The Born Queen tkotab-4

by Greg Keyes

  But Fail looked old now. He seemed to have shrunk a bit. It unsettled Neil.

  "It does," he agreed, tracing his gaze along the stout bastions of white stone.

  "I lived there for a time," Alis Berrye said.

  "Did you?" Muriele asked.

  "When I was eight. I stayed here with an uncle for a few months. I remember a pretty park in the midst of the city, with a fountain and the statue of Saint Nethune."

  Neil studied Alis from the corner of his eye. Her tone was light, but a little pucker between her eyes made him guess the young woman was trying to remember more: how the streets were laid out, where the gates were, anything that might help her protect and defend Muriele. For despite her youth, charm, and beauty, if the petite brunette was anything like her predecessor, she was dangerous, and the more knowledge she had, the more dangerous she could be.

  Neil wasn't sure he trusted her. Her past did not speak well of her.

  He suddenly found Alis staring straight into his eyes and felt a flush on his face.

  I caught you, she mouthed, then smiled cheerfully.

  "Stout walls, anyway," he said, sheepishly returning her smile.

  "This poor city has changed hands so often, I wonder why they bother with walls," Muriele remarked. She stood a bit in her stirrups. "Ah," she said. "Here we are."

  Neil saw him, coming through the Hanzish ranks, a large man mounted on a charger in gleaming barding enameled black and sanguine. He wore a breastplate made in the same colors displaying an eagle stooping. It looked more ceremonial than useful. A cloak of white bearskin hung on his shoulders, and his oiled sealskin boots gleamed.

  Neil knew him. He'd first seen that pink, corpulent face at his own introduction to the court of Eslen. It was the Archgreft Valamhar of Aradal, once ambassador to the court of Crotheny.

  "Saint Rooster's balls," Fail muttered under his breath.

  "Hush," Muriele hissed, then raised her voice.

  "Archgreft."

  The Hanzish lord nodded and dismounted, aided by four of the eight young men in his livery who had come with him to the field. Then he took a knee.

  "Majesty," he said. "I must say, I am glad the Ansus have kept you well. I worried and prayed for you during your captivity."

  "I'm sorry you were troubled," Muriele told him. "I do so dislike being the cause of disturbance."

  Aradal smiled uncertainly. "Well, I am all better now," he replied.

  "Yes. And rather camped in one of our cities," she said, nodding at Copenwis.

  "Oh, yes, that," Aradal said. "I'm thinking that is what you've come to discuss."

  "You are as brilliant as ever, my lord," she replied.

  "Well, it must be the company I keep," he said.

  "Perhaps," Muriele replied. "In any event, yes, I've been empowered by Empress Anne to take the terms of your withdrawal from our northern port."

  "Well, Majesty, that's a bit sticky," Aradal said. "You see, we had the king's permission to take Copenwis under our protection."

  "By king you mean my brother-in-law Robert?" Muriele asked. "Robert was a usurper, never a lawful sovereign, so that's easily cleared up. His word never came from the crown, and so you've no right or reason to be here."

  Aradal scratched his ear. "It's rather more complicated than that, don't you think?"

  The queen drew back a bit. "I don't see how. Take your fleet and your men and go home, Aradal."

  "Well, they aren't my men or my fleet, are they, Majesty? They belong to His Majesty Marcomir III, and he recognizes Robert as king and emperor of Crotheny."

  "If you've given shelter to that hell-hearted bastard-" Fail began, but Muriele silenced him with a frown before turning back to the archgreft.

  "If Robert has taken refuge with your liege, that is another matter," she said, her voice sounding a bit strained. "But for now, I think bringing our countries back from the brink of war should do."

  Aradal lowered his voice. "Majesty, you assume that war is to be prevented. I rather think it will happen."

