“It is beautiful,” he protested, shooting an indignant look at me. “And must have been so from its making.”
“I meant inside,” I said. “Defense is its aim. The Black Keep could be defended at the last by two men.”
“Could be?” he echoed curiously. “Has it?”
I lifted one shoulder. “As far we know, the keep has never been pushed to that extreme. But who could be sure with so much of our history lost?” I darted a sidelong glance at him. “In the time of my grandfather Bann, it was held by a mere eight men for two full months. The besiegers ran out of supplies before the defenders, and we won.”
His lips pursed appreciatively.
“It is sparse as a warriors’ barracks inside,” I said. “That is, essentially, what it was built to be.” I turned my gaze back, full upon the approaching scene. “Nonetheless, outside, it is beautiful. The blinding brilliance of the keep on a bright day. Its glowering darkness under a cloudy sky. More common than sunny ones.” I felt a wry smile nudge the corner of my mouth upward. “These are appreciated but were not planned.” How much of the High King’s sway derived from the fearsome sovereignty of his stronghold?
“No one could look upon this castle and think to take it by force,” Hal said.
Would the Saradenians? Would they look upon the Black Keep and think themselves strong enough to storm it, a thing that had never been done in living memory or even memory become legend?
“They believe they can,” I said. That was the simple truth underlying the letter. They think they can take us. All of us. Elbany, Ragonne, Logan—and Bruster. They made their demands and would come not as the enemy of any one but against us all, and deemed themselves sufficient to the fight.
Hal’s stricken face looked as if he had the same thoughts, and was equally shaken by them. We stared at one another until my eyes burned and I had to blink. All of us.
At last my gaze went back to the Black Keep. I shook my head. Gloom and worry would not bide, not as I watched the castle grow. Its purpose was cold-eyed protection, but to my heart its black walls shone with warmth, and with a childhood as the cherished only daughter of the High King. Anxious as I was about how I would be received, about the ill tidings I brought by the bucketful—nevertheless, it said home.
Odulan signaled. The slaves raised their oars, swinging them into the boat. Momentum carried the ship forward, and as the water grew shallow Odulan raised his hand. Two slaves jumped over the side and tugged the boat the last few feet to where the black sand sloped down to the water. Another twitch of Odulan’s fingers and the remaining boat slaves vaulted out, pulling the boat beyond the reach of the tide, pausing long enough to allow Hal and me to climb out.
Clutching my bag against my chest, well above the most ambitious spray, I nodded to Odulan, while Hal raised his hand, a gesture of thanks and farewell. Odulan, his careful gaze on his boat and crew, returned a brisk nod. We started across the sand to the road.
“A stone road,” Hal said as we stepped from the yielding sand onto the hard surface.
“Yes,” I said, unable to suppress a surge of pride. Even in Ferrant, where the ladies had sniffed about the ‘barbaric south’, not quite daring to say ‘Bruster’, I had seen none better. To be fair, it was the only paved road on the island, but ran all the way to the town, then beyond to the castle, and it was so wide that four men could ride abreast and not rub knees. It was paved with ordinary stone, the same as the stone buildings in the town. The black stone belonged to the mountain and the keep, nowhere else, not even Reud.
“Shall we?” Hal asked. His glance made clear he was asking about more than whether I was ready for the walk.
I shouldered my bag. “Let’s go.”
As we moved nearer, the solid mass of the town separated into houses. Some were turf with thatched roofs, pale as cloud against the black mountain. Others were dry stone, tapering in upon themselves at the top like an arrowhead, held together by the weight and placement of the rocks. A few were built of shaped and mortared stones, like the Black Keep—invariably the largest and tallest, the homes of the most well-to-do craftsmen.
Our approach was noted. Doors opened. People emerged. A wain came from between houses and stopped as its driver gawked, letting the reins slacken until his horse turned to see what had happened. The stares of the townspeople began to fall like cold heavy rain. Some hard. Some disbelieving. Some furtive, eyes widening as heads swiveled away, lips opening around whispers. I felt my chin lift.
“Don’t let them,” Hal said.
I looked at him sidelong. He was right. The stares could only sting if I allowed it. But it was not so simple to shrug away the gaping glances. The hostile glares. The not quite soft enough murmurs. The buzz of voices soon became loud enough to muffle the sounds of our feet against the stones. I thought of the triumphant farewell Reud had given when I left for Ferrant. Garlands of mistletoe boughs had draped every doorway, and even the children had donned shoes to wave their princess goodbye.
