The Briar King

by Greg Keyes

  “Thank you, Countess,” Anne said, trying to keep her expression neutral. But in her chest, her heart was doing strange things, and her mind was racing.

  By now, Roderick would have received her letter. By now, he could be here. He might have heard of this fete, and impressed upon the countess his great love and need to see her, and of course this was the only time and place such a thing could happen. If he came to the coven, he would certainly be turned away. Perhaps he had already tried that, and no word had come to her.

  “What was all that about?” Serevkis asked.

  “Nothing,” Anne replied. “She's asked Austra and me to do her a favor, that's all.”

  “I'll go along,” Serevkis said.

  “No!” Anne said, a bit too loudly. Several heads turned in her direction, including Sister Casita's. “No,” she repeated more softly. “She asked that only Austra and I go.”

  “How mysterious,” Serevkis said, a bit skeptically. “One would almost think something devious was going on.”

  “No, nothing of the sort,” Anne insisted.

  “Of what sort?” Serevkis asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “I'll tell you about it later,” Anne said. “Come on, Austra.” She pulled her friend by the hand, toward the doorway the countess had indicated.

  “What did the countess say to you?” Austra asked, after they had slipped through the portal and started up the stairs. “Wherever are we going?”

  Anne turned and took Austra's hands in her own. “I think Roderick is here,” she confided excitedly.

  Austra's eyes went saucer-shaped. “How could that be?” she asked.

  “I sent him a letter, and directions.”

  “What? How did you do that?”

  “I'll explain in time. But it must be him.”

  They reached the end of the hall, which terminated in a wrought iron door. Beyond, leaves rustled softly in the breeze, and she could see the stars above a tiled wall. Anne felt herself nearly petrified with anticipation.

  “He's supposed to be in there,” Anne told her friend.

  “Shall I wait here?” Austra asked. “To sound alarm if one of the sisters approaches?”

  “No. Come in with me, until I am certain. I'll let you know if I want you to leave.”

  “Very well,” Austra said. She didn't sound entirely happy.

  Together the two girls stepped through the door. The garden was small, floored in red brick. Orange and lemon trees rose up from terra-cotta pots, and lavender grew in stone boxes making the air especially fragrant. A small fountain trickled water into a scalloped basin.

  A man stood in the shadows. Anne could see his outline.

  “Roderick?” she asked, almost breathless.

  “I have no news from him, I'm afraid,” the man said. She knew the voice at once, and her heart fell.

  “You!” she said.

  Cazio stepped into the moonlight and smiled, sweeping his hat from his head. “I told you I was guesting in the country,” he said. “I must say, you look altogether different wearing clothes.”

  “Anne,” Austra murmured, tugging at her sleeve. “Who is this? How do you know him?” She gave a sudden start. “And what does he mean about clothes?”

  “I am Cazio Pachiomadio da Chiovattio,” Cazio said, bowing again. “And you must be the lady Fiene's sister, so fair and graceful are you.”

  “Fiene?” Austra said, confused.

  “Cazio knows me by my real name, not my coven name,” Anne said, hoping Austra would catch on.

  She did. “Oh,” she said. “I see.”

  “Would you enchant me with your own name, lady?”

  “It is Margry,” Austra improvised.

  Cazio reached out, took her hand, and raised it to his lips.

  “Watch him,” Anne warned her friend. “He uses honey where most use words.”

  “Better honey than lemon juice,” Cazio said. He turned his head a little. “Can it be that you are annoyed with me, Lady Fiene?”

  “No,” Anne admitted, finding she wasn't. “It's just that I thought Roderick might have come.”

  “And you are disappointed. Rightly so. All went well with the dispatch of the letter, but perhaps the weather has been bad in the north. Any number of things might delay even a man who is deeply in love.”

  Anne thought she caught a subtle dig in that.

  “Margry,” Anne said, “could you wait in the hall and give alarm if anyone comes? I promise to explain this all to you later.”

  “As you wish,” Austra said, a bit of rancor lurking in her voice.

