I am your man, my lord. It is for you to tell me what I am to do.”

  “But I will not be here, Wayte.” I settled back farther in my chair, bracing myself. “I will continue to ride with the princes. You must rule here in my stead, raise an army and march to Melior when the time comes, and withstand Abas if he attacks meanwhile.”

  Wayte opened his mouth several times before he spoke. “Prince Tirell is a madman, folk say,” he remarked at last, mildly.

  “And now I am another?” I heard the hint. “Perhaps, Wayte. It is foolhardy.”

  “Yes,” he agreed far too readily. “But of course you will go in disguise.”

  “No, Wayte. I am going to be honest, this once.”

  “The princes, then, hidden among your retinue—”

  “I doubt it. They are not the sort to hide.” I shot a smile at him. “If you could have seen them ride—Wayte, they’ll have half the countryside flocking to follow them. Tirell senses danger and doesn’t care, and Frain seems convinced no harm can befall him, and he has half convinced me.”

  “They are insane to go so boldly,” Wayte said.

  “We are all insane. Melior is a tiny plot of land ruled by a king who does nothing except wed and die, and yet we pin all our hopes on it. Well, Wayte?”

  “What?” He surveyed me doubtfully.

  “Will you give your word? It is well that you obey my behests, but it will be better yet if you obey your own heart. So I ask you, will you do your utmost for Frain’s sake?”

  He looked utterly bewildered, but then he smiled. “For Frain’s sake and yours. Yes, I will do my best.”

  “Here, then.” I handed him the great key to the treasure chamber. “Use what you need to hire mercenaries and buy supplies. Melt down the gold if you have to.”

  He could not believe he was hearing me properly. “My lord?” he mumbled.

  “Spend what you need to, wear what you like,” I told him irritably, and dismissed him. He went off dazed, poor fellow I knew he would not make himself a crown of the gold, but I hoped he was not dreaming of ruling Vaire after I was gone. He knew I had need of an heir.… But I had made him no promise.

  Frain was surprised to hear that I would ride with him to Selt, and puzzled, and pleased. Tirell was neither surprised nor pleased, I felt sure, though he said nothing to me at all.

  We left with upward of thirty retainers. Any more would have been cowardly. Our way lay toward the bridge of Epona that crossed the Elsans, a smaller river that ran into the Chardri. I hoped that most of the Boda would be at the Varro bridge, the one that crossed into Tiela from Vaire. In no way could the Boda know that we were going to Selt first, since we had decided that among ourselves.

  The journey from Ky-Nule to the Epona took several days. I sent scouts ahead when we came near the bridge, and my heart sank at their report. Four troops held the Epona.

  “Guron must have joined them,” Frain said.

  “They will try to take us soon, if they have any sense,” growled Tirell. “They have their scouts, t
oo, and they know we are here. Already the others will be hurrying down from the Varro to cut us off from behind.”

  “Then let us hurry on up to cross by the Varro,” I suggested, only half joking.

  Tirell eyed me sourly. “Is the Elsans shallow farther south, my lord Fabron?” Frain asked. “We could walk across.”

  And Tirell was supposed to be the madman! I gaped at my son; there was that blithe daring of his again! I had never heard of a freeman setting foot in a river. The streams cut through Vale like so many knife strokes, passable only by the few bridges that curved high above them. Lives had been spent in the making of those bridges. Lives had to be spent even for the digging of a well, in sacrifice to the goddess and the flood beneath. There was a power in water. Even the shallowest stream could grow fingers that would pull a man down into oblivion. No one would name those boneless hands.

  “You’ve been daft ever since you let that sneaking lake touch you,” Tirell growled at Frain.

  “The Elsans runs deep and swift,” I stammered. “There is a legend—”

  “Yes, yes, every river has a legend,” Frain interrupted impatiently. “What of it? You have ridden through Acheron, Tirell.”

  “To my dismay.”

  “Why? You have found us powerful allies. How can we come to harm when the lady is with us?”

  “No!” Tirell flared. “I need no help from any slut. We will take these Boda now, before they have had time to prepare for us.”

  “They have had weeks to prepare for us,” Frain protested.

  Still, we really had no choice, or at least I thought we did not. We formed line of battle at the top of the rise. As you might know, they were expecting us. Some stood ranked on the bridge itself and some mounted before it. I counted more than fifty men.

  “If those on the bridge stay there,” Tirell told the troops, “we shall not have to fight them all at once. Use the force of your charge to unhorse as many as you can. Ready!”

  Indeed they were ready, not because of his words but because of the blue fire in his eyes. He was taut with leashed fury at the sight of those red tunics below; yet his every move was like a cat’s for grace and control. My men sat straight on their horses, looking as soldierly as I had ever seen them. Then Tirell shouted—roared—and we all thundered down toward the river.