The Misbegotten King

by Anne Kelleher Bush

  “Say yes—accept his offer. I have a vision about this one.”

  The Kahn stared. “What—what do you see?”

  “A vision of land, stretching out to the sky from east to west, and horses, more than we can count between us ” Her voice trailed off as Amanander gently withdrew. No sense in damaging the hen. If she had this kind of influence over the Kahn, she was too valuable to be wasted.

  A ripple went through the riders; they leaned their heads together and muttered. Mamma-Doc was a seer, a wise-woman known for her visions. She sat at the Kahn’s right hand and guided his decisions. If she had said to do this, then it should be done.

  The Kahn narrowed his eyes at Amanander, and Amanander wanted to laugh. The war between his own instincts and the timeworn lessons of his woman was so clear upon the Kahn’s face, he might have spoken it aloud. Finally he said, “We shall do this.”

  “Good,” said Amanander, speaking aloud for the first time since the introduction. “Bring your men and rendezvous with my cousin at the garrison at Meridien. I know you know the way.”

  The Kahn turned uneasily in his saddle, seeking out the eyes of Mamma-Doc. The woman sat entranced, her own eyes on Amanander. He willed her to smile, and obediently her lips turned up. As the Kahn nodded, Amanander felt a little shiver through his own mind. The hen was fighting him! He tightened his clamp upon her, showing her an image of her children torn and bleeding. The answering surge of emotion was overwhelming. Energy poured into his mind, unchanneled like a river at floodtide. He controlled his surprise with an effort and threw it back out, reaching into the minds of a few of the other companions on either side of her. They instantly focused their eyes on him.

  From somewhere on the cliffs a hawk shrieked and dropped. “We shall meet again a week hence,” said Amanander as he reinforced the image of the wide green plains in the minds of the Riders. It was easier now, he noticed, now that he’d had that little boost from the woman. For curiosity’s sake, he gave her another image, this one of her man crucified. Again another blast of energy surged back, filling him with an overwhelming sense of strength. Almost as easily as he might crush a leaf, he let his mind flow over and into the others, until only the Kahn was untouched.

  He nodded briefly at the Kahn, flapped his horse’s reins, and guided the animal away, listening as Harland made some hurried excuse for a good-bye. He was halfway down the path when he heard the hooves of Harland’s mount behind him. He didn’t bother to turn around.

  “Aman!” called Harland. “Why were you so rude? Turning your back on them like that? Don’t you realize they could have thrown something at you? That’s considered a grave slight among them. One never turns one’s back upon a friend.”

  Amanander let a little smile appear around the corners of his mouth. “Yes, Harry. I know.”

  “And here they had agreed to help us—thank heavens for the Mamma-Doc. She must have liked what she saw, hmm?”

  Amanander nodded “Indeed.”

  “But, Aman.” Harland rode up beside him and grabbed his arm. “We can’t insult our allies like that. We need every friend. How do you expect to cement an alliance between the Kahn and his people and the Southern lords—”

  “Harry, I think you misunderstand. I don’t intend to be their friend. I intend to be their master.”

  “Aman!” Harland gazed at him, shocked, the reins limp in his fingers.

  Amanander suppressed a laugh. Harland was so pathetic. “I was joking, Harry. Of course.”

  “Ah.” Harland breathed a sigh and tightened his hands on the reins. “For-forgive me, Aman. I didn’t mean to suggest—”

  “Of course you didn’t.” Amanander felt his smile stretch his mouth like a taut bowstring. “We will begin with Dlas, I think.”

  Harland raised an eyebrow quizzically. “Dlas?”

  Amanander nodded. “I don’t want an enemy on my flank. I know that garrison like my own hand, its strengths and its weaknesses. It will be an easy thing to take it out.”

  “But—but, Aman—your nephew holds Dlas. Surely it would be better to at least offer him the chance to join with us? To explain things as we see them? Just as you did with Reginald?”

  The horses’ hooves beat a steady tattoo as they cantered down the highway. Amanander stroked his chin as though giving Harland’s suggestion serious consideration. “You think we should send an envoy, then, Harry?”

  “Oh, yes. Two or three men, no more.”