  When Austra had left the garden, Anne turned back to Cazio. “What did you want, then?” she asked bluntly.

  To her surprise, he hesitated, as if searching for words, something she had not known him to do before.

  “I don't know,” he said at last. “The countess offered to arrange our meeting. I suppose I just wanted to know how you were doing.”

  Anne felt a bit of her guard drop away.

  “I am well enough. What happened to your arm? It's bandaged.”

  “A scratch from swordplay. It was nothing.”

  “Swordplay? You were in a fight?”

  His voice grew jauntier. “Not much of a fight. Five bandits. They didn't last long.”

  “Really?”

  Again, he hesitated. “No,” he admitted. “I got it in practice with my swordmaster. He was angry at me.”

  “For what reason?”

  “He thinks I'm too distracted to fence. I think he's right.”

  Anne felt an odd little warmth in her belly. “What has distracted you?” she asked innocently.

  “I think you know.” His eyes were luminous in the dark, and for an instant …

  “I told you, Cazio,” she said.

  “Told me what?” he asked mildly. “You haven't even told me your real name. And you complain of my honesty.”

  She was silent for a moment, then nodded. “I deserved that.” She looked back up at him. “My name is Anne.”

  He took her hand. She meant to pull it away, but somehow failed. “I'm pleased to meet you, Anne.” And he kissed the top of her hand.

  “May I have that back now?” Anne asked.

  “It was always yours.”

  “Did you send my letter at all?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I hoped he would come. I still hope so.”

  “Why?”

  “Sometimes distance improves love. Sometimes it dissolves it. I think you deserve to know which has happened.”

  “Roderick loves me,” Anne snapped.

  “Let him prove it, then,” Cazio replied.

  “Do you love me then?” Anne asked, regretting the question in the same breath that asked it.

  But Cazio didn't answer immediately. When he did, it was in that new, uncertain tone. “I do not think people fall in love so quickly.”

  That sounded honest, and somehow it upset Anne more than any declaration of love ever could have.

  “In that case, what do you want from me?” she asked.

  “To know you better,” Cazio said softly.

  Anne's throat felt thick. “And how will you do that?” she asked, trying to sound sarcastic. “Stare up at my tower all day?”

  “I might,” he replied. “If it is the only way to see you.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Anne said. She glanced over her shoulder.

  “We'll be missed. We have to go.”

  “When can I see you again?”

  “You can't,” Anne replied, and with that she turned and went back out of the garden.

  It was hard not to look back, but she managed it.

  Cazio scuffed his foot in frustration and sighed. What was wrong with him? What did he care about this skinny, sickly pale, red-mopped witch anyway?

  Nothing, that's what. This whole thing had been Orchae-via's scheme, not his.

  A slight sound alerted him, and his hand flew to the hilt of Caspator, but it was only the other girl, the yellow-
haired one.

  “It was nice to meet you, Casnar Chiovattio,” she said, and made a little curtsey.

  Inspiration struck Cazio. “A moment, please,” he said.

  “I must follow my mistress.”

  “I implore you, casnara. Anne won't miss you for a mo ment or two.” He paused. “Did you say mistress?”

  “I'm her maid.”

  “And also in the coven?”

  “I'm there, yes.”

  “And is your name really Margry?”

  The girl looked behind her. “No, casnar, it isn't. My name is Austra.”

  Cazio put on what he considered to be his most effective smile. “Now there is a proper name for a winsome creature like you,” he purred.

  “You shouldn't say things like that, casnar,” the girl said, looking demurely down.

  “Call me simply Cazio, if you please.” He reached for her hair. “Was this spun from gold?”

  She bridled at his touch. “Please, I must go.” She started to withdraw.

  “A moment.” He stepped even closer. At first he thought she would flee, but she didn't. He drew very near and took her hand.

  “This Roderick fellow, Anne's betrothed—is he so fine?”

  “Betrothed?” Austra said, her eyes widening.

  Aha! Cazio thought. So not even really engaged.

  “I mean, yes, they are betrothed,” Austra corrected.

