by Andre Norton
Gattor of Bilth. He sided sometimes with Yew, sometimes with Rowan, and made no permanent alliances. He was no open fighter, looking upon the clash of arms as the improper way to settle a quarrel. No, not he. Gattor's thick body, that round face with sleepy eyes, belonged to one who was indolent, slow to act.
Openly, that was. Gattor's warring was always conducted in the shadows, and few were the times men could more than speculate on his part in the sudden collapse of an ally of a House rumored to be encroaching upon his own holdings.
Then Harous of Cragden, youngest of the three, and perhaps the most dangerous.
The others were clad in deepest midnight-blue, the proper court color, but he wore a russet surcoat that fairly glowed in the dim light of the room. He had never, as far as Ysa knew, allied with any of the four Great Houses and so had avoided their quarrels with each other as well. This was entirely prudent, because of his hereditary position as master of Cragden Keep, the castle that was Rendelsham's primary defense. Thus he could raise a skillful sword upon occasion, and he had done some intricate weaving of political webs. Also, he was somewhat of a scholar, though he had never allowed his interest in learning of the past to cloud his actions in the present.
Ysa inclined her head slightly. "My lords," she said to them in greeting, well aware that enticing these three to follow her would be one of the hardest tasks she had ever undertaken. They must be made to see that now was a time when all must stand together or, apart, crumble into nothing, one by one.
The three bowed to her and then seated themselves. "Your Majesty." Despite
Harous's youthful years, she was in no way surprised at his being their spokesman.
"I shall be plain with you," she returned in an even voice, lifting her hands to the arms of her chair so that the Rings were well in sight. "Good my lords, this is a time of rising troubles and not for covert dealings. I promised plain words, and so they shall be, though it would be well that such words do not pass beyond this chamber. My husband, the King, is not as he once was; we can no longer overlook this fact among ourselves. Nor is the Prince one who shows at present any interest in state affairs."
She noted how Harous stirred, Royance drew himself more upright, and Gattor's expression became even sleepier.
"It has been given me as certain knowledge that Rendel stands in the way of peril such as this land has not faced these twenty generations or more," she continued. "There is a boiling in the lands to the north. Those Sea- Rovers, who have ever been a threat to our peace, are now on the move—and not of their free will. One by one, their strongholds have fallen to a growing threat from far, far beyond into the Country of Ever Snow. There an army has risen and is on the march to seize land more fruitful than their own. Who they are and whence they have come is not yet known." She paused, for with this statement, Harous had stirred again on his low chair. He was leaning forward a little.
She turned to address him directly. "My lord, it is said that your knowledge of the past can outreach that of most of our scholars. What know you of the north?"
Royance glanced at Harous in some surprise, and even Gattor raised one brow enough so that his eyes caught a gleam of light, though he did not turn his head.
Harous answered promptly and without hesitation.
"There are legends, Your Majesty, very old, telling that once all the land of which we are now aware was a mighty Kingdom and the four Great Houses flourished in peace one with the other. Then a foul fate turned brother against brother, son against father, until there was utter chaos. Even nature itself took a part in this evil struggle, and the sea assaulted the land. The stories say that the
Bog came into being then. Even mountains arose and blasted fire into the skies.
Those of our kind could only cower and live on in shreds of hope. But then there came Jarnel out of Karn—"
'That is a tale to be told beside a winter hearth simply to make the listeners shiver," Royance said with a frown. "There has never been a shred of evidence save the mouthing of storytellers that Jarnel ever lived."
Harous shrugged. "Be it so, or be it not so, that tale ends with the claim that
Jarnel and his host drove the remnants of the evil force into the far north and locked there some Power to hold them imprisoned. Afterward, the Great Houses were maintained, but far reduced from their former sway. Can any deny that there are those among us, man or woman, born with some traces of an inner strength they cannot understand? Such gifts might have been much stronger in an earlier time."
The Queen nodded. "My lords, these words are not simply speculations. Ancient records reveal that from time to time, even in our own memory, there have been happenings that defy explanation."
Royance eyed her intently now, his face showing his keen intelligence. The silver trimming of his court dress was no more austere than the gray of his eyes. "Ashenkin is gone," he said flatly. "Legends say Ashenhold was once mighty and stretched across our southern coast… until a shadow came."
It was as if he had thrown a smoldering brand into their midst. The other two men drew away from him a fraction, and even the Queen's composure faltered. Her lips twitched as if she would shout forth some word unbidden and unwanted. Then she regained command over herself.
"Ashenhold and whatever shadow grew there," she said in a carefully measured voice, "are no longer any danger to us. The House has vanished. But you are right, my Lord of Grattenbor, we have kept some unexplainable memories to this present day." She returned deftly to her intended topic. "That is in the past.