  "Marcomir's avarice has been known for a long time," Muriele said, "but-"

  Aradal shook his head. "No, there is more to it than that, Majesty. Your daughter has murdered churchmen, Muriele. William defied the Church, but Anne has denied and attacked it. Our people are devout, and the signs are all around us. There are those who say that it is not enough to conquer Crotheny; they say it must be cleansed." His voice lowered further. "Majesty, I have tried to tell you before, I am friendly to you. Take your daughter and those you care for and go to Virgenya or someplace even farther. I…" He broke off. "I have said too much."

  "You will do nothing?"

  "I can do nothing."

  Muriele shrugged. "Very well. Then I must speak with Marcomir."

  Aradal's brows raised. "Lady…"

  "By the most ancient law of nations, by the covenant the free peoples created when the Skasloi were destroyed, you must provide me safe passage to the court of your king, and you must conduct me safely out of it. Even the Church itself cannot subvert that most basic law."

  Aradal's cheek twitched.

  "Can you do that? Can you uphold the ancient covenant?"

  "I can give you my word," he finally said. "But my word does not travel very far from me these days."

  The queen's eyes widened. "You cannot be implying that Marcomir would kill me or take me prisoner."

  "I am saying, lady, that the world has gone mad, and I can promise nothing. My liege is a man of law, I assure you, and I would stake my life that he would not treat you ill."

  "But?"

  "But I can promise nothing."

  Muriele took a deep breath and let it out. Then she straightened and spoke in her most courtly tones. "Will you arrange for my party to travel to the court under flag of truce so that I can press the case for peace before His Majesty? Will you do that, Archgreft?"

  Aradal tried to meet her gaze and failed, but then something strengthened in him, and he lifted his head. "I will," he replied.

  "I will return in the morning with my chosen companions," she said.

  "No more than fifteen," he said.

  "That will be sufficient," Muriele assured him.

  On another day the Maog Voast plain might have seemed pretty, Neil reflected. Four months had passed since his wounding in the battle for the waerd. It was the fifteenth of Ponthmen, and summer was just coming into its own. The fields were glorious with the white spires of lady's traces, yellow oxeyes, purple thrift, and a rainbow's hoard of flowers he didn't recognize. They mingled their sweet scents with that of wild rosemary, bee fennel, and something that reminded him of apple, although there were no trees in sight on the flat landscape. Still, the riding of a league was a long time for Neil to have the army of Hansa at his back, and he glanced behind often despite the lack of cover for an ambush. But that lack of cover went two ways, and Neil felt rather as a mouse might, wondering if a hawk was about to come out of the sun.

  Muriele noticed.

  "I don't think they'll attack us, Sir Neil," she said.

  "No," Fail snapped. "Why should they when you'll deliver yourself to them tomorrow?"

  "The old law-"

  "Even Aradal won't vouch for its keeping," the duke pointed out.

  "Niece, you've just escaped one prison. Why must you hurry back into another? They'll hold you hostage to better bargain with Anne. Lady Berrye, reason with her."

  Alis shrugged. "I serve at the pleasure of Queen Muriele," she said. "I find her reasonable enough."

  "And don't forget, we have hostages of our own," Muriele added.

  "Schalksweih?" Fail muttered. "How could I forget? It was I took him captive and his ship a prize. But against you…"

  "He's a favorite of Marcomir's," she said. "They have sued for his release."

  Fail looked heavenward, shaking his head.

  "Why are you really doing this, dove?"

  "What else should I do? Knit stockings while my daughter rides into batt
le? Arrange flowers as army after army arrays against us?"

  "Why not, Majesty?" Neil interjected.

  "Excuse me, Sir Neil?"

  "Why not?" he repeated "The fleet of Hansa is inside our borders, and their land army is on the march. What can you say that will deter them? Sir Fail is right: You've suffered enough, milady."

  "How much I've suffered is not at issue," Muriele countered. "And although I'm not flattered by your opinion of my political abilities, I see a chance to stop this war, and I will take it. I've discussed this with Anne. She will not yield one grain of our dirt if I am taken hostage."

  "She fought like a demon to retrieve you from Robert," Fail pointed out. "Things have changed," Muriele said.

