Andre Norton - Oak, Yew, Ash & Rowan 1 - To The King A Daughter

by To The King A Daughter(lit)

  Obern!

  The more she thought about it, the more perfect the scheme became in her mind.

  Of course it must be Obern. He was, if not of royal blood, at least of high birth as the Sea-Rovers counted such things. And his people were already invested in the Ashenhold; it would be only fitting that they join with the one remaining heiress in order to strengthen their own claim. Further, she had seen the glances that had passed between Ashen and Obern, and knew that such a match would not be displeasing to either.

  Yes, she must arrange, somehow, for the other players in this grotesque drama to decide to marry Ashen to Obern. And furthermore, she must be clever enough to make them think it was all their idea. The Queen, of course. And Royance. He could be managed easily. She had seen how Royance had looked at her.

  Her lips twisted. And if it turned out that the way of the Sea-Rovers was not as refined as that of Rendel, then it was no matter. Ashen would not recognize the difference.

  She arose from her chair and began walking back and forth, running her hands along her body. Once all this had been accomplished, she thought, then would be the time to remind Harous that she, Marcala, was still there, waiting and eager.

  Harous had always behaved properly toward her. That would change. She resolved to show him that very night some of the delectable personal advantages of choosing her over Ashen. Once she had merely disliked the girl; now she hated her as much as she loved Harous.

  Ashen was very excited when she was informed that Harous and some of the members of his establishment were going to be moving to the capital city for a while.

  She rushed to Marcala with the news, finding her in the solar occupied with embroidering a lady's handbag. "What should I do? What should I take with me?

  What are you going to take?"

  "Nothing," Marcala said stiffly. "I was not invited to accompany you. [ have been instructed to stay here and oversee Cragden Keep while Lord Harous is away."

  "Oh," Ashen said, a little taken aback by Marcala's coldness. "But surely—surely this is a position of great responsibility! It shows how much Harous relies upon you."

  Marcala set aside her embroidery with a show of indifference. "Yes, I suppose it does. Lord Harous instructed me to help you."

  "Yes, yes he did. But if it is an inconvenience—"

  "No inconvenience at all. Send a servant for boxes. We must see to it that when you are seen in Rendelsham, you do us all credit."

  Overdresses, underdresses, hairpins, ornaments, shoes and stockings. Rouge and perfume. There was so much to take! Ashen had never had to worry about wardrobe matters before, other than to make sure that her leg armor was intact and her lupper-skin garments without rents. Now it seemed that enough boxes could not be found to hold all the belongings she would need for what was bound to be a short stay in Harous's town residence. And yet Marcala insisted that she pack at least six overdresses and a dozen underdresses.

  "Be sure to take this one," Marcala said, holding up the blue gown that had been one of Harous's first gifts to Ashen. "It is by far your finest and you will need it."

  "Why?"

  "There's to be a banquet—a feast—and the most important people in the Kingdom will be there. Just to meet you."

  Ashen's cheeks grew warm with embarrassment. "I am nothing, and nobody. Why should anyone want to meet me?"

  "I do not know." The other woman frowned, and then cleared her face.

  "Nevertheless, I am instructed that you be presented to them in as fine a fashion as I can devise. Be sure to take your jewels, the ones set with sapphires. Especially the necklace. I will send Ayfare with you, as your maid."

  Ashen nodded. "Thank you, Lady Marcala, for all your help."

  "Don't forget your table manners," the other admonished, then turned away, dismissing Ashen.

  Ashen wanted to assure Marcala that there was nothing untoward about her relationship with Harous, but did not know how to go about it. She reached out one hand, but stopped herself before she could touch the other woman's forearm.

  She felt certain that Marcala might slap her gesture away—or worse. This woman had never been her friend, nor would she ever be. Ashen had to accept that fact.

  This new coldness told her that Marcala was now, inexplicably, her enemy.

  A surprising number of people made up the entourage. Ashen initially rode in a carriage, surrounded by the boxes filled with her belongings, but the poor springs and jouncing ride prompted her quickly to mount a horse instead. She couldn't help thinking that here it seemed a noble's worth was rated by how many servants and retainers were necessary for only a short journey. Zazar, by contrast, had made do very well with just Kazi. To Ashen's mild surprise, she saw Obern riding toward the back, in the company of some of Count Harous's guard. But then, she thought, since we are both in the awkward position of being not quite a guest but more than a prisoner, it seems reasonable that he should come, too. She occasionally dropped back to ride with him, pleased to see that he continued to mend well.

  It was a pleasant journey at a leisurely pace to the city. Ashen's troubles diminished for a while and her heart beat faster as they actually passed through the low town. She spurred her horse to catch up with Harous. They went through the city gate and past a spectacular building—one of the lesser fanes, Harous told her. Then they approached the great castle; even as they drew near it resembled an elaborate creation by a talented pastry chef.

  "Who lives in the tall towers?" she asked Harous. She craned her neck so that she was almost in danger of falling off her mount.

