“May the Goddess preserve her!”
There was a shout from the kedran watching; the dust had been laid, on the plain, by a cold light rain. In among the Durgashen the troopers of Mel’Nir could be seen now as a solid body. They were steadily gaining the advantage, pressing the tribes back along the road to Vigrund. Some of the Durgashen, hard-pressed, had begun to fly the field.
Nearer at hand the cavalry of the Nureshen had reformed, and they charged again, a last charge, at the earthwork, which their foot soldiers had almost been able to hold. Now they were bringing out those who were left, saving what could be saved.
Aidris said to the young kedran officer whose name was Gefion, “The battle is lost!”
“Not so, my Queen,” she replied seriously. “Undecided. Mel’Nir have their flank unprotected . . . see there, can you see?”
Aidris could see the beaten horde of the Durgashen and the Ingari flow away from the southern flank of Mel’Nir. The kedran charged at last. It was too far away for the watchers on the barrow to see clearly. The kedran, fresh and disciplined, came down upon the troopers, tired from the close combat. The white ranks of Mel’Nir bulged and heaved, trying to turn and reform. Those who had pursued the Durgashen too far along the road to Vigrund were surrounded and brought down. She saw the great battle horses for the first time running riderless upon the plain. When one broke down to its knees, the gleaners rushed in at once and killed it with axe and sword, then ran back to their lines drenched in dark blood. She watched still, lips drawn back in a grimace. The troopers did reform and rode back to their lines. The kedran charged at their flanks again and again, then they came under a rain of arrows covering the retreat of Mel’Nir, and the action was broken off.
She stood aching in the rain and cold and drank apple wine that the kedran handed to her. Riders came up onto the barrow. Before she could cry out for news, Old Zabrandor had flung himself from his horse and come to her side.
“Count Bajan sends greetings, my Queen. He will come to the inn at Vigrund.”
Aidris felt relief so keen that she could have sunk down on the cold hillside. She put a hand on the old lord’s arm and thanked him. The cavalry of Mel’Nir had drawn back behind their barriers. Far away at the very southernmost end of the field, there was a last skirmish between riders of the Ingari and a band of archers from Lien with a war machine, a wooden platform, which they pushed forward for a shelter.
“There is not much more to be seen, Dan Aidris,” said Zabrandor.
“My lord,” she said in a low voice, “after what I have seen today, I am not hopeful of coming to meet Sharn Am Zor. Mel’Nir will drive the tribes back.”
“I fear it,” he said. “It goes better with the king’s army, but there is the risk that Mel’Nir will bring in fresh troops over the Danmar.”
There was shouting and laughter behind them where three Athron knights, elated with battle, were planting captured banners of Mel’Nir inside the enclosure. She was pleased to see that they had come back unharmed from their joust with the young nobles of Mel’Nir. She tried to smile and receive them pleasantly.
“Yes,” she said to Sir Jared Wild, “I planted the oak myself. But I know you heard a strange lying tale that the Heir of the Firn lay buried here on the barrow.”
“Queen Aidris,” he said gallantly, in his big untuned voice, “I fear we all serve the queen very ill to let her stand here in the rain and the cold.”
“Majesty, ride with us,” cried Sir Berry Stivard. “Ride with us to our Athron tents now, on your way to Vigrund.”
“We will give you and Lord Lingrit and your kedran here a cup of mulled Athron wine to keep out the cold,” said Gerr of Kerrick.
She saw their handsome Athron faces and felt a sudden longing for Kerrick Hall with the lamps lit. The orders were given and the whole party mounted up and rode down off the barrow. It was not much past midafternoon, but the late autumn day seemed already far spent; fires were being lit along the edge of the battlefield.
They rode back behind the lines of the Nureshen, and she saw sights and heard sounds that could not be borne. She spoke to many of the tribesfolk, but could not remember afterwards what she had said to comfort them. She looked about for Bajan, but could not see him and wondered if they had lied to her and he was among the fallen. It seemed to her that the Heir of the Firn, that green girl, was dead, dead long ago and buried upon the barrow, by the oak tree. Now there was a woman who passed by on a white horse, a woman in whose service others died and were maimed; now there was only the queen.