  “Two or three.” Yes, thought Amanander. Two or three to go through the gates. And a pack of Harleys waiting in the hills. “Yes, Harry, I think you’re right. I shall be sure to send a messenger with a proposal to Barran. Better to try to make as many allies as we can.”

  The sun briefly glinted out behind the lowering clouds. He smiled at his cousin, amused by the utter trust which stared from Harry’s guileless eyes. With a little smile, Amanander delved, gently at first, then with greater insistence. He was rewarded when Harland’s mouth slackened. This part was easy. Too easy, he thought. With slow deliberation, he gave Harland an image of Missiluse Castle in ruins, as it had been the day his father had died. Only a small trickle of emotion flowed back.

  Amanander tried a harsher image, a woman raped and bleeding, lying on the ground, her legs spread wide. This time the emotion surged, raw, every bit as violent as that of Mamma-Doc’s. Triumph, as hot and exhilarating as a sexual climax, rolled through his body. I have it, thought Amanander. He had the key. He thought of Reginald: clumsy, arrogant, defiant Reginald. Oh, he would have to summon Reginald here as quickly as possible, and Atland’s sons—

  “Summon Reginald,” said Harland.

  Amanander looked at his cousin with a start. “What did you say?”

  “Summon Reginald immediately,” repeated Harland.

  A slow smile spread across Amanander’s face. He’d had no idea it would be so effortless.

  Chapter Fifteen

  From the cover of the dense underbrush that lined the ancient road as it dipped down into the valley, eyes watched as the fourteen travelers guided their horses over the uneven blacktop. The highway, which had once been wider than thirty horses across, now barely accommodated four of the riders abreast. Low-hanging branches partially obscured their vision, and one of the observers leaned over to growl in another’s ear. “Who are these humans?”

  Jama shook his head, eyes narrowed in concentration, and motioned for his lieutenant to be quiet. This was most unexpected. Down in the hidden valley on the other side of the mountain pass was the College. It had taken weeks for his scouts to find the refuge of the Elders, so inaccessible were the inner hollows of the Pulatchian Highlands. And yet, here, on this sunny morning, more than a dozen humans came riding over the crest of the hill, their horses fat, their weapons shining, their clothing well worn but by no means threadbare. He leaned forward, his dark eyes scanning the company as they rounded a curve and breasted a slight rise. It was a company of soldiers—not the King’s soldiers, for he knew those uniforms too well. These men wore dark brown leather breeches, and their shirts of unbleached linen were covered by cloaks woven in intricate patterns of predominantly browns and greens and blues. He craned his head, trying to get a better look. At the head of the group rode a tall thin man dressed in shades of grayish green. Jama sucked in his breath as he recognized Vere.

  “Adanijah,” he muttered. “Do you see who that is?”

  Adanijah leaned forward, his headdress fluttering back as a breeze shifted the leaves. “At the head?”

  “It’s the one called Vere. Ridenau Prince and member of the College of the Elders.”

  Adanijah smiled, his uneven white teeth flashing in his terra-cotta face. His secondary arms jolted spasmodically against his chest. “Good then. He comes just in time.”

  Jama grunted an assent. “But who’s he bringing with him? The Elders don’t let humans into the College.”

  Adanijah smiled and glanced over his shoulder, where the rest of their forces lay conceal
ed in the dense underbrush. “Maybe he comes to do our job.”

  Jama shot Adanijah a quelling look. Although he understood Amanander’s order that the College be destroyed, he had grave doubts that this was the right course of action. There was something distasteful and disquieting about falling like vengeance on a refugee group of Elders, who, blind, deprived of hands and tongues by their own codes, could hardly defend themselves. He looked at the travelers, now nearly parallel to their hiding places. In the center of the company, in the most protected position, a slim rider garbed in a dark blue traveling cloak rode a dainty mare. He tugged at Adanijah’s sleeve. “That’s a woman,” he hissed.

  Adanijah glanced over. “So? Their women don’t interest me.”

  With a hiss of disgust, Jama looked at Adanijah. “But obviously she interests the College, you fool, or Vere wouldn’t be bringing her to them.”

