by Andre Norton
The Duchy had once been a territory sparsely held by a race akin to the ancient blood of Estcarp. And now and then a proud-held dark head, a pale face with cleanly cut features, reminded Simon of the men of the north.
“The curse of the Power finished them here,” Koris observed when Simon commented on this.
“The curse?”
The Captain shrugged.”It goes back to the nature of the Power. Those who use it do not breed. And so each year the women who will wed and bear grow fewer. A marriageable maid of Estcarp may choose among ten men, soon among twenty. Also there are childless homes in plenty.
“So it was here. Thus when the sturdier barbarians came overseas and settled along the coast they were not actively opposed. More and more land came to their hands. The old stock withdrew to the backlands. Then warlords arose among the newcomers in the course of time. So we have the Dukes, and this Duke last of all — who was a common man of a hired shield company and climbed by his wits and the strength of his sword arm to complete rule.”
“And so will it go with Estcarp also?”
“Perhaps. Only there was a mingling of blood with the Sulcarmen, who, alone, it seems, can mate with Estcarp and have fruit of it. Thus in the north there was a stirring of the old blood and a renewing of vigor. However, Gorm may swallow us up before there has been a proving of anything. How is it, Simon; does this town we approach beckon you? It is Garthholm on the river, and beyond it lies only Kars.”
“Then we go to Kars,” Simon answered wearily after a long moment. “For the burden is still on me.”
Under his plain helm Koris’ brows rose. “Then it is indeed laid upon us to walk softly and watch over our shoulders the while. Though the blood of the Duke is not high and he is eyed sidewise by the nobles, yet his wits are far from blunt. There will be eyes and ears within Kars to mark the lowliest stranger and questions asked of blank shields. Especially if we do not strive to enlist at once under his banner.”
Simon gazed thoughtfully at the river barges swinging at anchor by the town quay. “But he would not be inclined to enlist a maimed man. Also are there not doctors within Kars who would treat one injured in battle? A man, say, who ailed from a blow on the head so that his eyes no longer served him well?”
“Such a one as would be brought by a comrade to see the wise doctors of Kars?” chuckled Koris. “Yes, that is a fine tale, Simon. And who is this injured warrior?”
“I think that role is mine. It would cover any awkward mistakes which a keen witted eye-and-ear of the Duke would note.”
Koris nodded vigorously. “We sell these ponies here. They label us too much as being from the mountains, and in Karsten mountains are suspect. Passage can be bought on one of the river boats. A good enough plan.”
It was the Captain who carried out the bargaining over the ponies, and he was still counting the wedge-shaped bits of metal which served as payment tokens in the duchy as he joined Simon on the barge. Koris grinned as he slapped the handful into his belt purse.
“I have trader blood and today I proved it,” he said. “Half again what I was prepared to take, enough to aid in any palm-greasing when we come to Kars, should that be needed. And provisions to keep us until that hour.” He dumped the bag he carried on board along with the ax from which he had not been parted since he took it from the hands of Volt.
There were two days of lazy current gliding on the river. As it neared sunset on the second, and the walls and towers of Kars stood out boldly not too far ahead, Simon’s hands went to his head. The pain once more shot above his eyes with the intensity of a blow. Then it was gone, leaving behind it a small vivid picture of an ill-paved lane, a wall, and a door deep set therein. That was their goal and it lay in Kars.
“This is it then, Simon?” TheCaptain’s hand fell on his shoulder.
“It is.” Simon closed his eyes to the sunset colors bending the river. Somewhere in that city he must find the lane, the wall, the door, and meet with the one who waited.
“A narrow lane, a wall, a door—”
Koris understood. “Little enough,” he remarked. His gaze was for the city, as if by the force of his will he could hurl them across the space still separating the barge from the waiting wharf.
Soon enough they came up the quay to the arch in the city wall. Simon moved slowly in his chosen role, trying to walk with the timidity of a man who could not trust his sight. Yet his nerves were prickling, he was certain that once within the city he could find the lane. The thread which had drawn him across the duchy was now a tight cord of direction.