Perhaps that comparison was unfair. Perhaps it was more truthful to think of their subdued, shocked, curious stares when I had returned from Ferrant. Perhaps this was no worse.
I heaved my bag to a different place on my hip. Hal seized the moment to move to my other side, positioning himself between me and the gawking townsfolk. I would not have supposed that the slight screen of his body would make it easier to ignore them, but it did, and I felt some of the tightness leave my shoulders. Nonetheless I drew a grateful, deep breath when we passed the last house.
Only bare road, curving left as it followed the shoreline, lay between us and the keep. I tipped my head back, drinking in the mountain to its peak. Then, slowly, my gaze descended.
“Stunning,” Hal breathed. His glance had followed mine. Up the mountain, down to the Black Keep.
“Oh, yes,” I said.
“Parts of the parapet are weathered. Look.” He pointed. I thought suddenly of my father inspecting the battlements for such places, weakened by wet and wind. He shook his head in apparent disbelief. “It is old.”
“Very old.” The Roth’s castle had been built by his far-flung ancestor Alfred of Roth who had united Elbany, but compared to the Black Keep, the mortar was scarcely dry between its stones. The Black Keep was ancient beyond reliable knowledge. It was said the castle had been built by Ator, who conquered and held the entirety of the Three Lands. If he existed at all. Ator was also ancient beyond reliable knowledge.
The road narrowed as we approached the keep. Walking, we could go side by side, but horsemen would have been obliged to advance singly. This, too, served the castle’s purpose. With the mountain to its back and the rock-scattered sea before it, there was no other entrance. It would have been foolish to provide a wide path to the door for attackers. The wall facing the water was smooth, with no window for twenty feet up. The entrance was to the right, where the road climbed a steep rise to a set of wooden stairs.
“Another defense,” I said as we started up. “You burn them and leave the invaders to puzzle the problem of forcing entry into a castle whose door is now ten feet above their heads.”
“Those that survived the rain of arrows as they struggled up the road,” he said.
“Just so,” I said.
Both the stairs and the gates that stood at their summit were wooden, but painted black as the castle and the mountain. Upon them, inlayed with gold, was graven the device of the High King.
After a moment, as if I’d been waiting for something without realizing it, I raised my hand. For the first time in my life I knocked upon the wicket gate.
Chapter II
My knocking was, of course, unnecessary.
Our approach had been observed. The small window in the wicket door slid open before the sound of my knock had died. “Who comes to the Black Keep, the hold of the High King of Bruster?”
The doorward spoke in Brusterian and I responded in the same language. “I am...” I found my voice shaking, and paused to steady
it. “Doctora Maudlin Bann, Vere-trained scholar, librarian to the Roth of Elbany, and daughter of the High King of Bruster.”
“Indeed,” the voice said skeptically. “And the man?”
“Hal Carlson, in the service of King Philip of Ragonne,” Hal said.
“Indeed,” the doorward said again, but this time with respect and real interest. “Greetings, Master Carlson of Ragonne. And Princess Maudlin. If so you are. What is your purpose here?”
I tried to swallow growing irritation. “We bring messages for the High King.”
“What messages? Where from?”
“Messages for the High King,” I snapped. “Messages that are no man’s business but his.”
There was a long pause. “I never met the princess Maudlin,” the doorward said. “But I have heard about her. Perhaps you are who you claim.” He paused again. “In any case, if Master Carlson has come from Ragonne, the Steward will want to hear what he has to say.”
Hal and I scarcely had a moment to exchange bewildered looks before the window slid shut and the wicket door opened. We stepped inside. The doorward shut it so quickly it brushed my skirt. He dropped the crossbar.
The guards were always vigilant, but this level of caution was unusual. Something was wrong.
A second door stood in the opposite wall, near the corner, a warrior on guard beside it. Given their wariness, it would be barred from inside. This room was another of the keep’s defenses. The barred doors, cross-corner from one another, would create considerable difficulty for attackers having breached the outer door and attempting to break through the inner. Which they would be trying under a hail of arrows from slits in the walls and ceiling. Other defenses would rain down as well: scalding-hot water, mud, animal dung, the contents of the castle’s privies. Whatever was at hand and might serve.