Chapter Nine
The cold rain did not stop. In the night after the battle, a strong wind sprang up and the opposing armies were lashed by the storms of autumn. Aidris had forgotten how hard it could rain, how hard the winds could blow in her native land. Both camps became a morass; tents were blown away; there was no thought of fighting. The queen sat in her warm room at the inn, and Bajan came every day to join her at the fireside. She began to recover from the shock of her first battle, her first battlefield.
There were things that could not be borne, yet all must bear them. Lieutenant Yeo was dead, killed in the first kedran charge; Megan Brock, as the kedran said, had been wounded and widowed in one day. Bajan’s young brother was sorely wounded, might not recover. The losses, everyone cried at the council board, were light. The prospect was hopeless. Winter would come down, the forces of Mel’Nir would become more and more restive in their exposed positions on the plain and would press the tribes closer.
There was a hectic spirit abroad; the tribesfolk and the kedran found themselves a warm fire or a billet in the town and got drunk. Aidris heard the Athron knights, come up from camp, roistering in the dining room of the inn. She came upon Nenad Am Charn and Old Zabrandor the worse for wear over a game of Battle. She came unheralded to call upon Lingrit Am Thuven, whose servants and baggage had lately come out of Lien, through the Adz. That pale and melancholy man sat by his fire in a silken robe; one handsome young man played upon a dulcimer, another served Lienish wine and dainties. With the charm of Lien still upon her, she followed Yvand up the stairs again and found Bajan sunk in gloom by her fire. She dismissed Yvand and prowled the room and cried out, “This is mere foolishness . . .”
She went to Bajan and kissed him. She smoothed back the thick brown hair from his brow and found a long healing scar where he had been grazed by a spear.
“Lady,” he whispered, beginning to understand, “what would you . . .? I should ride back to camp.”
“No!”
“It is a rough night . . .”
They kissed again, kissed and clung until they were robbed of breath and fumbled their way to the big welcoming curtained bed.
“I have thought of you . . .”
“Now I am here!”
The maids’ gossip was all wrong; perhaps the Lienish wine was a specific. She felt no pain to speak of and no fear. A strong magic bound them together, a magic of the Chameln lands. The dark huntress sought through the forest and found her hunter who lay with her; the young men and maidens lay down together in the fields at midsummer. They were nameless lovers; they were Count Bajan and the queen. The night drew out; they fell asleep, and Aidris woke when Yvand came in to make up the fire. She put a finger to her lips; Bajan was still asleep. Yvand, who had been twice wed, raised her eyes to heaven and blushed, and smiled.
The storm continued; the weather was so rough they did not take out the horses, and the Shamans predicted that it would continue so for at least five days more. Yet on this third night, past midnight, they woke with strange voices crying out in the street below and sounds of a crowd gathering, in spite of the foul weather. Still the voices howled for the queen, the queen.
Bajan rose up cursing and put on his breeches. He went to the far window overlooking the street and cried out, “Look! Come love, here is a sight to behold!”
She came in her furred bedgown and peered through the shutters. In the street stood ten, twenty, a whole troop o
f warriors, long-haired and ferocious, with the rain streaming from their leather cloaks. The leader of the Tulgai stood proudly in the light that shone out from the inn door. Aidris flung wide the casement and leaned out into the rain.
“Akaranok, my good friend!”
Then Akaranok cried out in joy, and all the Tulgai shouted for the queen.
“My Queen!” cried Akaranok, “I bring greeting from Tagnaran. Speak with me, I pray, though the hour is late. I have important news!”
The inn woke up again and received the warriors of the Tulgai, who feasted until dawn. So many of their kind had not been seen in Vigrund since the coronation of the Daindru, Esher and Racha, years before. The queen was dressed again and received Akaranok and two of his followers by her fireside.
Count Bajan was presented and a health drunk, but Akaranok came swiftly to his news.