  Anne has changed, Neil reflected. Muriele was probably right in that: The empress would not be intimidated even by threats to her own mother.

  He wondered where she was now: on the throne or off killing churchmen. The latter had become almost a sport to her.

  "Well," Fail said. "I'll go."

  "One of our best sea commanders? It's out of the question. You're needed here, guarding our waves. Anyway, the strain of keeping your sword sheathed would split the vein on your forehead. You're not much of a diplomat, Uncle."

  "And you are?"

  She shrugged. "I've seen it done, and I have the station for it, even though I am a woman." She paused. "Anne wants me to go, Uncle. One of her visions. She says there's a chance."

  "Visions," he snorted.

  "She knew you were coming with the fleet," Neil said. "She knew when. It's why we knew we had to take down Thornrath so quickly."

  "Aye," Fail muttered, chewing his lip. "Maybe her visions are true. But your own daughter, sending you to the viper's den-it's hard to fathom."

  "Majesty," Neil said. "I know I'm not much use-"

  "Oh, you're going," Muriele said. "Why do you think you're here? If it were my decision, you would still be abed."

  Neil frowned. "You mean to say the empress wants me to go to Hansa?"

  "She was quite adamant about it."

  "I see."

  Muriele shifted in her saddle.

  "Do you feel slighted, not being in her guard?" she asked.

  That took him by surprise. "Milady?"

  "Are you disappointed at being returned to my service?" she amplified.

  He shook his head. "Majesty, I always considered myself in your service. When I was guarding Anne, I was following your orders. I am your man and do not hope to be anyone else's."

  He didn't add that he found Anne more than a little uncanny, and although he knew firsthand that some in the Church had turned to darkness, he was happy not to be directly involved in Anne's vendetta against z'Irbina.

  Muriele took in his speech without a hint of changed expression, then nodded slightly.

  "Very well. Once we return to camp, pick the men who will accompany us. In the morning we'll begin our journey to Hansa."

  Neil nodded and began thinking about who to take along.

  More than ever, he felt like prey beneath a hunter sky.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE END OF A REST

  ASPAR WHITE tried to match his breath to the faint breeze through the forest fringe, to be as still as a stump as the monster approached. It was just a shape at the moment, about twice the size of a horse and slouching through the narrow white boles of the aspens. But he smelled autumn leaves although it was high summer, and when its eyes glittered like blue lightning through the branches, he felt the poison in its blood.

  It wasn't a surprise. The world was made of monsters now, and he had fought plenty. Sceat, he'd met their mother.

  A few jays were shrieking at the thing, but most of the other bird sounds were gone, because most birds weren't as blind, stupid, brave as jays.

  Maybe it'll just go by, he thought. Maybe it'll just pass on by.

  He was already tired; that was the damned thing. His leg ached, and his lungs hurt. His muscles were all soft, and his vision kept going blurry.

  Half a bell he'd been out there, at the most, working himself no harder than a baby taking pap. Just looking across the meadow.

  Pass, he thought. I don't care what you are or where you're going. Just pass.

  But it didn't, of course. Instead, he heard it pause and snuffle and then saw the actinic flash of its eyes. It stepped from the trees and into the field, moving toward Aspar as he waited in the cover of the trees on his side.

  "Hello, luvileh," he muttered, quickly thrusting four more arrows into the soft earth before him. No point imitating a stump anymore.

  It was something new, not a monster he had seen before. From a distance, the thing resembled a bull crossed with a hedgehog. Bony spines bristled from it everywhere, and it was massively front-heavy, with colossal bunches of muscle above forelegs easily twice as long as the hind legs. Its head was blocky, with a single horn spearing forward so that it looked almost like an anvil. The eyes were set deep in bony plate.

  He had no idea what to call it. Besides the eyes, he didn't see anything that might be soft.

  It bellowed, and he noticed sharp teeth. Were all sedhmhari carnivores? He hadn't met one that wasn't.

