To The King A Daughter

by Andre Norton

  "If my dream was true, the river bends somewhat more to the west, up ahead,"

  Kasai said. He shielded his eyes with his hand. "There is where Obern and those with him will come out. If they have not done so already, that is."

  "Then we shall find their tracks if they have gone ahead of us."

  The Sea-Rovers set spur to horse and made as much haste as they could along the riverbank. True to Kasai's Sight, the river did bend westward, growing narrower but deeper at this point. Here it could be navigated by a small boat; Snolli wished he were on one, and not mounted atop this horse. He eased himself in his saddle, hoping he was not developing a blister on his backside. Sea- Rovers rode well enough at need, but their preferred place was on the deck of a ship.

  Dordan interrupted Snolli's thoughts. "Look ahead, Chieftain," he said, pointing. "That smudge of smoke in the sky. It is like a beacon to us. And look also—a raft. And men getting off it, on this side of the river. There has been a battle, and recently, or I miss my guess."

  "Yes," Snolli said, following the direction Dordan indicated. "Let us take cover, for there are many more of them than there are of us."

  Quietly, the Sea-Rovers dismounted and looped the reins of their horses over low branches near the river so the animals could crop early grass if they wished, and could drink at will. The thirsty beasts promptly began to do both. The

  Sea-Rovers loosened their weapons, for defense in case they were detected, and began to creep close enough that they could see what was going on. The fire that had caused the smoke had died away by now. Curiously, there seemed to be no charred ruins. It was as if the water itself had been burning.

  "That is the misty man," Dordan said.

  "He isn't misty now. Could be anybody," Kather said.

  "Whoever he is, he has Obern with him," Kasai pointed out. "He has a bandage on his head, and his arm is in a rope sling. And there's the woman I spoke about.

  Not much to look at."

  Snolli pulled out his far-see glass. "Not so bad, close up. Pale, though." He shifted the focus to Obern. "Obern seems undamaged, considering that he fell from a cliff and nearly got eaten by the giant birds."

  Dordan held out his hand for the glass, and Snolli reluctantly handed it to him.

  "Wonder where they're taking him," the archer said.

  "North, to all appearances. Wherever else that might be, at least he lives. We can find out later, when we have finished our dealings with Prince Florian."

  Kasai spat to emphasize his displeasure.

  Snolli took the glass back, scowling. "Florian. I would not be surprised to learn that our lace-bedecked Prince has a hand in these doings, somewhere and somehow."

  "It is strange," Kasai said. "We postpone signing the treaty because we think

  Obern is dead, and then Obern shows up, very much alive and under escort northward by the misty man and a woman with hair so light it is almost silver-gilt."

  "Our misty man may well be in the Prince's employ." Snolli folded the glass with a decisive snap and got to his feet. The men and their captives—for such they surely were—had by this time gone far enough distant that the Sea- Rovers risked little in the way of discovery. "We cannot trust the Prince. That much is certain. In my heart of hearts, I feel that he has been deceiving us."

  Twenty-one

  Queen Ysa, despite all her will and resolution, was still not fully recovered from the terrible effects of her last attempts at spell-casting. From time to time and unexpectedly, she faltered in midstep or, suddenly dizzy, nearly fell from her chair. Her appetite, formerly robust at all times, now came and went.

  What, she wondered, had she summoned that it had struck her so hard? She could only hope that her illness was not a permanent one.

  It was enough that the King continued to sink, day by day, and that she was in no way ready for the possibility that Prince Florian would take his place.

  Florian was at that most awkward age, when he was not yet judged mature enough to rule—he would never be that, no matter his age!—but was too old to have all his actions approved by a Council of Regents. And as for his being guided by his mother—Ysa laughed shortly to herself. How, she wondered, could she manage to keep him from the throne… unless she had him killed?

  She should have shuddered at the very idea, she thought. It was a measure of her utter disdain for the son she had borne that she did not—indeed, that she lingered over the thought long enough to ponder how it might best be done and not implicate the one who instigated the deed.

  "The land comes first," she said to herself, clasping her hands so that her fingers rubbed against the Rings. "Ever the land. We Kings and Queens—aye, and

  Princes, too— we come and go, but the land must be preserved."

  A discreet rap at the door to her chamber interrupted her meditations. She looked up, welcoming the respite from her increasingly gloomy thoughts.

  Lady Grisella entered. "Lady Marcala has come from Cragden Keep and begs an audience with you," she said deferentially.

  "Bid her enter!" Ysa said. This was an even more welcome interruption than what she had expected—some bit of court business in which she would have had to feign an interest. "Bring warmed wine and spice cakes, and then leave us alone for a while."