“My Queen,” he said, “this man is called Beregun, and he lives far to the southeast. He is a hunter of the Kelshin, the dark ones, our blood brothers who have their home in Nightwood in the kingdom of Mel’Nir.”
Beregun was like and unlike the true Tulgai. He was more lightly built and in fact fairer of complexion, though his hair was black. He said in a firm light voice, “Queen Aidris, I hunt between the great forest and Nightwood, and in the hunting preserves of King Ghanor. I hunt the high trails, as we say, and I can travel swift as a bird through the treetops. I came from the woods by Nesbath in one day and a half . . .”
“Truly, good Beregun, you travel like the wind,” said Aidris.
“Armies are gathered in Nesbath, and they are the Red Hundreds of Ghanor, the King.”
“So they are coming,” said Bajan. “We have feared as much. Will they take ship from Nesbath?”
“No, Count Bajan,” said Beregun. “They come by land. I believe they will ride tomorrow, and in three days they will reach the Adderneck Pass on the Nesbath road into the Chameln lands.”
Aidris put out a hand to Bajan. It seemed afterwards that the whole fateful outcome was in their minds at this moment. She did not see the way clear, but she knew there must be a way to turn this knowledge to advantage.
“Beregun,” she said, “I thank you from my heart for bringing me this news. I pray you stay here and eat and drink your fill. You must speak this news again.”
Bajan sprang up, as she did. Yvand came from the shadows where she had been watching the Tulgai.
“The council,” said Bajan, “at once and secretly, Yvand, fetch those who sleep in the inn. Make tea . . . sober them if necessary. I will ride to the camp and bring Harka and the general.”
So Lord Zabrandor unrolled his map on a hasty assemblage of tables in the queen’s chamber, and even before Bajan returned with the others, the force of the news was plain.
“There is Adderneck,” said Lingrit Am Thuven. “There is the last known front of the King’s horde, the army of Sharn Am Zor. If the Red Hundreds come through and meet the men of Mel’Nir who are already here, they will divide our forces forever.”
“By the Goddess,” said Zabrandor, “they are too proud, committing themselves to that pass. They must not come through.”
“How can they be stopped?” asked Lingrit. “Can we warn the king? Can we bypass Mel’Nir and send our own tribesfolk over the plain?”
Aidris looked at the map. She spoke and so did Nenad Am Cham, with one voice.
“We might go through the forest!”
They stared in silence at the black curve of the forest painted upon the old seamed parchment of the map and knew that Mel’Nir had been delivered into their hands.
“A force of cavalry,” murmured Lingrit, “Three hundred, five hundred . . . is it possible?”
“We would need guides,” said Nenad. “The guild house is shut down. The forest guides quarrelled with the garrison.”
“We have guides, the finest in the forest,” said Aidris. “The warriors of the Tulgai.”
So the others came, Ferrad Harka with a bloody bandage on his arm and Jana Am Wetzerik alert as if she were on parade, crying, “Well, have you seen it? Do you have the answer?”
They did have the answer; the plan was like a live thing.
“Secrecy,” said Bajan. “We move tomorrow while the rain holds to cover all. It is given out that a troop is marching to the Adz.”
“These hundreds are expected,” said Wetzerik. “The Melniros in the south know they are coming, and so do our own opponents here. Count Ferrad, Count Bajan . . . you will see these bully boys break off soon and march south to join their expected reinforcements. But you must hold them until that time.”
Lingrit said drily, “The queen must go south with the troops of the great ambush. She will be brought safely to the king’s army, and the Daindru proclaimed. I will go as well to protect her interests.”
She thrilled at the promised activity and at the same time shuddered. She would be parted from Bajan.
“The queen will be missed,” said Nenad Am Charn. “It may upset the morale of the tribes.”
“No,” said Aidris, considering. “No, I see how it will be done. I will pack up at once to move to my lodge at the camp. That will explain my absence from Vigrund. At the camp, my place will be taken by the lady Millis Am Charn, riding Tamir, my white horse, behind the lines. The tribes can share the secret a little . . . they can cheer the queen’s horse instead of the Queen.”
“Who will lead the ambush?” asked Zabrandor.