  "You make pretty babies, Sarnwood witch," he grunted.

  And here it came.

  His first shot skittered off the armored skull, as did the second. The third lodged in the eye socket-or he thought it did, but after a heartbeat it fell out, and the eye was still there.

  It was fast and even bigger than he'd thought. It bellowed again, a sound so loud that it hurt his ears. He had time for one more arrow but knew even as he released it that it was going wide of the eye. The monster bounded even faster, hit the ground, and crouched for the final leap, its forelimbs lifted up almost like a man's, reaching for him…

  Then the ground collapsed beneath it, and this time it shrieked in surprise and anger as it fell hard onto the sharpened stakes four kingsyards below. A catch snapped above Aspar, releasing a sharpened beam that had been suspended above the pit. He couldn't see it hit but heard a fleshy thud.

  Aspar let out a long breath, but an instant later a massive paw-a thick-fingered hand, really-clawed up over the edge of the hole. Aspar scooted back against a tree and used his bow to lever himself up.

  The other hand came up, followed by the head. He saw even more of a family resemblance to the utin he once had fought, but if it could speak, it didn't. It strained, blood blowing from its nostrils, and began to crawl from the pit.

  "Leshya!" Aspar snapped.

  "Here," he heard her say. He felt the wind as another massive log came swinging down, this one aimed to skim along just above the trap. It hit the beast in the horn, crushing it back into its skull, and it vanished into the hole again.

  Aspar turned at Leshya's soft approach. Her violet eyes peered at him from beneath her broad-brimmed hat.

  "You're all right?" she lilted.

  "No worse than I was this morning," he replied. "Aside from the indignity of being bait."

  She shrugged. "Should have thought of that before you went and got your leg broken."

  She walked over to the pit, and Aspar limped after her to see.

  It didn't know it was dead yet. Its flanks were still heaving, and the hind legs twitching. But the head was cracked like an egg, and Aspar didn't imagine it would breathe much longer.

  "What in Grim's name do we call that?" he grunted.

  "I remember stories about something like this," she said. "I think it was called a mhertyesvher."

  "That the Skaslos name for it?"

  "I couldn't pronounce the Skaslos name for it," she replied.

  "Notwithstandin' that you are one," he said.

  "I was born in this shape, with this tongue," she said. "I've never heard the language of the Skasloi. I've told you that."

  "Yah," Aspar assented. "You've told me." He looked back at the dying beast and rubbed the stubble on his chin. "Well," he mused, "I think it's a manticore."

&nb
sp; "As good a name as any," she said. "Now, why don't we go rest."

  "I'm not tired," Aspar lied.

  "Well, there's no reason to stay here. It'll be days before the poison clears out, even if it rains."

  "Yah," Aspar agreed.

  "Come on, then."

  He slung the bow on his back and looked around for his crutch, only to find Leshya holding it out for him. He took it silently, and they began walking back through the trees. It got harder when the slope turned upward, and they followed a little switchback trail up an ever-steepening way. At last it opened onto a rocky ridge that gave a good view of the scatters of forest and meadow below. A deep ravine fell from the other side of the crest, and across that, white-capped mountains rose against the turquoise sky. The western horizon was also bounded in peaks. With their back to the chasm and a view for leagues in every other direction, it was here they usually spotted the monsters when they came; that was why Leshya had picked the spot to build the shelter. It had started as a lean-to made of branches, but now it was a comfortable little four-post house with birch-bark roof.

  Aspar didn't remember the building of it; he'd been deep in the land of Black Mary, in and out of a fever that jumbled three months into a haze of images and pain. When it was finally gone, it left him so weak that even without a broken leg he couldn't have walked. Leshya had tended him, built traps, fought the monsters that appeared more and more frequently.

  The climb left him winded, and he sat on a log, looking out over the valley below.

  "It's time to go," he said.

  "You aren't ready to travel," Leshya said, poking the banking of the morning's fire, looking for embers.

  "I'm ready," he said.

  "I don't think so."