  Harous reached out one arm to steady her. "Nobody actually lives there. They once were used as watch-towers. From the highest one, you can see almost from one end of Rendel to the other."

  Ashen found that easy to believe. As they rode through the city, she felt that she could never have imagined these fine buildings. Surely this must be how the ruins in the Bog had once looked when they were new and fair and proud.

  "Where is your house?" she asked Harous.

  "Just here."

  The little entourage drew up at the doorway to an exceptionally fine structure, a small fortification in itself, located at the base of the ramp that led up to the castle. It was fitting, Ashen thought, that the one who guards the city at

  Cragden Keep would also guard the entrance to where the mighty ones resided. She looked at Harous with new respect.

  "Later I will take you into the castle. There is the Great Fane of the Glowing within the walls, and the courtyard where stand the Four Trees."

  "What trees?"

  "Those that symbolize the four Great Houses of Ren-del—Oak, Yew, Ash, and

  Rowan."

  Suddenly Ashen remembered the moment when Zazar had traced the sparkling outlines of certain leaves and how she, Ashen, had correctly identified them without ever having seen them before. Could these be the same? The sources from which Zazar had drawn?

  "Yes," she told Harous. "I would like to see all of that. Will we go tomorrow?"

  Harous laughed. "No," he said. "But soon. I promise. First the banquet, where you will meet the nobles. Then I will show you whatever you want to see."

  "When? When is this banquet?"

  'Tomorrow at midday. This afternoon and evening, you must rest so that you will be at your most beautiful."

  Then she fell silent, as she always did when Harous— or anyone else—commented on her appearance. Unbidden, the question came to mind as to whether she would react that way if Obern noticed how she looked. Then she pushed the thought away.

  Within an hour, she was established in the guest rooms of Harous's residence, and Ayfare had put all her things to rights. It was almost as if she had lived here all her life. She thought about disobeying Harous and slipping out so that she could explore as she willed, but the Count had stationed guards at every gate. She had to satisfy her curiosity with taking the walkway atop the walls, from which she could see much, but not nearly all that she wanted to.

&n
bsp; Soon enough, the appointed hour for the grand feast arrived. Ayfare had worked diligently over Ashen's appearance, not satisfied until every detail was just so, bathing her and washing her hair until it shone like new gold. Even Ashen, slightly weary before, had to agree that she looked nearly as impressive as her surroundings. In the image that looked back at her from the long wall mirror, she could find scarcely a trace of the Bog-blossom that Harous had netted and taken from that soaked land to the south. As a final touch, she fastened the sapphire earrings, and Ayfare clasped the necklace about her neck, where it rested at just the correct, fashionable length to set off the neckline of the blue dress. She touched her neck, wrists, and the rise of her bosom with the perfume made from the blue flowers, enjoying the scent.

  Then, alone, as Harous had unaccountably commanded her, she nervously descended the stairway and entered the Hall.

  Seven men already sat at a long table, Harous among them. A single small table, with chair, had been placed in front, where the occupant could see each of the seven men and be seen by them. Even before seating herself, Ashen felt like a specimen on display. She turned wary, suspicious, and almost didn't hear all the names as Harous indicated each man in turn. Edgard, deputy for Erft of the House of Rowan; Gattor of Bilth; Royance of Grattenbor; Valk of Mimon; Jakar of

  Vacaster; Liffen of Lerkland— the names swam in her head, and she put them together with the faces only with difficulty.

  Almost immediately, the men, with the exception of Harous, began asking her questions. Who was she? Where had she come from? How had she been reared? By whom? How had she been spared the fate of Outlanders in the Bog? Instinctively, she answered with caution, relating only enough to satisfy the questioner. Once, as she spoke in answer, she thought about Marcala's admonition to watch her table manners. There was no chance of disgracing herself or her host; as each sumptuous course came and went, Ashen found herself too busy answering the never-ending flood of questions from these rather awesome and harsh- featured men. Her appetite had vanished entirely and she only toyed with her food.

  It didn't help any that she realized early that some of these stern-faced lords questioning her so relentlessly did so with more than a trace of hostility. Why?

  Some of her inner turmoil was now strengthened by anger—they didn't even know her, after all! However, she continued to answer very circumspectly, weighing every reply as she spoke never more than what was necessary.

  Harous interrupted the relentless stream of questions with one more, kindly put.

  "Please tell my friends about how and under what circumstances you met the man from the sea. This man," he said, turning to the other men, "is here with me. I will send for him presently."

  Relaxing a little, Ashen gladly told the full tale of her meeting with Obern—how she had seen him fall and how she had helped him. "It was a chance meeting only, my lords," she said. "I know very little of him, except that he seems a good man."

  The stout man, the one with the sleepy eyes—Gattor— roused himself at this point. "What is that ornament you wear about your neck?" he asked.

  "It is a gift from Count Harous," Ashen replied. "He said it was a badge of my

  House. Beyond that, I know not what it might represent."