Koris talked for them at the gate and his explanation of Simon’s disability, his plausible story — as well as a gift passed under hand to the sergeant of the guard — got them in. The Captain snorted as they passed down the street and turned the corner.
“Were that man in Estcarp I’d have the sign off his shield and his feet pointing on the road away before he had time to name me his name! It has been said that the Duke grows soft since he came into rule, but I would not have believed it so.”
“Every man is said to have his price,” Simon remarked.
“True enough. But a wise officer knows the price of the men under him and uses them accordingly. These are mercenaries and can be bought in little things. But perhaps if the code still prevails, they will stand firm in battle for him who pays them. What is it?”
He asked that sharply for Simon had stopped, half swung around.
“We head wrong. It is to the east.”
Koris studied the street ahead. “There is an alley four doors from here. You are sure?”
“I am sure.”
Lest the sergeant of the gate be more astute than they judged him, they went at a slow pace, Simon being guided. The eastward alley led on into more streets. Simon sheltered in a doorway while Koris sniffed their back trail. In spite of his distinctive appearance the Captain knew how to take cover, and he came flitting back soon.
“If they have set any hound on us he is better than Estcarp’s best, and that I do not believe. So now let us get to earth before we are remarked to be remembered. East still it is?”
The dull pain in Simon’s head ebbed and flowed, he could use it as a “hot” and “cold” guide in a strange fashion. Then a particularly bad blast brought him to the mouth of a curving lane and he stepped within. It was walled with blank backs of buildings and what windows looked out on it were dark and curtained.
They quickened pace and Simon shot a glance at each window as they passed, fearing to see a face there. Then he saw it — the door of his vision. He was breathing a little hard as he paused before it, not from the exertion of pace, but rather from the turmoil inside him. He raised his fist and rapped on the solid portal.
When there was no answer he was absurdly disappointed. Then he pushed, to encounter a barrier which must be backed with bars.
“You are sure this is it?” Koris prodded.
“Yes!” There was no outer latch, nothing he could seize upon to force it open. Yet what he wanted, what had brought him there, was on its other side.
Koris stepped back a pace or two, measuring the height of the wall with his eye.
“Were it closer to dark we could mount this. But such a move now might be noted.”
Simon threw away caution and pounded, his assault on the wood that of a drum. Koris caught at his arm.
“Would you rouse out the Duke’s companies? Let us lay up in a tavern and come back at nightfall.”
“There is no need for that.”
Koris’ ax lifted from his shoulder. Simon’s hand was on his gun. The door showed a wedge of opening and that low, characterless voice had come through it to them.
A young man stood in that crevice between wood and brick. He was much shorter than Simon, less in inches even than Koris, and light of limb. The upper part of his face was overhung with the visor of a battle helm, and he wore mail without the badge of any lord.
From Simon he looked to the Captain, and the sight
of Koris appeared oddly to reassure him, for he stepped back and motioned them within. They came into a garden with brittle stalks of winter-killed flowers in precise beds, past a dry fountain rimmed with the mark of ancient scum where a stone bird with only half a beak searched endlessly for a water reflection which no longer existed.
Then another door into a house, and there the stream of light was a banner of welcome. The young man pushed before them, having sped from the barring of the wall door. But another stood to bid them enter.
Simon had seen this woman in rags as she fled from a pack of hunting hounds. And he had seen her in council, wearing the sober robes of her chosen order. He had ridden beside her when she went girt in mail with the Guards. Now she wore scarlet and gold, with gems on her fingers and a jeweled net coifing her short hair.
“Simon!” She did not hold out her hands to him, offered no other greeting save the naming of his name, yet he was warmed and at peace. “And Koris.” She voiced a gentle laughter which invited them both to are some private joke, and swept them the grand surtsy of a court lady. “Have you come, lords, to consult the Wise Woman of Kars?”
