Andre Norton - Oak, Yew, Ash & Rowan 3 - A Crown Disowned

by A Crown Disowned(lit)

  Oakenkeep, home to his stepmother Ashen and her husband, Count Gaurin of the

  Nor-dors. Rohan and Anamara had double-layered capes over their lupperskin clothing, and Zazar wore the warm fur-lined cloak that Gaurin had given her.

  Rohan, his injured arm in a sling, had his sword slung on his back, and Anamara and Zazar took turns with the burden of his armor. All three carried pouches filled with trail food.

  Rohan was still a little unsteady—the effects of the shock of his injury, Zazar said—but determined that he would make it on his own. Now and then, when she was unencumbered, Anamara walked close beside him, and occasionally put his good arm over her shoulder in an effort to spare his carefully hoarded strength. He was grateful for the assistance, but unwilling to lean on her too heavily. Her own strength had not yet fully returned after the ordeal of madness inflicted on her.

  "Do you have any idea where the Sorceress has gone?" he asked Zazar the first evening of their journey.

  They had stopped close by a little copse of trees, where a small measure of shelter could be found. Zazar built a small fire and they warmed their dinner over it.

  "My guess is that she fled north, to where her true allegiance lies. Her last bit of evil had to be the enchantment on Anamara to make her think she was a bird. Flavielle wouldn't have had time for more."

  "Well, it was effective, if it was something she rushed through," Anamara said.

  "It's a wonder I didn't leap off a cliff, trying to fly."

  "You undoubtedly would have, if there had been such in the Bog where she left you," Zazar said. "You were quite a mess when Weyse and I began to work on you.

  You didn't speak, but merely whistled."

  As if she had been called, Weyse popped up from behind a bush and squeaked at them. Then she bounded ahead beyond the firelight and stopped, looking back over her shoulder.

  "I think she wants us to hurry," Rohan said.

  "With good reason," Zazar commented. "We're going as fast as we can," she told the furred one. "In fact, we're almost there. But we won't travel in the dark, so you might as well come back and be patient here with us."

  Despite Rohan's best intentions, they were another night on the way. But the next morning, shielding his eyes with his good hand, he could just make out the pennons flying from the topmost towers of the Oakenkeep, and their design, in the distance. "Good," he said. "That spring green one means that Gaurin is in residence, and not off on some errand, or hunting, or away at Rendelsham. Come on. We can pick up our pace a little, now that we're all but inside the gate."

  Nevertheless, it was more than an hour before Rohan and the two women reached the Oakenkeep. He was swaying on his feet, and gratefully accepted the assistance of the servants who came hurrying to show the guests up the stairs and into the Great Hall and notify the lord and lady that they had guests. The three newcomers went into the small area that had been screened off for warmth and privacy. Even more gratefully, Rohan sank into the big chair beside the hearth, not caring if it was the one Gaurin customarily occupied. Weyse hopped up onto his lap.

  Footsteps on the stairs, echoing in the vastness of the Hall, and then Gaurin and Ashen were greeting them. "Oh, you've been hurtl" Ashen exclaimed. She knelt beside Rohan, and cautiously examined the bandage on his arm. Then she looked up at Zazar. "How did this happen? And what is she doing here?"

  Anamara's cheeks, already reddened with the cold, turned scarlet. Rohan shook off Ashen's hands. He gently set Weyse down and, despite his fatigue, pushed himself to his feet.

  "She is here because, by some miracle, she is alive and I found her in the Bog."

  He turned to Gaurin. "Greetings, sir. I apologize for our intrusion."

  "It is no intrusion. Please get up, Ashen," he said. "We must greet our guests properly. Will you be staying with us for long?"

  "Yes," Ashen said, obviously struggling for civility. "Your apartment, as always, is ready for you, Zazar. And there are rooms available for all. I'll have Ayfare start warming them at once."

  "I'm staying for a good, long visit," Zazar announced. "At least until I think it's time to go back to the Bog. The Dowager Ysa tried to burn it down."

  "What!" Gaurin said, startled out of his usual composure.

  "That's what I said. Now, send for some heated wine or ale or juice or whatever you drink these days and let us all sit down so we can rest—we have been traveling on foot to get here, you know. Then, if Ashen can stop fussing and fretting and generally acting like somebody had just put sour-thistle berries in her soup, we'll tell you what's been happening."

  Gaurin laughed then, and kissed the Wysen-wyf's hand. "Madame Zazar, we can always count on you to get to the heart of matters. By all means, something hot to drink now. Later, Ayfare and her staff will have hot baths and warm woolen clothing for you. In the meantime, we will provide a respectful audience for your remarkable tale." He gestured to the stewards to begin carrying out his wishes. "Nalren, please ask the Dowager Rannore and Captain Lathrom to join us.

  I have a feeling this is something they need to hear as well."

  Nalren, who had been elevated to the rank of chief steward at the Oakenkeep, nodded and left immediately, taking the other servants with him. In a few moments, the Dowager Rannore, who now seemed to be a permanent resident, and

  Lathrom, captain of the soldiers under Gaurin's command, entered the little private place. Stewards had already set up the trestle table. With Gaurin and

  Ashen, they sat down and waited, silently, while the three newcomers related their almost incredible tales.

