To The King A Daughter

by Andre Norton

  "Soon," she continued, "you shall begin another journey. There is an uneasiness growing to possess this small world of mud and water; it is better that you are out of reach of such as Joal and his kind. For when a man fears, he will turn upon that which he can control and vent his rage."

  Zazar laid the threads upon the stone again. To Ashen's astonishment, all were woven together now—hers, that of the King, the Queen, the Prince—and the two others, as yet unknown.

  She stared at them, comprehending as if from a distance that with this gesture of Zazar's, the thread of Ashen Oeathdaughter had been drawn into a new pattern of the Web Everlasting.

  The small Sea-Rover fleet did not sail out of sight of the land, according to custom, but kept to the water road known through generations. The last of the towering heights to the north dwindled, though the shoreline was still a wall of cliffs, one locked upon another. And with the flow of tides, a lookout could sight the cruel fangs of reef rocks waiting for what fate and the sea might bring them.

  The majority of those on board were accustomed to the sparing use of food during voyages. Never before, however, had all their old men, their womankind, their children, been mouths to fill. Already, children were crying with hunger.

  Obern manned one of the sturdy fishing lines trailing from the sternways. There was life enough in the sea; it only remained to be caught. Something struck, hard, taking the bait. He had given the line a turn around a railing cleat—luckily, or the strike would have stripped the flesh from any hand holding it.

  Obem's shout brought one of the sailors and one of the sea-guards on the run.

  They had no more reached his side, ready to aid him in the fight, when there was a thrashing of the water and a thing, unlike any creature he had seen or heard tale of, broke the surface.

  It was no fish—rather, the thing possessed what appeared to be legs of a sort, covered with warty skin. One of the legs was stretched to the limit, dragging at the line, striving to jerk it from a gaping mouth whence the cord disappeared.

  Both forefeet now grasped at the line, so taut that Obern feared it would break at any moment, if it didn't bring part of the railing with it instead. Then, suddenly, the line fell slack as the water-thing plunged toward, not away from, the ship.

  In an instant, it had reached the rudder. Then, using that as a platform, the creature leaped upward, the pads of its forefeet slapping against the side of the boat. Suckers on those forefeet held it fast. Waves washed over the massive body, now stretched out on the surface of the water.

  One of the seamen, sea-spear in hand, crowded against Obern.

  "Give room!" he shouted. It didn't seem likely that launching this weapon against the target so available would hit a vital spot, but no better opportunity presented itself.

  And, indeed, he succeeded only in wounding the thing. Now the creature uttered a deep roar and was answered by screams and cries from the deck. Those non-fighters who had gathered to watch scrambled to give way to armsmen and seamen alike.

  Obern drew his long boarding knife. He had given way as required, but now he pushed back until he stood almost directly above the creature. Bulbous eyes looked up at him. Eyes of what? In the shock of meeting that gaze, he could not believe that this was any normal denizen of the sea. There was hot rage and knowledge of a sort in the yellowish orbs raised toward him.

  More spears flew through the air. A few caught in the skin of the thing, and it shook its body vigorously to rid itself of them. It was as if that skin bore a strange kind of armor. The creature was beginning to climb, releasing one suckered forefoot and then the other, planting them ever higher against the hull of the ship. Unlike any fish, it seemed as able to move in air as in water and snowed no distress for it.

  Obern drew back his arm. Boarding knives more closely resembled shortswords than throwing weapons. Where spears had done little damage, would this length of steel succeed? None was better trained at this weapon than he, and—

  The attacker opened its huge mouth. Obern, calling on the hope of luck, threw.

  The weapon flashed down and into the gaping cavern of the mouth, lodging upright in the bottom jaw. The creature snapped its mouth shut just a moment too late, driving the knife more deeply into the tender flesh. One of the sucker forefeet jerked loose from the hull and clawed at the long, hideous jaw. A thin line of blood oozed from between bulbous lips.

  The beast wrestled with its own pain, seeming unable to realize that if it opened its mouth, it could pluck out the source of its torment. It clutched at its jaw with both of its forefeet, and its hold on the ship gave way. Dropping back into the waves, it furiously began ramming its head against the hull. Twice it struck before abandoning this useless form of attack.

  All aboard could feel the shudder of those blows, but the monster had now turned and was floating on the surface of the water, waves washing over it. Its hind legs kicked slowly, but the head faced up toward the sky. And around that head there was spreading in the water a swirl of dark clouds.

  Obern could see no outward sign, but that the thing was badly wounded, he was almost sure. How the knife alone could have caused this, he could not have told.

  Certainly he had not knowingly centered it on any target save that gaping mouth.

  Perhaps, by accident, he had severed a blood vessel, with the result that the thing was drowning in its own blood.