Koris grounded the half of his ax on the floor and dropped the saddle bags which had been looped over his wide shoulder. “We have come at your bidding, or rather your bidding to Simon. And what we do here is for your saying. Though it is good to know that you are safe.”
Simon only nodded. Once again he could not find the proper words to express feelings he shrank from defining too closely.
IV
LOVE POTION
Koris put down his goblet with a sigh. “First a bed such as no barracks ever boasted and then two meals like this. I have not tasted equal wine since I rode out of Estcarp. Nor have I feasted in such good company.”
The witch clapped her hands lightly. “Koris the courtier! And Koris and Simon the patient. Neither of you have yet asked what we do in Kars, though you have been a night and part of a day under this roof.”
“Under this roof,” Simon repeated thoughtfully. “Is this perchance the Estcarp embassy?”
She smiled. “Now that is clever of you, Simon. But, no, we are not official. There is an Estcarp embassy in Kars, housing a lord with impeccable background and not a single smell of witchcraft about him. He dines with the Duke upon formal occasions and provides a splendid representation of respectability. This house is located in quite a different quarter. What we do here—”
When she paused Koris asked lightly:
“I gather our aid is needed or Simon would not have had that aching head of his. Do we kidnap Yvian for your pleasure, or merely split a few skulls here and there?”
The young man who moved quietly, spoke little, but was always there, whom the witch named Briant and yet had not explained to the Guardsmen, reached for a dish of pastry balls. Stripped of the mail and helm he had worn at their first meeting, he was a slender, almost frail youngster, far too young to be well-schooled in the use of the weapons he bore. Yet there was a firm set to his mouth and chin, a steady purpose in his eyes which argued that the woman from Estcarp had perhaps chosen wisely in her recruiting after all.
“How, Briant,” she said to him now, “shall they bring us Yvian?” There was something approaching mischief in that inquiry.
He shrugged as he bit into the pastry. “If you wish to see him. I do not.” And that faint emphasis on the “I” was lost on neither of the men.
“No, it is not the Duke we plan to entertain. It is another member of his household, the Lady Aldis.”
Koris whistled. “Aldis! I would not think—”
“That we have any business with the Duke’s leman? Ah, you make the mistake of your sex there, Koris. There is a reason I wish to know more of Aldis, and an excellent one to urge her to come.”
“Those being?” prompted Simon.
“Her power within the duchy is founded upon Yvian’s favor alone. While she holds him to her bed she has what she wants most, not gauds and robes, but influence. Men who wish to further some scheme must seek out Aldis as a passage to the Duke’s ear, even if they are of the old nobility. As for women of rank — Aldis has repaid heavily many old slights.
“When she first climbed to Yvian’s notice the gauds and glitter sufficed, but through the years her power has come to mean more. Without that she is no better than a wench in a dockside tavern, as well she knows.”
“Does Yvian grow restive now?” Koris wanted to know.
“Yvian has wed.”
Simon watched the hand at the pastry dish. This time it did not complete its mission, but went instead to the goblet before Briant’s plate.
“We heard talk in the mountains of the wedding of Verlaine’s heiress.”
“Ax marriage,” the witch explained. “He has not seen his new bride yet.”
“And the present lady fears a competition. Is the lady of Verlaine then counted so beautiful?” Simon asked idly but he caught a sudden swift glance from Briant.
And it was the boy who answered. “She is not!” There was a note in that hot denial which baffled Simon with its bitter hurt. Who Briant was or where the witch had found him, they had no idea, but perhaps the boy had nursed a liking for the heiress and was disappointed by his loss.
The witch laughed. “That, too, may be a matter of opinion. But, yet, Simon, I think that Aldis does not lie easy of nights since she heard the decree read forth in Kars’ marketplace — wondering how long Yvian will continue to reach for her. In this state of mind she is ripe for our purpose.”
“I can see why the lady might seek aid,” Simon conceded, “but why yours?”