  Cazio let the falsehood pass. “But that wasn't my question. Answer me, pretty Austra.”

  “He is—” Her voice dropped. “I do not think him so fine. To be honest, I think you're much nicer, though I've just met you.”

  “Thank you, Austra. That's very kind of you.”

  “It's just that Anne can be … stubborn.”

  “Well, let her be, then,” Cazio said. “I won't pursue someone who has no desire to be caught.” He squeezed her hand. “Thank you for speaking to me,” he said.

  “It was my pleasure, Cazio.”

  He bowed, then wrinkled his brow in a show of consternation. “Oh, look,” he told her, pointing to her mouth. “You've something on your lip.”

  “What?” She put her hand up, but he caught it, bent in quickly, and kissed her lips. She gave a little gasp and pulled back—not too violently.

  “You see? There was a kiss there,” he said. “But I got it.”

  He could see her white skin blush even in the faint light. Without another word she withdrew and fled down the hall after the vanished Anne.

  Cazio watched her go, feeling pleased. Service hadn't done the trick. Maybe a little jealousy would, he thought. The hunter was back on the trail. Whistling, he went to gaze at the stars.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SACRIFICE

  ASPAR KNELT TO EXAMINE the horse droppings on the trail and nodded to himself.

  “We're close,” he said gruffly. “Not even a day behind 'em. And they've been joined by more, maybe ten more.”

  Stephen watched what the holter was doing, trying to pick out the faint signs the older man was reading. “Do you think the newcomers are Sefry? This Fend fellow and his rogues?”

  Aspar's expression darkened. “That's what your brother said, yah? That he was going to meet Fend at Cal Azroth?”

  “I'm no brother of Desmond Spendlove's,” Stephen replied, irritated by Aspar's tone. “Whatever he's about is nothing to do with the church.”

  “You seem mighty certain of that,” Aspar said.

  “Think, Holter,” Stephen said. “The fratrex saved our lives. Would he have done that if the church was behind all this?”

  Aspar straightened. “You tell me,” he said seriously.

  It still took Stephen aback when the holter really wanted his opinion. He recalled Desmond, that night at the monastery, talking about how he served the church. It had felt real, that conversation, like the one pure moment of honesty he had ever had from the murderous Spendlove.

  “Brother Desmond answers to someone,” Stephen allowed. “It might be someone in the church. It might not. He's not entirely sane, I think.”

  “You think he answers to Fend?” Aspar grunted.

  Stephen examined that for a moment. “No,” he said at last.

  “He spoke of Fend as a sort of coconspirator, and with a certain amount of distaste. I think Spendlove and your Sefry outlaw serve a higher master. I don't know who it could be.”

  “Well, the forest ends soon,” Aspar said. “We're coming to the plain of Mey Ghorn, where Cal Azroth stands. They've met up, so whatever they're planning, it'll happen soon.”

  “Could we go around them? Reach the fortress before they do and warn the queen?”

  “Maybe,” Aspar mused. “Likely not.”

  “What then? Ten more makes sixteen men and Sefry. We can't fight them all.”

  Aspar arched one eyebrow. “We, Cape Chavel Darige? I could put what you know about fighting on the head of a beer and it would float.”

  “Yes, well, you could have taught me a little, Holter. I might have been some help.”

  “I could have taught you just enough to help you make a corpse of yourself,” Aspar rebutted.

  “So you'll kill them all yourself ? How?”

  Aspar grunted a laugh. “I never said I couldn't find a use for you. You could wave your arms and draw their arrows while I creep around behind.”

  “I'm willing to do that,” Stephen said earnestly. “If it will work.”

  “That was a joke, boy.”

  “Oh,” Stephen said, and his sarcasm got the better of his sense. “My mistake, but a natural one. A joke from you? Apologies, but the first time you see a fish fly, you're likely to think it's a bird.” Then he sobered again. “Well, what, then?”

  “I have no idea,” the holter said. “I'll think of something before we catch up to them.”

  “Marvelous plan.”

  Aspar shrugged. “Do you have a better one? Something you read in a book, maybe?”