  "Well," Gaurin said in mild astonishment when they had finished. "You have, indeed, had some interesting adventures. What happens next?"

  "We must get to Rendelsham and confront the Dowager," Rohan said. "If these are the games she wants to play, we must make sure that she understands the cost.

  But before that, I want to marry my lady Anamara."

  "No—" Ashen said automatically. Gaurin looked at her, quirking one eyebrow, and her cheeks turned hot, but she persisted. "No. Absolutely not. She is not the right one for you."

  "She saved my life," Rohan said, "at the risk of her own. She loves me, and I love her. How else do you suppose that she could cling to life in the Bog, unless she was hoping that I would find her?"

  Ashen had no answer, but nevertheless she folded her lips firmly. The girl had made an unfavorable impression on her the first time she'd seen her, and her recent—well, enchantment was not too strong a word, when she thought she was a bird and had acted just as empty-headed—had not enhanced her in Ashen's sight.

  Rannore reached out and took one of her hands. "It is like a story out of a book," she said gently. "And it is very obvious that they do love each other.

  Surely you remember how it was, with you and Gaurin."

  The young Dowager, widow to the late King, mother of the present King, looked not at either Gaurin or Ashen, but at Lathrom, and her smile was answered by an upturning of his lips.

  Ashen glanced at Zazar for guidance, but the Wysen-wyf seemed entirely engrossed in taking a tangle out of Weyse's fur. Ashen knew her Protector was deliberately going to be of no help.

  Anamara sat silent, head bowed and hands clasped, but she peered up at Rohan through her eyelashes with such a look of adoration that Ashen felt she was intruding on a private moment. She also knew there was no gracious way to maintain her opposition. Rohan was a man grown, without need to beg.

  "Very well," she said reluctantly. "The girl has proved her mettle. If you want her, and she wants you, I will raise no further objection."

  Rohan got to his feet and lifted Anamara up also. Then they went and knelt before Ashen. "Thank you," Rohan said. "Though we could have wed without consulting you, nevertheless, I am glad that you accept our union."

  "If we could, I would like to be married here, at the Oak-enkeep," Anamara said shyly. "It is where I first began to come back to myself after, after—"

  "That is o
ver and done with," Ashen said. "We will not look backward, but forward from this moment on. We will have the wedding here."

  Gaurin got up in his turn and pulled Ashen to her feet and into his embrace.

  "That's the wonderful, level-headed Ashen I know," he said. He kissed her hair.

  "But we have no priest."

  "We can send for the good priest Esander," Ashen said. "Rohan needs a little time for further healing before embarking on marriage."

  "Esander? The one who married you two?" Rohan said. "That would be perfect. Make it soon, though, for I am nearly well already thanks to Granddam Zaz's medicines."

  "There'll be a messenger on the road within the hour," Gaurin said.

  Rannore and Lathrom glanced at each other. When she nodded, Lathrom spoke. "For that matter, sir, he might as well perform two ceremonies," he said.

  For the second time in as many hours, Gaurin was startled out of his composure.

  "Two?"

  "Aye. My lady here and I—well, we've decided that we'd marry at our first opportunity. We thought we'd have to wait until you returned to the capital city. It would be much better if we could do it somewhere else besides

  Rendelsham." He turned to Rohan. "We'd make it a different day, of course, so you wouldn't have to spare your special time."

  Rohan grinned and clasped the older man's hand with his good one. "We'll make it a double ceremony, and the sooner the better." Then his grin widened. "This whole thing will just about give old Ysa a seizure, won't it!"

  Gaurin frowned. "Perhaps that isn't a good idea," he said.

  "She always had a strong sense of propriety," Rannore said. Her eyes twinkled in turn. "I think she would be entirely outraged if I married someone she considered below my sta-tion." She turned toward her prospective husband and added softly, "No matter how I might feel about it."

  Ashen was no less startled than Gaurin. She had thought that if Lathrom married anyone, it would have been her former maid, Ayfare, now the Oakenkeep's head housekeeper. Yes, Rannore had remarked on Lathrom's attractive manliness, but

  Ashen had never imagined—

  From the entrance to the screened-off area, Nalren cleared his throat discreetly. "Your chambers are prepared," he said, "and tubs of steaming water await. I will see to your bath myself, Sir Rohan, so that you do not do any further damage to your wound."

  "No, I will," Lathrom said. "I practically raised the boy, you know."

  "Help me," Rohan said, looking pleadingly at Zazar.

  "Fend for yourself," she retorted. "This is one of the things I've been looking forward to, soaking my old bones in hot water and getting really warm for once.

  The Bog is too chilly and damp for me these days and I've no mind to let my tub get cold, cosseting you."

  Gaurin laughed out loud. "Resign yourself, Rohan," he said, his good nature entirely restored. "We'll have an early supper, some more talk about what's to be done about this new pastime of burning out the Bog the Dowager has embarked upon, and then tomorrow we'll start making wedding plans."

