“Will this do?” she asked.
Brisquayne looked around the room, and extended her senses in all directions.
“Most impressive,” the queen said.
Arrhiána smiled. “You’re not quite the person you sometimes appear to be, are you, Granny?” she said.
“Well,” Brisquayne said, “no one pays any attention to an old fool.”
She cleared her throat, clearly uncomfortable about continuing with this subject.
“Arrhiána,” she said, “something happened while I was in Lavallière that caused me great concern. You’ve heard my stories about your great-aunt, the Princess Mösza, who was a contemporary of mine lo these many years ago. We discussed her during your recent visit to Kórynthály. She disappeared during the last war under somewhat strained circumstances, and I had thought her long dead. Well, I was wrong.”
“What?” the princess said. “Wouldn’t she be too old?”
“Not really,” the dowager queen said. “She was about my age, which would put her in her mid-sixties now. She turned up under a new guise and name, suddenly acting as midwife for the birth of Prince Chilpéric, my great-grandson, and she attacked my granddaughter, Princess Brislaine, while she was giving birth. If I hadn’t been there, if I hadn’t fought Mösza for control of my granddaughter’s body, Laine could have died, and the baby with her.”
“Why would she do such a thing?” Arrhiána asked.
“I don’t know.” Brisquayne sat back with downcast eyes. “It’s been forty years at least since I last saw Mösza. I think I was her only friend when she was still living in Kórynthia. She was a shy girl, neglected as a child and bedeviled by her own fancies. I think her mother, Dowager Hereditary Princess Zubayda, always associated the girl with the passing of Hereditary Prince Karlomán, Zubayda’s husband and Mösza’s father, who died young about the time she was born.
“Then, too, Mösza was the last child in a big family—her brother, King Makáry, was twenty years her senior—and there just never seemed to be enough love to go around for someone who really needed special attention. She was bright, almost too bright for her own good, and had no social sense at all. Her plain looks didn’t help matters any. Although most members of her family were chasing after the bunnies in the fields or anything else that moved by the time they were fifteen, Mösza was the exception to the rule. She never showed much interest in boys, or really in anything except her own avocations.
“I felt sorry for Mösza, and so I tried spending some extra time with her. I knew very well what it was like to be a social outcast, since I had lived much of my early life in a similar situation. I guess I just coped better. She was very well read—books were her first love—so we could always talk about literature, a favorite avocation of mine as well.
“She changed quite a bit during those last few months at court. Then, like now, we were fighting a major war against Pommerelia, and the atmosphere at home was very tense. When the word came of King Makáry’s death, and the passing of his two elder sons, she just seemed to go to pieces before us. I only saw her once after that, and then she was gone, hustled off to God knows where by Zubayda and Víktor.”
“What possible motive could she have had for this attack?” the princess asked.
“I’m not sure that there is any motive we would understand,” Brisquayne said. “When I touched her psychically, I sensed a reservoir of malice there against all members of the House of Tighris; of course, both of my daughters were children of King Makáry. I also had the distinct impression that she was sending me a message, to keep my mouth shut about olden times at court, or risk the consequences. Which brings me to a very interesting question: how did she hear? If this attack was deliberate, how could she have known what I said to a handful of people in my own home? It wasn’t my servants. I’ve already eliminated that possibility. One of us had to have talked about the visit to a third party.”
“It wasn’t Arkády or me, that I can vouch for,” Arrhiána said. “That leaves Sachette and Rÿna. I’ll ask Chette, but I strongly doubt it was her. She has more sense than to talk about such things, and until she left the cloister recently, had had no visitors except us. Well, let’s start with my sister, and then we can question Rÿna very carefully later on. Little girls are easily manipulated by outsiders.
“Can you think of anything else that might have happened when Mösza was at court that could have prompted this?”
“Oh, Rhie,” Brisquayne said, “I’ve just been turning this over and over in my mind since I saw ‘Mirza,’ as she was calling herself in Neustria. She broke off her attack when I flashed her a picture of her brother and his sons riding out of Paltyrrha on that fateful day forty-odd years ago. Something about it upset her terribly. I remember overhearing a couple of the women at court talking together not long before Mösza disappeared. I didn’t hear the whole conversation, and no names were mentioned, so I didn’t pay much attention, and never heard anything else along these lines again. It went something like this:
“‘You’re joking!’
“‘Well, that’s what one of the maids said,’ said the second voice, giggling.
“‘So what are they going to do about it?’ the first voice asked.
“‘I don’t know,’ said the second, ‘but I heard her mother was absolutely livid. She was storming around her rooms shouting, “Unnatural bitch,” “Salomé,” “Beast,” and other such things, and slapping the girl around this way and that, and threatening to denounce her to the church.’
“‘Oh, God, I wish I could have been there!’ the first woman said.
“‘And then she brought her brother in, and he said he was going to ex-, uh, ex-com-mun-i-cate her, and she said—get this—that she didn’t care, that they were all a bunch of hypo-cricks, whatever that is.’