Now, whatever lies in the north, it is no longer under any restraint, and once again mountains awaken and belch out fire. An army has spilled down upon the lands of the sea-people. What is left of them flees either westward over the waters or southward. I ask you, my Lord Royance, as one who has ordered battles, is there truth to that old saying, 'He who fights my enemy is—for a season at least—my friend'? These sea- people are fighters, well we know that. And those whom they fight must be our enemies as well as theirs."
Surprisingly, it was Gattor who spoke up. He seemed determined to remind everyone of his presence. His voice fell unpleasantly on the ear, so nasal and high-pitched it was almost a whine. "Yes, we know," he said. As if by absentminded habit, he fumbled at his belt where hung the sheath, emptied as were all save those of sworn guards in royal presence. "Ask of the merchants,
Your Majesty. If it is in your mind to make some sort of alliance with those wave-wolves, I do not think many of the Traders will rally to the cause."
Of course Gattor would think of this. The wealth of his Family had come through at least three generations by means of vague and covert dealings with the Trader kindred. No wonder the lace and embroidery trimming his surcoat were of gold thread.
Ysa decided to risk all, to allow herself the freedom of actually putting into words what she feared. "It may come to such a pass that kin must stand with stranger and make alliance lest both perish."
"Our northern borders are strong. The Bog, Majesty, seems an inviting weak spot, but it will be a trap for any invasion from the south," Gattor said without heat. "Can anyone think that those savages who skulk there will take easily to invaders? All know what happens to any of other blood who dare to enter there."
He remained deceptively sleepy in appearance, his hands clasped over his belly.
"Yes," Ysa conceded, "the Bale-Bog may hold. But the invaders' weapons are superior to shell spears and there are ways to be threaded through those muck-and-water paths. Do we dare rely on this stretch of drowned land as if it were a tower-high wall? I promised you bluntness. Now let me be even more forthright. Tell me, my lords, do the Houses continue to keep to their quarreling so that this land is riddled with suspicion among the holdings? Or do we work for a peace to unite us all?"
Harous leaned forward again. "Your Majesty, rumor of war is not proof enough.
Have you more to offer us than travelers' tales?" He watched her intently, his greenish eyes alight.
Ysa was
instantly on her guard. What did he know; what had he learned? His delving into ancient records was notorious. It was even said that his archives at Cragden Keep contained more knowledge than could be found in the storerooms of the scribes in the castle or the library of the Great Fane, where she had diligently been seeking.
She hastened to impress upon him that she knew her information to be reliable, but without revealing her sources. "My lord, rumor ever suggests a core of fact."
Aloft in the high tower rested her "eyes and ears," and some persons, seeing
Visp, would surely make a demon sign and speak of dark witchery. She held her gaze steady until Harous dropped his, though she knew he was far from satisfied.
Royance had remained silent through this exchange, keeping his own line of thought. Now he spoke up. "Your Majesty, can one course a hound among warkats, each taking no note of the other as lawful prey? Yet what you have said carries in it the seed of truth. We all have our observers abroad." Now he looked at each of his companions in turn. "Let us call in what news we can. If it be so dour—well, my kin has raised sword for years against Darthan and Glick, but I will send a herald to both of them with peace cords about his weapon if it be needed that we must fight together."
Ysa kept her face still with an effort. She had him! At least for the moment.
She must be careful not to let him slip away. He spoke the truth, and if he could pull together two other kin-lines, long bitter enemies, there was hope for the future.
"I thank you, Lord Royance," she said.
She turned to look at Gattor. He pyramided his pudgy hands, palm to palm, and gazed beyond them, perhaps at something not even present. His continued silence shadowed a threat. At last, he spoke.
"What of Prince Florian? It is past time for his betrothal. I, for one, have heard no talk of an embassy to Yuland or Writham to seek a bride of proper birth. We know that if he is united with any kindred of Rendel, it will fling a glove of challenge into the midst of us all."
Damn him, by the Black Jaws of Labor, he was right! If Ysa didn't know better, he might have been privy to the contents of a certain coffer on a far table in this very audience chamber. Inside rested letters that in themselves bore subtle insult. As far as Yuland across the southern sea and the wealthy island Kingdom of Writham to the west were concerned, enough was known about Crown Prince
Florian that no royal daughter of theirs would consent to be sent here to wed.
Even to betroth him, let alone to marry him to any Great Family among the nobles at this time, would be to pit them all against each other. Or worse, pit them against the Crown. With such an action, all chance of a solid alliance would be gone. So much for her hopes for uniting the Kingdom by marrying Florian to
Laherne of Rowan. At least for now. But there was still time to bend matters, if she was patient enough. A ruse, a subterfuge—perhaps that would unite her nobles.
She rubbed the Rings on her fingers now as if this movement would summon some plan out of this very real problem. Then suddenly an idea occurred to her. She pondered it. No need to rush; it was ever her way in these meetings. However, it might be that time was no longer an ally to her in this one area of concern. She decided to reveal her thought.