  The morning brought, however, yet another visitor to the Oakenkeep. Just as the residents were sitting down to their meal of rusks of fresh-baked bread and hot oaten porridge laced with honey, Nalren announced the newcomer.

  "The gentleman said to tell you it was Hynnel, sir," the steward said. "He says he knows you well, and you him."

  "And so I do!" Gaurin exclaimed. "Bring him in, bring him in. No, even better,

  I'll go and greet him."

  Suiting action to words, he arose from the table and, pausing only to fling a light mantle over his shoulders, rushed out of the vast Hall. There, in the frozen slush and snow at the foot of the stairs leading to the inner ward, a rather road-weary man and a troop of soldiers were dismounting. Ashen followed hastily, hugging her own mantle around her for warmth. More snow was falling.

  Nalren trailed behind.

  The two Nordorn men embraced heartily and, after the manner of their custom, kissed each other on the lips. "Oh, it has been so long," Hynnel said. "We've both grown up now. And just look at you—master of this great stronghold and a beautiful lady to wife!" He turned to Ashen, bowed, and took her hand to kiss it, but she forestalled him.

  "Gaurin has spoken to me often of you, his childhood companion, and his close kinsman," she said. She kissed him on the lips, as well. "Welcome, Prince

  Hynnel, son of Cyornas NordornKing, and a thousand times welcome."

  "Yes, close kinsmen indeed. Gaurin is my cousin, for his mother was my father's sister. If I hadn't been born, he would have been the heir—" A cloud went over

  Hynnel's face. "The truth is, I am no longer Prince, but King, of sorts. My country lies in ruins, the palace destroyed. And my father is no more."

  "That is sad news, though not unexpected," Gaurin said. "All knew that the first attack would come against King Cyornas, and that he would not refuse the challenge."

  "He made a good end, I am told," Hynnel said. "He had already sent me away for safekeeping, over my objections."

  "Well, you're here now, and that's what matters." Gaurin turned to Nalren. "All of Prince—King Hynnel's men are to be found lodgings in the barracks, and their horses stabled. Let all be fed well, for they are our honored guests. And you will come with me, Hynnel, for there are others inside that I want you to meet.

  Your voice will be valuable as we decide on what course to take when we go to

  Rendelsham, our capital city."

  "I passed close by," Hynnel said, "but I did not tarry except long enough to learn where you were living."

  "We are in a precarious situation," Gaurin said. "But that talk will come later.

  Now, come and eat. Our fare is plain, but hearty."

  "That suits me well," the exiled King said. Then all three climbed the stairs to return to the Oakenkeep Hall and the warmth of the screened-off little room near the fireplace.

  As they went, Ashen examined the newcomer, her royal kinsman by marriage, hoping that she was not being too obvious in her scrutiny. There was a definite resemblance between them, with the honey-colored hair and skin, and it was plain that they were blood cousins. And yet there were differences. Hynnel had been born to be a king, but in a council, it would be to Gaurin that men would turn when they sought a strong voice.

  All the ones at the table, even the Dowager Rannore, would have risen from their seats when King Hynnel was introduced to them, but he stopped them with an uplifted hand. "My title is meaningless," he said. "When I am in Rendel—or, let the Great Ones allow—while I am fighting against our common enemies, I am just

  Hynnel, a man of the Nordors, and one of you. Time enough later, when we prevail—if we prevail—for the ceremonies and trappings of kingship."

  "As I recall, your father wasn't much for the trappings of kingship either,"

  Gaurin said. He seated Hynnel on his right. Rohan hastily shifted farther down on the bench to accommodate the newcomer. Hynnel looked askance at his rustic appearance, but made no comment.

  "We escaped from a fire in the Bog that destroyed our belongings. Granddam Zaz gave us these." Rohan indicated the lupperskin clothing, which now looked out of place in their surroundings.

  "Ah. I see. Very practical. Well, as for my father, Cyornas NordornKing thought ceremony was a waste of time and never bothered except when the occasion demanded," Hynnel said. He accepted a big bowl of steaming porridge and poured hot milk over it. "This looks delicious. We've been up well before dawn, wanting to get on the road and not risk freezing as we slept."

  "But the Nordorn regions are known for their cold climes," Ashen said as she picked up her spoon. Her porridge had chilled, and had a thin skin over the top.

  Nalren unobtrusively replaced her bowl and Gaurin's with fresh ones that steamed even in the warm air of the little screened-off dining room. "Surely you had little to fear, in more hospitable lands."

  "Yes," Hynnel said around a mouthful of bread lavishly spread with honey and
butter. "But this kind of cold is different. It is, well, malignant if I am explaining it right. It seeks you out, even here in the south." He glanced around at his surroundings. "It disguises itself so it can find you in an ordinary winter—which this is not. In fact, it is springtime, isn't it?"

  "Almost summer."

  "Yes. Well, in an ordinary winter, this little room that you have created would be almost too warm, with the great fireplace and all. Now it barely keeps the edge off the chill."

  "I can imagine how much worse it is in the north, closer to the source," Ashen said.

  "I don't have to imagine," Zazar said around a mouthful of porridge. "I've been there. In a way."