  Gattor laughed, looking sideways down the table at Harous. "Sly to the end, aren't you?" he said. "Well, such caution has always proved productive in the past, and so now as well." With that, he levered his thick body out of his chair, came around the table, and bowed low before Ashen. "My compliments, dear lady." Then he left, with no other word, not even to his host.

  One by one, the rest of the men—all but Harous and the silver-haired one,

  Royance—did likewise, to Ashen's complete and utter bewilderment; they seemed suddenly to have lost all interest in her and in the matters they had been so eager to learn of.

  When they had taken their leave, Harous turned to Royance. "I think it is time to bring Obern to you, my lord," he said. He signaled one of the guards, and presently Obern came into the Hall. "Have you eaten?" Harous asked courteously.

  "Yes, I have. With your men." One eyebrow raised, Obern looked over the remains of the feast—a goose roasted in its feathers, a small boar basted with honey-sauce as it cooked, various pastries and pies.

  "Nevertheless, fill a platter and join us while you tell us your tale. As I recall, you made petition to me, but there was no time then, a circumstance for which I apologize. Now there is time."

  "I had thought to ask only that I be allowed to go out on patrol with your men,"

  Obern said. He cut off a generous portion of boar meat and began eating with every indication of a good appetite, if a bit awkwardly because of the sling he still wore.

  "Your arm is not yet fully mended," Harous said. "You could neither ride hard nor fight."

  "That will change in just a few days. Now I see that there are weightier matters occupying high-placed men, and that I may hold some part in the outcome, though

  I do not know what it might be."

  "My men tell me that you claim to be a kind of Prince among your people,"

  Royance said.

  Harous looked at the older man in some surprise. "You have a good spy system," he said.

  'To survive as long as I have, it is a necessity." He nodded at Obern. "Is this true? Are you a Prince?"

  "My father is the High Chieftain of the Sea-Rovers who now live in New Void—a place that once was called Ash-enhold, so we were informed—and the keep that was deserted. I do not know if that makes me a Prince. I have always been little more than my father's backshield."

  "But a person of some little consequence nonetheless," Royance said. 'Thank you,

  Obern. Please consider yourself an honored guest not only of Count Harous, but of myself as well. My favor is not something to be taken lightly."

  "And so I thank you."

  There was a silence, and Obern, realizing that his part in this day's mysterious events was finished, rose from his place. He nodded, and then left the way he had come.

  The two men remaining at the table sat without speaking. Royance called for another flagon of wine and sipped at it thoughtfully while he toyed with a small bunch of grapes and a slab of new cheese.

  Abruptly, he set all before him aside. "I agree, Lord Harous—now that I have seen her and talked with her. You brought her here to show us all what and who she is. You saw it first, and now all the Council knows as well. Even if the summons had not come, we must go to the palace," he said. He rose in turn and held out his hand to Ashen. "Come with me, my child. There is someone that you need to meet, before it is too late."

  King Boroth's bedchamber was even more crowded with courtiers and hangers-on than ever. Ysa had had a small chair placed on the dais where the King's bed was located, and she sat close by, gazing at her dying husband.

  For it was clear, even to the most optimistic, that the King's last moments were fast approaching. With a tinge of annoyance, Ysa noted that the Council members were not present. And then five of them came in together. But where was Royance?

  And Harous? Had Royance's loyalty turned? Without him-—-She refused to think of that possibility. He must be true, and only something of the utmost importance would have delayed him from Boroth's bedside at this most crucial moment. And

  Florian—

  The thought was parent to the deed. Florian came parading in, flanked by his favorites and frivols, their demeanor anything but apt for their presence in the bedchamber of a dying man. The Prince took hold of Master Lorgan's sleeve. "How much longer will the King live?" he asked. There was a note of impatience in the

  Prince's tone that angered Ysa. She turned on her son.

  "Hold your tongue," she said in a tone that was like a serpent striking. "Surely you can wait long enough for him to breathe his last before you climb onto a throne that is far too big for you."

  The Prince opened his mouth to speak, but another small group of people entering the death chamber
interrupted whatever he was going to say. He goggled at them, silent for once.

  It was Royance, followed by Harous and a stranger, a girl. Royance rapped with his staff on the floor for attention. "Let all know," he said in a voice that filled the room, "that as long as our gracious Queen wears the four Rings, the ancient power that I have sworn to uphold is in force! All that I do is for her." Then he bowed to her and moved to one side.

  The noise of the staff against the floor must have roused the dying King, for he suddenly sat straight up in bed, staring at the young woman now revealed. Tears filled his eyes and began running down his cheeks. Trembling, he stretched out his hands.

  Ysa reached for him, gathering his hands in hers, and began to recite the litany of the Rings. But the King paid no attention. He wrested his hands away to hold out his arms as if in greeting. In a shaken voice, yet loud enough for all to hear, he addressed the girl standing with Harous and Royance.