“You must take the command, Lord Zabrandor,” said Jana Am Wetzerik, “for your lands are there by the Nesbath road, and you know the terrain best.”
“I will do it with good heart,” said the old lord.
Then when they had all thrashed out the question of the riders who might come along, and had chosen as troop leaders Brock for the kedran, and Batro, Jorgun and Vadala for the tribes, Zabrandor said again, “All who go along must be prepared for bloody deeds rather than knightly courtesy. We do not go to ride brave figures upon the plain but to fall upon our enemy secretly and kill him.”
There was a burst of savage laughter from the warriors of the Tulgai who followed the common speech well enough, even if they would not speak it.
“There you have our name,” said Aidris. “We are the Morrigar, the Giant-killers.”
They drank a health to the enterprise and discussed the question of their allies, the Athron knights.
“They must all be trusted,” said Aidris. “We are taking some of their veteran troopers.”
“It would be no bad thing,” said Lingrit, “if the new Count Zerrah came along, if he could be persuaded to leave the field of honor. There are many new men, you will admit, Lord Zabrandor, surrounding the young king. I serve the queen and like to see her interests well represented. She shall have the new-made count along, too.”
So it was agreed, and a lot more beside. The preparation went on in secret haste everywhere; it was already daylight, but the rain went on unabated. Aidris packed and waited; Yvand made it clear without a word that she intended to ride with the queen. At last, not more than half an hour before she left the inn, Yvand came to her and said, “It is the innkeeper’s wife, Mistress Keel, my queen. She knows that you are moving to the lodge. She begs most earnestly to be allowed to speak to you.”
“I will see her,” said Aidris. “Will she ask some favor? We have certainly made a battlefield of her inn. We owe the poor woman a good deal.”
The woman came in briskly; she had arranged to see the queen alone. Aidris looked at her closely for the first time and saw a handsome, dark, lively person about forty years, with a suggestion of city manners that she could not have gained in Vigrund.
“Queen Aidris,” said the innkeeper’s wife, “I could not help hearing from the kedran that you were once a kedran yourself.”
“That is true, Mistress Keel.”
“I think you took the name of Venn.”
Aidris nodded, with a very first inkling of what was to come. The woman took a letter from her pock
et, a faded letter, which she handed to Aidris in silence. Aidris read a few lines and looked up amazed. The woman smiled sadly.
“I have been married to Keel the innkeeper for some years,” she said. “I was the widow of a Lienish riverboat captain, name of Lorse.”
The Widow Lorse had haunted her dreams a little in former years, but she had seen her as blowsy and high-colored. She looked at the letter, written on paper from her own writing case in the glade by Lake Tulna. Sabeth had a fair rounded merchant’s script, taught her by the Moon Sisters. She had written without superscription or signature:
“You will know Loeke is dead, from a fall, and his horse brought home to Vigrund. Do not worry or fret yourself. I am travelling on into Athron and I have guides and gold and I am not alone. Loeke, not to speak ill of him, was rough work and a boorish fellow. I have a friend who travels with me, and she is a little kedran maid who calls herself Venn, though I doubt that is her real name. She is of a rich Chameln family, and they are sending her into Athron because of the Melniros in their lands. She is brave, far braver than I, in the forest, and fears neither fairies nor demons. I think she will prove my true friend. I have even thought we might stay together in Athron and I take a respectable place, as for a waiting woman with an envoy in Varda, where she is going, rather than the other, the Countess P. For you have always said I must look for good fortune wherever it beckons. If you do not hear from me, you will know this is what has happened. Do not worry, my dear, and know that I will always think of you kindly.”
Aidris could have wept at this artless letter. She looked at Mistress Keel and again the woman smiled sadly.
“I did worry,” she said, “but I told myself that Sabeth, my beautiful one, had indeed found good fortune.”
“Yes,” said Aidris. “Yes, the greatest good fortune. I like to think that I helped her to find it. She is married for four years now and has borne a daughter and will soon bear another child. Some time after she wrote this letter she met a young man of good family who later became her husband.”
A Princess of the Chameln Page 28