  “You think he’s taking her there?” Adanijah narrowed his eyes for another look.

  Jama shook his head. “Have we seen any other sign of humans in these parts? And here comes more than a dozen of them, riding bold as you please in the direction of the College.”

  Adanijah gave the soldiers an appraising look. “You think they will interfere?”

  Jama shrugged. “They are a dozen to our fifteen hundreds.” He looked at his second in command, and bit back a chuckle. “I hardly think so.”

  The hair rose on the back of Deirdre’s neck. She spurred her mount up to Vere’s and leaned nearer to him in the saddle. “I don’t like this.”

  Vere turned and gave her an inscrutable look. “This is what the Children have been reduced to, M’Callaster.”

  “No,” she said, dismissing with a wave the huts which clung like scabs to the sides of the mountains. “That isn’t what I meant. I don’t like the feeling I have. I feel as though we are being watched.”

  “We are,” Vere replied gravely. They rode side by side in silence, and then he pointed to pass in the road, high above them. “You will leave us there, for you can go no further. I am sworn to bring no outsiders into the College.”

  Deirdre raised an eyebrow. “I don’t like that.”

  Vere shrugged. “That is the way it is, M’Callaster. We have our ways, as you have yours.”

  Deirdre gave Vere a hard look. “I swore to Roderic to bring his lady safe to the College—”

  “Deirdre,” Vere said gently. “You only promised Roderic you would take us to the pass there and you have. Trust me.”

  With a puckered frown, Deirdre turned away. “What about Alexander?”

  Vere nodded. “I am going to take him with me. I want the Elders to speak to him—I think he may be able to tell them things about the Magic they don’t know yet. Or at least give them some idea how Amanander and Ferad are likely to try to use it.”

  “So you expect us to wait for you?”

  Vere shook his head. “No. Don’t wait. I don’t know how long I will be. And after consulting with the Elders, it may be that Alexander and I will go and look for Dad.”

  “Have all the Ridenau brothers gone mad?” Deirdre shook her head.

  Vere gave her an amused look. “What do you mean?”

  Deirdre made a derisive noise. “Well, look at you all. Reginald and Amanander traitors, you and Alexander about to go off on some wild quest. Phillip refuses to crawl out behind his mountains, leaving Everard to fight in the North, and here the only one with any sense to stand by Roderic is Brand—” She shook her head.

  Vere looked up at the green mountains, rising sharply on all sides. For a long moment, he said nothing, and then he nodded. “Indeed, M’Callaster. I see what you mean. We are a wayward lot. Makes one wonder how a country can be united, when even brothers cannot.”

  She met his eyes and nodded, saddened by his expression. “How much further?”

  Vere glanced up. “Distances in these mountains are deceiving. We will reach the entrance to the pass by dusk. Camp there tonight, and then tomorrow be on your way.”

  Deirdre gave him a long, measuring look and looked away with a sigh of resignation. “Aye, Vere. As you say. I don’t like it. But I will respect it.”

  His only answer was a smile which did not quite reach his eyes.

  The long shadows fell early from the high peaks of the mountains. Adanijah cursed as he glared across the valley. “Why wait?”

  Jama leaned against the trunk of the tree, chewing on a long stem of grass. The others eyed him cautiously. He knew the desperation which beat through his brothers’ blood. “I say we allow the Ridenau to bring the woman into the Elders.”

  “And the soldiers?” An old, grizzled veteran of many battles spoke across the clearing.

  “If they are there, kill them. But otherwise, remember what Amanander told us. We do nothing to alert the humans.”

  Adanijah spat. “Foolishness. What care we whether they know?”

  Jama set the piece of grass aside and gazed up at his older companion with mild eyes. “Because. All along we have fretted that we would have no recognition from the humans. And now it is offered. And now, for right now, we will do as he asks.”

  “For right now.” Adanijah met Jama’s eyes with a long look.

  “For right now. So long as his interests and ours are one.”

  “And when they are not?” Beside Jama, a comrade twisted off another piece of grass and slowly looked it over as though it were the choicest of morsels.