  When Marcala entered, Ysa was struck once more by the way her Queen of Spies had taken on the role of noblewoman so completely that she seemed to have been born to it. Marcala curtsied and then took the low chair Ysa offered her. She accepted a flagon of hot wine Grisella provided and drank gratefully. "The air still has a chill in it before noon," she said, "though the afternoons are warm enough. Thank you for your thoughtfulness."

  "You bring cheer and light to the court," Ysa said, mindful that Grisella had not yet closed the door behind her. "Now, tell me how it goes with our loyal friend, Count Harous."

  The door closed with an audible click and Marcala looked around to make certain that nobody remained within to listen. "I have had word that another guest is expected at Cragden Keep," she said in a low voice. "Two, actually, and both very important. One is a lady. Count Harous sent a man to tell me to make ready a guest apartment."

  "And what is this lady's name?"

  "I do not know yet, only that Harous is returning from his latest hunting trip"— she said the words with a certain edge of distaste —"and is bringing her back with him. Also, there is an unknown man with Harous's party, and his name I do not know either. But I thought the word of their imminent arrival would be of interest to you. Then too, I wanted to visit the court and perhaps gain a little more perspective. I find that I am longing for Harous's return more than I should."

  "There is nothing wrong with that," Ysa said soothingly. "After all, you are young, and he is handsome, and he is probably the best catch in all of Rendel, if you don't count the Prince."

  Marcala looked at Ysa sharply, and then began to smile. "And, of course. Prince

  Florian is far, far above me," she said, laughing.

  Yes, Marcala's arrival had brought Ysa some much-needed amusement. "Far above everyone we've yet proposed for a bride," she said, and this time, the ladies laughed together.

  "I have more news," Marcala said as she helped herself to a spice cake. "But it is only gossip so far."

  "Tell it to me anyway."

  "I have heard that deep in a hidden room of Cragden Keep, Harous has put certain records under lock and key—records that he unearthed months ago. Nobody knows exactly what those records are, only that he goes to this room from time to time and reads through them. It's said they are so dusty that the entire castle needs cleaning when he's finished."

  Ysa nodded. She had heard much the same thing but had had too much on her mind to devote any time to investigating the intrigue. "You must find out what Harous thinks is so important that he must lock it away. I know that you are able to do it. Do not be in such haste that you reveal what you are about, but do not delay, either."

  "A little of this I have done al
ready."

  "Good. Now, in the meantime, share the midday meal with the court. Then you must return to Cragden Keep, for I think it would not be well if Count Harous found you missing when he came home with these mysterious strangers."

  "Yes, Your Majesty," Marcala said. She arose, dropped another curtsy, and left the chamber.

  I will go and see the King again, Ysa thought. With Marcala's visit and the fresh riddles the woman brought concerning Harous's doings, she felt almost invigorated once more. Then, her duty done to Boroth, she, too, would take a meal, this time in the Hall, and furthermore, she would eat heartily whether she wanted to or not. She needed to have the people see her in her strength.

  Ashen could not contain her curiosity as they rode through country totally unfamiliar to her. She could not even remember having read about such a land, or recall Zazar mentioning it, other than to tell her that there was an entire world outside the Bale-Bog and to predict that Ashen would someday have to live in it. Now that this prediction seemed to be coming true, Ashen knew she must devote herself to learning the ways of this new life as quickly as possible.

  Obern, she observed, was not nearly as overawed as she. And yet he, too, gazed about with keen interest. That meant that he was not totally unfamiliar with the

  Outside, though he did not know this portion of it. She tucked that observation away, to think about it at some other time.

  It was a fair land, she thought, if utterly strange to her. It was so dry! They could have gone anywhere, it seemed, and not be in danger from pools, or giant luppers, or the sucking mire. There was, however, a road, and they kept to that rather than ride crosscountry. She had never seen such a road before and knew only the uncertain paths through the Bog that disappeared and reappeared at the caprice of the water.

  Gradually, she realized that they were passing through places where food was actually being grown, as opposed to the necessity for people to go out and gather what they needed for the day. She saw men and women working in fields, and knew that they were cultivating far more than they could eat. Where did the rest go? She answered her own question. To feed others, such as Harous. She could not imagine this handsome and obviously powerful man digging out weeds in an expanse of fair grain.

  The land rose and fell, and though she recognized mountains similar to those that ringed the Bog, she had never before seen any that belched fire and smoke.

  Several of these lay on the horizon, and now and then a faint tinge of something tainted the air. "Sulfur," Harous said when she asked him about it.

  Harous seemed agreeably disposed to having her ride near him and to answer many of her questions. Luckily for Ashen, she was accustomed to having only a single explanation, if that, from Zazar, and her memory was excellent. She took it all in thirstily. He identified the weapons she had never seen before—crossbow, sword, dagger. The armor was called chain mail. It was put together in a pattern similar to knitting. She would learn about knitting and other work with needle and thread. Sometimes, in jousts—yes, he would show her a joust later—the chain mail was augmented with plates of metal.