  The creature was still moving, after a fashion. Now, with a visible effort, it was turning over, all four limbs outspread. Twitching them feebly, it drew away from the side of the ship. Obern quickly cut the line free, not wishing to engage the creature again, even in its weakened state.

  As the space between vessel and beast widened, the wounded thing did not dive, as a great fish might, nor did it head out to sea. Rather, its painful progress, growing ever slower, was aiming it for the distant barrier cliffs.

  Obern studied his empty hand as the ship separated from that floundering creature in the water.

  "A goodly stroke." His father caught his shoulder in a firm grip.

  He looked around at Snolli. "But it was not my planned doing. I do not know how a thrown weapon could—" He took a deep breath. "It was an accident."

  His father gave him a gentle shake. "But if chance favors you so, do not deny it. Look you—the thing still lives, yes, and you may not have given it a deathblow, but it flees and I do not think it will come again. A boarding knife, or even a sword, is a light price to pay for that."

  Snolli lifted a scabbard he held, and Obern recognized what it contained. He smiled in turn but shook his head. He knew what Snolli was about to do.

  Ordinarily, he would have been ecstatic. Now, however, he only felt empty. "My man-sword, is it, Father? A sword from the forge of Laxes? That is a treasure."

  Again he shook his head. "Perhaps I should truly earn it first."

  His father's hand dropped from his shoulder and moved to the weapon at his own belt. "No shield-mate must go swordless. It speaks well that you feel unworthy of a worthy deed." He pulled his own personal sword, one given him years past as he stood among armsmen, a recognized equal. "Sheathe this. It is of Rinbell's forging."

  "But—" Words deserted Obern as he held his father's sword. Laxes' work was good, given to a favored son when he reached the proper age and had performed some deed of arms, but Rinbell's work was the finest. A Rinbell sword was a gift beyond price—an honor seldom given, this one even more so.

  "Sheathe it, sheathe it!" ordered his father. "I have that in me which says you will meet with such as that monster again and you will need to be properly armed. The thing was not truly of the sea, though I have never heard of its like and the sea holds tightly many secrets. But did you not see that when it would flee further harm, it headed shoreward?"

  The captain had come up beside them. "True, Chieftain," he said. He turned toward those tall cliffs. "Look there—" He was pointing at the water instead of at the land barriers.

  The water bore a stain oozing out
over the once-clear waves. It was far too great a stain, Obern believed, than could have come from the body of the thing unless it were, truly, most of its life blood. It trailed, as far as the eye could distinguish, straight for the land.

  "There are rivers hidden in those rocks," the captain continued. "Some cut deep ravines, and some drop in great falls. All feed seaward through a strange land.

  Better never be washed ashore here, for the water that flows from such outlets is death—in more ways than one."

  "We coast the Bog now?" Snolli asked.

  "Aye, and well out from its filth." The captain nodded vigorously. "And so it shall be for a night, a day, and another night. That country is no small one, and it has always been damnation for any Outlander."

  "May the Ruler of Waves set us a right course." Obern had seldom heard just that note in his father's voice. He began to search his mind for all he had ever heard concerning that distant stretch of country.

  Queen Ysa looked down at the metal tray, lavishly bordered with jewels, that the foot-squire had so carefully placed on the table in her chamber. There were two covered dishes that matched the tray in splendor, a small goblet and matching flask, and an open dish cradling two red rounds of fruit, early for the season and forced to ripeness. She nodded, and the squire left at this signal that she wished no further service. Her stomach growled but she did not yet lift the nearest cover or pick up the spoon resting beside it.

  She was unaccountably pushed by hunger now. She wanted to fall upon the food and devour it at once, yet she refrained. She had no desire to grow as gross as

  Bor-oth. Nevertheless, eat she must, for despite the unworldly aid she commanded—or, perhaps, the thought came unbidden, because of it—she found it necessary to strengthen her body. What had happened in the night just past—She noted the hand she slowly lifted. It was shaking, and she fought to control the unwelcome tremor. But with the reassurance of the two Rings that adorned that hand, she straightened even more in her chair and put forth the other hand to uncover the porridge within the bowl. Honey-scented oat grain, thickened with certain herbs. Yes. Eagerly, she took up a spoonful of the breakfast assembled to her desire.

  Let the stories spread. No one could rein in rumor. There would be many guesses about the night past, and whisperings among the people in the castle, before the coming of midday. And from the castle, such threads of storytelling would weave throughout the city.

  Her lips tightened. Then she looked again at the Rings.

  At least this much was acknowledged—that the Rings in their fashion chose, and their choosing was the best for the land. Boroth was still the King, and the lords would turn first to the King, rather than to any woman born. She could manage that.

  She could also deal with Boroth now; what remained was to draw together those very jealous and intriguing Houses with their arrogant and vengeful rulers. Four she could count on, mainly because she had earlier subtly led them to believe she favored their own plans. Three others she doubted would ever recognize her, so they must be removed. Removed. She ate steadily and tasted none of what passed her lips, for her thoughts walled her in from the outer world.