  Something twisted in Jama’s gut. His people had survived on grass like that, eaten boiled until the tough fibers broke down. There was little or no nourishment in it, but at least one died of starvation with one’s belly full. “When they are not, Zell, then we shall turn upon the Ridenau as easily as he would turn upon us.” In the fading light, Jama met Adanijah’s eyes and was satisfied to see him nod approval.

  The pass rose high and forbidding, the striated rock walls of pinks and browns and tans practically at right angles to the ground. Deirdre slid off her horse, patting the animal’s rump. She hooked her thumbs in her sword-belt and shifted her plaid over her shoulder. “You know I don’t like this, Vere. I would feel better if I saw the lady safe in the hands of the Elders myself.”

  Vere slid off the saddle, handing her the reins. “I know. But believe me, it is better this way.”

  Deirdre gave him a long look. She turned away and strode to Annandale. “My lady.”

  Annandale tightened her hands on the reins. “Tell Roderic I shall return as soon as possible.”

  Deirdre nodded. “I will send a messenger.”

  “A messenger?” Vere had come up behind her. “Why a messenger?”

  Deirdre looked up at Annandale, her eyes steady. “I have other business.”

  “What other business?” Vere demanded. He tugged at her arm, and Deirdre spun on her heel to face him.

  Angry words leapt to her lips and she bit them back. She tossed her head back and glanced at Annandale. “I am not going back to Ithan.”

  Vere gasped. “I—I thought you had agreed to stay— at least until the autumn—”

  “I agreed to stay till Gost. But there have been changes—new information has come to light.” She glanced back at Annandale once more. “I think Roderic needs me for what I am about to do more than he requires my presence in Ithan.”

  “And what is that?” Vere’s face flushed scarlet beneath his tattoos, and he clenched his hands into fists. “Cross the Saranevas before the first frost?”

  She regarded him with cool disdain. “I go to Owen Mortmain. To ask him to send Roderic reinforcements.”

  “Vada?” Vere whispered. “You go to Vada?”

  “Aye. And if I don’t leave now, I may not get back across the Saranevas by the first frost. You know how long a trip it is.”

  “But-but, M’Callaster—Deirdre, what made you think to do such a thing?”

  “Take a look around you, Vere. The country’s in chaos. Can Roderic risk allowing the West to stay uninvolved? How can he fight a war on so
many fronts? Every man of the Congress is intent on protecting his piece of Meriga, which may be as it should be, and maybe I should be doing the same—but by the One, Vere, I cannot sit back and watch Roderic flounder for lack of troops and supplies.”

  Vere stared at her. “You really think Owen will come?”

  She shrugged. “He’s an old man. I doubt he will come. But under the circumstances—” She broke off and gazed over Vere’s shoulder. “Aye. I think Owen will send troops to his grandson’s aid.”

  Vere drew a deep breath. “In all these years, Owen has never sent men. The supplies have come, but only because Abelard’s administrators have taken them. What is different now?”

  “Well, for one thing,” Deirdre said, “Roderic is of his blood. What man would deny his grandson aid?”

  Vere shrugged. “It’s a long risk, M’Callaster. You ride across the length of Meriga—ask an old man for aid— what if he says no?”

  “Then I’ll come back. And may the One forgive me for being a fool.”

  “Will you—will you be all right? It’s dangerous—”

  She gave a short laugh. “Aye—it’s dangerous. If I don’t return by Gost—count me lost.”

  “Gost? You’d hoped to be back in the Settle Islands by Gost.”

  “I guess my plans have changed.” She met his eyes as a grim smile stretched his thin lips.

  “Shall I—may I tell Roderic where you have gone?”

  She shrugged. “As you please. If I succeed he’ll find out, and if I fail it won’t matter.”

  “Deirdre…” Vere began.

  She looked at him expectantly and he continued. “Thank you. Thank you for your protection on this journey and forgive me for being angry with you just now. I—I didn’t understand what you had in your mind to do”

  She held up her hand and smiled up at Annandale, who was watching her with an unreadable expression. “Tis of no consequence. And it isn’t the first time I’ve been accused of being too close-mouthed about my intentions.” She smiled at him. “Goddess blessings, Vere.”

  “And to you M’Callaster.”