"The Sea-Rovers," she said calmly, "owe allegiance to no one overlord. They are counted in kin clans. But each has pride in lineage, and they have their lords and those of their immediate blood. There heads south one of their strongest and most venturesome clans. They hold the Sea Raven as their badge—"
"Not so!" Gattor burst in, awake at last. "Blood-drinking devils. Now it comes clear. I know what you are proposing, and I reject it! In one breath you speak against companying with them against some supposed threat, and in the next you suggest a union! I hold blood debts against their line, for they have taken in the past some five of my ships."
Royance spoke up, his voice measured and calm. "Let us say nothing in haste that needs to be swallowed later. Your Majesty has had some contact with them, these
Sea-Rovers?" His eyes narrowed as he studied her.
"Not yet. It is only that I know what may come," she replied. She stared hard at each man in turn. "If that which has come down into the north mountainland cannot be trapped by the Bog and we have no common plan with the Sea-Rovers, and we are not able to put aside our quarrels and ride banner by banner together, then I swear by these—" She held aloft her hands, and the bands of the Rings seemed to spark with fire. "Yea, it is certain that Rendel will fall with all our part of the world. Your vaunted Family and the great strongholds of all the
Great Houses will be but ruins manned by the dead. If it takes marriage between the Crown Prince of Rendel and a daughter of the Sea- Rovers, then that is how it shall be."
Royance bowed his head. Then he looked up, and once more the burhawk gazed out through his eyes. "Your Majesty," he said with some force, "has given us much to think on. But we cannot make such decisions without considering them from all sides. There is much to be weighed."
"Just so, just so!" Gattor nodded. "Very much to be thought on."
"I recognize the truth and the wisdom of your words," the Queen said, her voice full of sadness and resignation. Secretly, Ysa was pleased, for she knew she could not in reality have hoped for more than this. Let them ponder the suggestion of a marriage with Sea-Rover trash; that would serve to make Laherne seem the more desirable. It was no trouble to allow Gattor to oppose what she never intended. "But we have time against us. Consult and plan as you will, my lords. I want a united voice when you return… say, two days from now." With a gesture, she dismissed them. "You have your tasks, my lords. Pray do not disappoint us all."
They arose and bowed. With Gattor scowling, Royance having assumed his usual impervious expression, and Har-ous tapping a fingertip against his belt as if pensively marshaling his thoughts, they started toward the door.
Gattor caught Royance's arm and it was plain he wished some private speech once they were out of overhearing. However, Harous held back. He lifted one foot, fiddling with the buckle on his shoe. Then, when the other two had vanished, he turned once more. He must have additional to tell me, the Queen thought, and wants to say it alone and not as a member of the Council. Curious, she acknowledged him, though a private audience, under the circumstances, went against all custom and protocol. "My lord?"
Harous returned to where she still sat. Ysa gestured, and he once more settled on the low chair.
To her mild surprise, he said nothing at first, but drew from inside his velvet doublet a thong that hung about his neck. The amulet, or whatever it was he wore on this thong, he cradled in the palm of his hand before holding it out for her to see.
It had a gray sheen as though well rubbed, and was fashioned into the shape of a winged creature. Despite the polish, an observer could see that the creature was represented as furred rather than feathered. Its tiny eyes glittered with gems.
Ysa dug her fingernails into her palms to keep herself under control. She recognized that flyer—
"Zazar, Your Majesty." His voice rose hardly above a whisper, as if there might be listeners in the room. "This came from Zazar."
Ysa rubbed her hands together to make as much contact between Rings and flesh as possible. Nothing, however, could stifle the chill that spread through her body as she forced her attention from the amulet to the one who held it. "You have delved far, my Lord Harous."
"It is my passion, Majesty. I find the now a ragtag place, but the before calls to me. Yes, I have followed some very dusty trails. And some of them have taken me to Zazar."
She did not dare ask a question, for to reveal the least degree of ignorance was dangerous. How much did he know? And how would he use this knowledge? Would it be against her, in an effort to gain power? She felt dizzy, on the verge of falling into a trap. She must summon all her wits to keep to herself as much as possible of her own knowledge, and to augment it with what he might have gained.
"This symbolizes a messenger, I
think," Ysa said between tight lips.
"A faithful one," he said, nodding in agreement. "One of several. I have not used it yet. But another has been sent north, Majesty?"
There was no use denying what he obviously knew. "Yes. And the reports I mentioned to you and to the other lords are true."
"It seemed to me that this day we hear the results of such a journey, taken by such a messenger." He rubbed his thumb back and forth over the pendant cupped in his hand. "There are other journeys," he added.
She waited, refusing to ask.
He seemed willing enough to continue. Further, he spoke without pause, as if he expected no questions, but assumed they now worked together as equals—which the little messenger might well make them, at least in this endeavor. "Your Majesty, the Bale-Bog has its secrets. Florian should make a marriage to unite powers, yes. And die maid chosen must be one who will raise none of the Houses to question or support a separate cause. Let us suppose—merely suppose—that one could find a maid of high lineage who had no House left to whom she could appeal for support."