“The second person snickered again.
“‘This is priceless. Wait until Buïela hears this!’ number one said.”
“Buïela was a well-known gossip-mongerer at court then,” the old queen said.
“‘Well, I repeat, whatever are they going to do?’ the first woman said.
“‘What can they do?’ said the second. ‘Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t ship her off somewhere until the you-know-what happens.’
“‘You mean she’s actually....’ The first lady started laughing.
“‘That’s what I hear,’ replied the second, still giggling. ‘Uh oh, let’s get out of here: someone’s coming,’ she added in a lower tone of voice.”
Brisquayne sighed.
“Ladies came and went at court fairly regularly in those days,” she said, “particularly during the war. Although I hadn’t seen these two, I knew exactly who they were. As I said, I never thought too much about their conversation at the time—so many things were going on then—but in thinking back about it now, I don’t believe I ever saw them at court again. And I know very well that Buïela never heard the tale, because giving her something was like telling it to the whole wide world.
“So, I now think that these two ladies knew something they shouldn’t have known, some secret that was quietly and efficiently covered up. Remember, it was right after this time that the king was killed and Zubayda and Víktor became regents for young King Kipriyán, giving them effective control of the state until Kipriyán came of age.”
“That’s quite a story,” Arrhiána said. “Do you think Mösza had a liaison with someone at court?”
“Well, if this was her they were talking about,” the queen said, “that would be my conclusion. It fits the facts. But if so, then she must have been seduced. There’s no possible way that the girl I knew would have initiated an intimate contact with anyone: she was just too frightened and too inexperienced, even though she was almost twenty-five years old then. She had never made the leap into adulthood.”
“And if her mother had then berated her for her weakness...,” Arrhiána said.
“…She would have reacted very badly, I think,” Brisq
uayne said. “She had a fragile personality. She might well have become embittered and vengeful.”
“Is there any way to confirm this, or to find out more?” Arrhiána asked.
“I’ve done a great deal of thinking, Rhie,” the queen said, “about who might still remember those days, but that was a long time ago, and most everyone who was present at court then is long dead.”
“What about those two you overheard?” Arrhiána said.
“I’m not even sure if I can remember their names. At any rate,” the queen said, “I’m more concerned about the present. We need to know how Mösza found out about our conversation. When she was banished from Kórynthia for life, as I assume she was, she would have had something implanted into her psyche. If they followed their usual practice, they would have fixed her with a telltale that would have prevented her from ever returning to our soil. It’s absolutely diabolical, causing dizziness, nausea, and convulsions in the recipient, and it can’t be removed, ever. We don’t do things like that very much today, but back then, it did happen, albeit infrequently.”
“I’ve only heard of such things indirectly,” Arrhiána said, “but you’re absolutely right, of course. If she can’t even step on Kórynthi soil, then how did she know?”
Arrhiána kissed and hugged her step-grandmother.
“Never fear, Granny,” she said, “we’ll find out, and we’ll make certain that all of your family is safe. Now, let’s get back to the others, before someone wonders where we’ve gone.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
“DON’T GET
YOURSELVES KILLED”
The following day was Sunday, the Feast of Saint Mölray, and Hereditary Prince Arkády decreed that the surviving members of the expedition would celebrate a mass of remembrance before breaking camp. The Archpriest Athanasios, as the senior church member present, presided over the services.
“Almighty God,” he intoned over the bowed heads of the soldiers and their officers, “we call upon You to remember the souls of those who have fought the good fight and who have departed this earth, and to bless your servants Avraäm, Nikolaí, Humfried, Pankratz, Ezzö, and all the others who died at Killingford, that they may rejoice in life eternal, and sing Your praises forever and ever. Amen.”
“Amen,” said the multitude.
“And we ask You, oh Lord,” he said, “to show us the way home, to light a path for us, to let us bring these wounded men and boys back to full health and happiness. Have mercy, oh Lord, on these Your humble servants, and forgive us our sins. Amen.”
“Amen,” came the refrain.
“May Almighty God bless, preserve, and restore you to everlasting peace,” he said, giving them his benediction.
“God save Prince Arkády!” he suddenly added.
“God save Prince Arkády!” came the thunderous response.
Then they began to break this camp of sorrows. The scout Çévik organized a party to torch the pile of engines and excess baggage they had accumulated the previous evening. Anything that might slow them down, including very large weaponry, was sacrificed. Another group set fire to the empty monastery, going from room to room with their torches, and salvaging only a barrel of wine that had somehow been missed by the earlier scavengers.
At last the princes mounted the horses. Prince Arkády clasped hands with his two brothers, and wished them well.
“Don’t get yourselves killed,” he said.
“Not a chance,” Kiríll said, a crooked grin appearing on his face. “Zack and I will just have to make sure that Father Athanasios keeps up.”
He adjusted his greatbow on his shoulder, flexing his injured arm, which was almost back to normal strength.