She was reproachful. “Though I do not go under my colors as a Woman of Power out of Estcarp, I have a small reputation in this city. It is not my first visit here. Men and women, especially women, are ever intrigued to hear of their futures. Two of Aldis’ waiting maids have come here in these past three days, armed with false names and falser stories. When I named them for what they are and told them a few facts, they went scuttling back wry-faced to their mistress. She will come soon enough, never fear.”
“But why do you want her? If her influence with Yvian is on the wane—” Koris shook his head. “I have never pretended to an understanding of women, but truly am I now in a maze. Gorm is our enemy — not Karsten, at least, not actively.”
“Gorm!” There was some emotion stirring behind the smooth facade of her face. “Here also Gorm finds roots.”
“What!” Koris’ hands slapped down hard on the table between them. “How comes Gorm to the duchy?”
“It is the other way around. Karsten goes to Gorm, or a part of her manpower does.” The witch, resting her chin upon her clasped hands, her elbows on the board, spoke earnestly.
“We saw at Sulcarkeep what the Kolder forces did to the men of Gorm, using them for war weapons. But Gorm is only a small island and when she was overrun many of her men must have died in battle before they could be… converted.”
“That is true!” Koris’ voice was savage. “They could not have netted too many captives.”
“Just so. And when Sulcarkeep fell Magnis Osberic must have taken with him the major parts of the invading force with the destruction of the hold. In that he served his people. Most of the trading fleet were at sea, and it is the custom of the Sulcarmen to carry their families with them on long voyages. Their haven on this continent is gone, but their nation lives and they can build again. Only, can the Kolder so easily replace the men they lost?”
“It must be that they lack manpower,” Simon half questioned, his mind busy with the possibilities that suggested.
“Which may be true. Or for some other reason they cannot or will not face us openly themselves. We know so little concerning the Kolder, even when they squat before our door. Now they are buying men.”
“But slaves are chancy as fighting men,” Simon pointed out. “Put weapons in their hands and you ask for revolt.”
“Simon, Simon, have you forgotten what manner of
men we flushed from ambush on the sea road? Ask yourself if they were ready for revolt. No, those who march to Kolder war drums have no will left in them. But this much is also true: for the past six months galleys have come to an island lying off the sea-mouth of Kars’ river and prisoners from Karsten are transferred to those ships. Some are from the prisons of the Duke, other men are swept up on the streets and docks, friendless men, or ones not to be missed.
“Such dealings cannot be kept secret forever. A whisper here, a sentence there — piece by piece we have gathered it. Men sold to the Kolder for Kolder purposes. And if thus it happens in Karsten, why not in Alizon? Now I can better understand why my mission there failed and how I was so speedily uncovered. If the Kolder have certain powers — as we believe that they do — they could stalk me or any such as me, as the hounds hunted us by scent on the moors.
“It is our belief now that the Kolder on Gorm are gathering a force to the purpose of invading the mainland. Perhaps on that day Karsten and Alizon shall both discover that they provided the weapons for their own defeat. That is why I deal with Aldis, we must know more of this filthy traffic with Gorm and it could not exist without the Duke’s knowledge and consent.”
Koris stirred restlessly. “Soldiers gossip also, lady. A round of wine shops made by a blank shield with tokens in his purse might bring us tidings in plenty.”
She looked dubious. “Yvian is far from stupid. He has his eyes and ears everywhere. Let one such as you appear in the wine shops you mention,Captain, and he shall hear of it.”
Koris did not appear worried. “Did not Koris of Gorm, a mercenary, lose his men and his reputation at Sulcarkeep? Doubt not that I shall have a good story to blat out if any should ask it of me. You,” he nodded to Simon, “had best lie close lest the tale we told to get through the gates trips us up. But how about the youngling here?” He grinned at Briant.
Somewhat to Simon’s surprise the generally sober-faced youth smiled back timidly. Then he looked to the witch as if for permission. And, equally to Simon’s astonishment, she gave it, with some of the same mischief she had shown earlier.