  Boroth likewise was at breakfast, his thoughts still upon the dream that had come upon him the preceding night. He only toyed with his food, though he drank thirstily of the wine.

  Alditha. Once more she had come to him, and this time she had stayed for a while.

  As before, he had seen the Ash leaf, and it had melted into the beloved form.

  She had moved toward him, smiling, and kissed him. "Boroth," she said. "My love." She shone in the darkness.

  "Stay with me. I am betrayed on all sides."

  "I will stay as long as I may. I am always with you, even when you cannot see me."

  "Will you come again?"

  "As often as I am allowed."

  "My wife despises me, and my son is eager for my death. And I—my greatest wish is to be with you."

  "And so you shall be, in time. Be patient."

  "But you are departed. They told me of your death."

  "Yes, that is true. And yet I am here with you."

  "Will you advise me when there is danger?"

  "There is always danger."

  "Aye, but where? I can no longer be about my business, and they do not tell me anything."

  "There is naught that you can do, my beloved. All that is left is to wait."

  "Wait for what?" Boroth shifted and raised himself on one elbow. "What is the purpose?"

  "That will become clear, in time."

  "My Rings are gone."

  "I know. It is their way. Your time has passed, my beloved."

  "I am weary of this, of the Queen, of Florian. Of the people who crowd into my chamber, waiting for me to take my last breath. All I want is you."

  "As I said, beloved, we will be together… eventually."

  "But when?"

  "There is one last thing remaining for you to do, but the time is not yet ripe for it. Then you will join me, and we will go into Eternity hand in hand."

  "What thing must I do?"

  "You will know."

  "When will you come to me again?"

  But all she would say, soft as a sigh, was to repeat her words. "You will know."

  And then she had kissed him again and faded away into the darkness.

  Now Boroth concentrated on the food. If there was a thing he must do, he must be strong enough to live until that moment. He surveyed his tray with distaste.

  Bread, wine too watered, and a soft, sweetened porridge. A meal for an invalid.

  Grimacing, nevertheless he ate.

  Nine

  Zarar was moving about the hut more swiftly than usual, but apparently well aware of what she was doing. The largest of their traveling backpacks lay unfolded on the floor, and into its many inner pockets and loops the Wysen-wyf was fitting what she gathered from shelves and chests, boxes, and two cupboards in the darkest corner of the room. Kazi's snore became a succession of snorts.

  The crone drew herself up on the sleep-mat and rubbed her eyes as if to banish the last of the deep sleep Zazar had willed upon her.

  But the Wysen-wyf paid no heed to her. For the most part, she remained silent in her packing except for occasionally identifying some packet or object as she stowed it with a few firm words, muttered under her breath, as to its use.

  Meanwhile, Ashen hunkered down by the fire-pit, having drawn out the flat baking-stone, which she set at an angle within the newly fed flames. She had already pounded the root meal into flour and mingled herbs with it. Then she moistened the mixture with special water from a flask to make a paste, which she spread with flying fingers into a cake on the stone. The odor of the baking trail biscuit banished some of the other smells from the assorted herbs, newly opened boxes, and the pack goods.

  Zazar stood still at last, regarding the spread-out shoulder pack, and then nodded. "This must do. Remember, you shall not again harvest such outside this home hearth."

  Ashen nodded and flipped over another hot, firm trail biscuit on the stone. Kazi had risen from her bed, her eyes upon the both of them. Her mouth drew into a sour pucker. Because of her crippled leg, she seldom went beyond the cluster of huts that served Joal's clan. Here, however, was proof that someone, or ones, were about to leave.

  There was a call from outside. "Ho, Zazar-hearth!"

  In an instant, Zazar stooped and caught the end of one of the mat covers from

  Ashen's sleeping place, tossing it over the pack. "Ho, the kin," she replied.

  The double night-curtain was shoved aside and a woman of the Bog entered. It was

  Joal's second wife, Pulta. Her dark hair was frosted at her temples, and her back was stooped from hours of labor at loom and fire-pit. She was near as lean as a reed, and a dark bruise painted one puffy cheek. She looked around the room, not missing the stack of biscuits at Ashen's knee. She was clearly spying.

  "Someone travels?" she asked in a raspy voice.
>
  Zazar moved a step between her and the girl, who still balanced a lump of coarse dough in one hand.

  "There is a reason to ask?" Zazar returned.

  Pulta leaned to one side so she could see Ashen beyond the figure of the

  Wysen-wyf. "Trouble be coming. Better keep to hearthside unless all comes different at talk-fires." Then what could have been a friendly warning changed.

  She shot a challenge, along with a fierce frown, at Ashen. "Three left village."