“And you, Prince Arkády,” Athanasios said, “you also be watchful. Take good care of these men.”
“I shall, father,” the prince said.
And then they were off!
Behind them a great column of smoke reached into the sky, marking the end of their hopes in Pommerelia. Their kinsmen here would have to find their own saviors. The Tighrishi could no longer offer a way out.
The three men rode east and then slightly southeast, following the main road toward Karkára, which was still in Kórynthi hands. They encountered the first wagon train a little after midday, and directed it onward to service the main army. They stumbled across the remains of a second train later in the afternoon, scaring off the vultures tearing at the bones of its dead guards. There was no sign of the partisans who had done this outrage.
“Thorough, aren’t they?” Zakháry said.
“Yes, brother, and they will happily do the same to us if they catch us loitering here,” Kiríll said.
Athanasios insisted on saying a prayer of remembrance over the remains, despite the protests of the two princes. Then they spurred their horses forward, the priest trailing in their wake.
About an hour before sunset they encountered a party of ten Pommerelians, who loosed several arrows at them, and then tried to ride them down. When it became obvious to the trio that their tired mounts simply could not carry them out of danger, Prince Zakháry ordered a halt after rounding a bend in the road, and hid them in the brush on either side. He and his brother quickly strung their bows, and waited.
As the raiding party came around the corner, the two princes brought down four of the Pommerelians immediately, including their leader, and nailed a fifth as he turned to flee. The other five retreated, and began lobbing bolts back in the other direction. Neither side was able to move until sunset, when Zakháry carefully maneuvered them down the road on foot, leading the horses, fresh now from their enforced rest.
Then they remounted, and took off again. This time they were not followed.
They reached the Kórynthi camp in Lüstern Field at the base of the Karkára Cut not long after sunrise the next day. There Prince Kiríll presented his credentials, and was escorted to the castle he had taken just the month before.
Prince Zakháry and Father Athanasios were outfitted with new steeds, and given a chance for a good meal and brief rest. The two brothers embraced, and bid each other bonne chance. Zakháry and Athanasios then turned their steeds down the long, tired, crowded road to Borgösha.
EPILOGUE
“SOMETHING HAS AMUSED YOUR MAJESTY?”
Anno Domini 1241
Anno Juliani 881
When Count Maurin had finally finished the main part of his tale, the hour was late, and Queen Grigorÿna was tempted to break for the evening. But she sensed that the nobleman still had ought to say, and knew that if she delayed the telling till another day, he might not speak the same again. And so she let him continue.
“Slowly and carefully,” he said, “Hereditary Prince Arkády pulled the remnants of our tattered army back over the mountains into Kórynthia, taking care, however, to preserve such lands in Pommerelia as were needed for the protection of our forces—and for the future integrity of the realm.
“These he set off with a series of forts anchored around the main towns flanking the mountain range on the west, making certain that they had sufficient of our forces to defend themselves from any likely attack in the near future.
“I was given command of some of the mostly-destroyed remnants of the army units that had been enmeshed in the center of the fight at Killingford, including a great many soldiers who’d been wounded, either in body or in spirit; and was ordered to bring them safely back to the motherland.
“This I did.
“Then I received my discharge, and slowly walked the entire distance back to Kosnickland. There were simply no horses or other beasts to spare, and the few transit portals were continually occupied with official business.
“I was desperate to see my people again—and also felt compelled to relay to them whatever news I had (most of it not good) of their loved ones.
“And this was the end of my involvement with the Great War. I transited once or twice to Paltyrrha before the end of the year, but of the huge events that reshaped the
realm that fall, I have no direct knowledge. I did not participate in them or witness what took place.”
Then he lapsed into solitude, and she knew that he’d finally finished.
She asked him a series of questions about the great working that had destroyed the major parts of both combatants’ armies, but although he’d undergone basic Psairothi training, he understood almost nothing of what had occurred.
“What was attempted by Melanthrix and the others was so far above the level of my skill that I might as well have been a five-year-old just starting to draw my letters. I saw what happened, to be sure, but it was so much fire and brimstone to me. I do know that I was lucky to escape alive from that conflagration: most of the men on the field did not share my fortune, I’m sorry to say.”
She pressed him further for details, and then for a list of survivors of the battle who might yet live, and he tried to help her as best as could—but at last she realized that she had reached a point where nothing would be gained by continuing. She offered him a room for the night, but he declined.
“I must return home; my dear wife expects me,” was all that he could say.
She thanked him for his time, and asked him if there was something she could do to benefit his people; and when he mentioned a canal that had long been planned, and even started—but had been deferred for lack of funds—she gladly promised that the throne would provide the sum necessary to complete the project.
And then he left.
* * * *
In the weeks and days that followed, she located some of the survivors who’d been mentioned by the Count, but none them could add anything relevant to her history. Once again she chafed at her restrictions: there was one who could have helped her, perhaps greatly, but the Queen feared even attempting to make contact with that individual. Only the strongest would or could dare such a venture, and she required some further protections.
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