  “Well,” Stephen considered, “in the Travels of Hinn, when beset by brigands, Hinn and his companions made themselves seem more numerous by building figures of mud and straw.”

  “Yah. Were they able to make these figures walk?”

  “Ah … no. But if we could lure Desmond and his men to come after us—”

  “To fight our stick men?”

  “Fine, maybe that wouldn't work. What if we set a trap? Dig a pit and put sharpened stakes in it, cover it over with leaves or something?”

  Aspar nodded. “Fine idea. We'll dig this pit with our hands, shall we, before sunup? Maybe you can lead them in circles while the horses and I dig.”

  “I'm just trying to help,” Stephen muttered. “And you asked.”

  “I did, didn't I?” Aspar sighed. “Next I'll ask for a clout on the head. It would be more useful.” He remounted Ogre, then shot Stephen a more companionable glance. “Keep thinking,” he said. “Who knows, maybe you'll actually come up with something helpful.”

  Stephen did prove himself useful a few bells later, when he waved for Aspar's attention. The holter caught the motion instantly and reined Ogre to a halt. Stephen tapped his ear, then pointed. He could hear men talking up ahead, and he was certain it was the rogue monks.

  He had formed the opinion that none of the men they pursued had senses as well honed as his own, but there was still no point in taking chances. Thus far, remaining at the edge of his own hearing had kept them undetected. Stephen intended to treat it as a rule.

  Aspar understood his signals and carefully dismounted. Stephen followed suit. The holter quietly commanded the horses to stay where they were, and the two men began creeping through the forest edge toward the source of the sound.

  They stopped and crouched in a tangled mass of grapevines on the worn shoulders of a hill. Below, the forest broke into sparsely wooded fields, and beyond that a broad plain, green-gold in the afternoon sunlight.

  Sixteen men were setting up camp around a small conical mound in the lightly wooded fringe. A couple of ten
ts were already up. Ten of the figures wore broad-brimmed hats and their faces were wrapped in gauze; that would be the Sefry, Stephen mused. The rest were human, and their number included Desmond and his remaining monks. Stephen glanced over at Aspar, who wore a look he had come to recognize as quiet fury. Stephen raised an eyebrow, and the holter glanced back, mouthing a word.

  Fend.

  Doubtless the holter was already working out how to kill fifteen men so he could get to the one.

  Aspar motioned for Stephen to remain where he was and prowled off so silently he might have been a forest cat. Stephen desperately wanted to ask him where he was going, but he didn't dare.

  Once the holter had vanished from sight, Stephen lay there, watching, wondering what he was supposed to do.

  Below, the monks and Sefry were soon done preparing their camp, but their activities didn't cease. In fact, the small mound became the focus of new activity. It was with foreboding that Stephen realized the hill must be a sedos.

  It was cool, but sweat beaded on his brow as he crawled nearer, hiding at last behind the mounded roots of a huge oak on a lower part of the hill. His senses expanded, and the life of the forest pulsed through him in sound. The chattering of squirrels above him worried into his head, accompanied by the stridulations of crickets and cicadas anticipating the coming of dark, just a bell or so away. The clicking chorus of leaf-cutting ants going about their tasks tickled the drums of his ears. Finches twittered happily and jays protested the presence of Spendlove's party below.

  He strengthened his concentration, and through the stir of forest heard his enemies talking.

  Spendlove chanted in a language Stephen did not recognize, though every now and then he caught a word that sounded like Old Vadhiian. Two of the other monks—Seigereik and one Stephen didn't know—had been stripped to the waist, and one of the Sefry was painting strange glyphs or symbols on their chests. Yet another man—Stephen did not recognize him either, but did not think him a monk—had been stripped naked. He was taken to the top of the sedos and staked out spread-eagle. He had something stuffed in his mouth.

  Where is Aspar? Stephen wondered desperately. Something very bad was about to happen, something that needed stopping. He searched the surroundings, but the holter could move so invisibly when he wanted to that even Stephen's saint-given senses couldn't always locate him.