  Ashen realized, without being told, the benefits of the sort of shirt that she had removed from Obern. He had called himself a "Sea-Rover." That must mean he was one of a group of people who lived on, or at least close to, that vast body of clean water she had glimpsed from the clifftop. If someone wearing that kind of armor happened to fall into the water, it would be much easier to free himself than with the metal tunics Harous and his men wore, and thus save himself from drowning. Later, she would find a way to assure Obern that his belongings were safe; at least, she had not seen any of Harous's men carrying them out of the ruined building that had been her home. She took up her questions again.

  No, they were not yet at their destination; she would have a fine surprise when they reached it. Yes, it was a kind of city, similar to the one in the Bog where she had been living, for it housed many people; it was sometimes called a castle, sometimes a keep, or a stronghold. No, it was not in ruins but whole, and that was where he lived, with others. No, it was not the greatest one in the land, but possibly the strongest. This was because his castle, Cragden Keep, was the great fortification that defended the capital city, Rendelsham. It was called that because the country itself was Rendel. No, it was not his only residence. A hunting lodge lay off to the west, but they were not going there.

  Also, he had a house in the city itself, where he stayed when there was much business for the Council. The Council once advised the King—the headman—and now advised the Queen, the King's wife. That was because the King was very ill.

  And so on. Harous seldom seemed out of patience, but rather, amused by Ashen's curiosity.

  "You are indeed going into a new life," he told her. "I will have tutors—teachers—to help you learn quickly what you must know, as a lady of this land. And so you are, because of your birth, though you do not yet realize it."

  When Ashen ran out of questions temporarily, she dropped back to ride near

  Obern, who seemed to be recovering rapidly from his head wounds. "Why are these men of Rendel taking you with us?" she asked. "I can understand my being with them; it is my fate to leave the Bog and go out into the world, as foretold by my Protector. But your presence with me was only an accident."

  Obern shrugged. "Accident or not, it seems to have become my fate as well. You must have a strong thread on the Loom, for it drags others with it, will or nil."

  And then Obern told her about the Loom of the Weavers, and how this belief in the Loom was common throughout the known world. Ashen listened, fascinated, remembering something of the sort she had learned from Zazar, and then she sought the same story from Harous. Only a few details differed. "And yet I perceive that you think of Obern as not a friend," she said.

  "You have keen eyes," Harous replied. "No, he is not a friend, but he is not an enemy, either. I have not made up my mind about Obern. For the moment, he is someone I have decided to shelter, to see what will come of it."

  "Like me?"

  "Not exactly."

  And that was as much detail as she could get out of him on that subject among many, at least for the present. Ashen knew that she liked Obern more, in some ways, than she did Harous, even though Harous was more polished. She had other matters to occupy her mind, however, for they had now drawn close enough to

  Cragden Keep that it could be sighted on the crown of a hill. Immediately she understood Harous's sketchy description. This was mountainous country, and her unpracticed eye detected a valley behind a wall of the heights. Cragden Keep stood at the mouth of that valley, closing it off as securely as any bundle of reeds ever stopped a jar.

  "And the city you spoke of—"

  "Rendelsham."

  "Yes, Rendelsham. That lies beyond?"

  "It sits atop a crag inside the valley. It is strong enough under ordinary circumstances, and the royal residence even looks like a castle. But it is a castle out of a child's storybook and would never hold if war came to this land.

  You can see it from the battlements. That is the reason for Cragden Keep—to prevent the city from ever having to endure the hardships that fighting would bring to it."

  Ashen digested this in silence. Another hour's ride, she estimated, and they would be within Cragden Keep's walls, and perhaps she would even catch a glimpse of this storied castle so she could see it for herself. By Harous's estimate, they would arrive at mid-afternoon.

  All her questions went out of her head, however, as they approached the keep. It occupied a sharp outthrust of stone and commanded the entire approach to the valley beyond. It had been whitewashed, though the underlying stones from which it was constructed were beginning to show through, giving it a curiously homey appearance. All traces of any friendliness vanished, however, as the travelers came closer. They climbed a steep ramp, crossed a wooden drawbridge over a ravine so deep it nearly stopped one's heart to look down at it, and entered the gatehouse, a structure whose very si
ze and power made Ashen's heart quiver and her throat threaten to close. It was so long that it formed a tunnel; inside, twilight descended, the gloom lightened by wall torches on either side. Double doors stood wide open, ready to close and bar. The doors were made of multiple layers of wood, and strengthened with metal.

  Ashen glanced upward; there in the semi-darkness, two separate constructions like, and yet unlike, doors hung overhead, spaced two dozen paces apart and suspended in grooves that had been gouged specifically for them. Each had sharp spikes along the bottom. She nudged her horse to get out from under one of these enormous, dangerous things before it could fall on her.