“Send for the Steward,” the doorward said.
Nodding crisply, the guard of the inner door rapped upon it. After a moment, it opened minutely and he spoke to someone inside, too softly to hear. But I could hear that once the door closed, the bar was set in place again.
The High King’s guards would not even leave the inner door unbarred long enough to fetch the Steward, with only two people waiting, one a woman, and neither armored? Cold fear twisted in my gut. Something was very wrong.
The moments stretched, long and taut. I found my foot tapping and quieted it. Surely I could recall some of the patient-seeming required of a princess of Bruster, even more so of a Queen of Ferrant. Hal tucked his hands behind his back and stood as unmoving as the stone walls.
At last I lowered my heavy bag, sliding it protectively between my feet. Both the guard and the doorward watched me closely as I did.
When Steward Bernuth came, all would be well. He knew me. He’d been with my father since before I was born. To the High King’s children, the Steward had seemed a human manifestation of the castle itself, with his black eyes and black hair, and quiet but unyielding force. He ruled the household with efficient if laconic management. We, like his staff, feared his displeasure, which seared the more for the few words in which it came. We appreciated him more as we grew older and learned he had been one of our father’s best warriors in the early struggles to keep his throne, who had agreed to forsake the field at the behest of the young High King, who needed a man of unbreakable loyalty to direct his household. It was easy to believe he had once been a formidable fighter. He moved with a warrior’s stealth through the keep. Much to the trepidation of the servants.
It was at least half an hour before the scrape of the lifted bar touched my ears, and the inner door swung slowly open. Finally!
My relief died as the man stepped into view. It was not Steward Bernuth. I did not know him. Which meant he would not know me. Perhaps the Steward was occupied and had sent one of his men? Or—oily worry slid through me. Was this man now Steward?
He bowed politely, as to any unexpected and unknown guest, but not deeply, as to a member of the High King’s family. “What is the cause of your coming to the Black Keep?”
Clearly, my identity remained under suspicion. Their skepticism was frustrating but not unreasonable. A proper visit would have been announced with messengers, weeks, even months beforehand. Arriving unlooked-for, unaccompanied but for one man...I could hardly fault their suspicion. My father or brothers would know me, naturally, but the High King’s men would not let me near any of them until they were satisfied I was no threat. “We bring messages for the High King my father,” I said.
He blinked slowly. “From?”
“That is the concern of the High King,” I said. “But I assure you, the news we bring is grave. He will want to hear it, and quickly.”
Again his eyelids lowered and rose. “You say you are the princess Maudlin.”
“I am princess Maudlin.” I pushed a note of panic from my voice. “Daughter of the High King. Vere-trained scholar and librarian to the Roth of Elbany.”
He folded one hand over the other. “Strange that princess Maudlin should return from Elbany in a boat from Vere.”
“The Roth sent me to Ragonne on a task. When it was finished, King Philip asked me to return to Elbany by way of Vere to deliver a gift to the Pedagno. We were asked to stop here on our way back to Elbany and deliver a message to the High King.”
His eyes flashed, as if I’d given something away. “The message, then, is from the Pedagno?”
I felt my fingers trying to curl into a fist and forced them smooth. “As I said, the High King’s messages are his own business.”
His attention flicked to Hal. “And you are?”
“Hal Carlson of Ragonne,” he said.
“Do you bring a message from Ragonne?”
“The High King’s messages—” I interrupted.
He flung up a hand. “Ordinarily, yes. Not now.”
The knot in my stomach tightened like a sail-cord in a storm. My father must be ill. Dying. Dead. What else could cause such caution? “What has happened?”
He shook his head, the look on his face reproachful.
“You do not know me, and so you bar my way?” I said. “It is equally true I do not know you. Who are you? Where is Steward Bernuth? He knows me.” I met his eyes. “Our news is urgent. I need to see the High King. Or one of my brothers. Now.”
His eyes narrowed. I was reminded of a warrior, staring across the water at a mountain on the far side, trying to make out whether the shapes that moved were goats, deer, wild pigs—or men.
At last he jerked his head towards the guard at the inner door, who knocked for it to be opened. “Come.”
***
The walls of the Black Keep were thick, even the inner ones, but that width was more noticeable walking from room to room within the castle than entering from the outside. One did not, in fact, merely go from one room into the next. Most often a cave-like passage led into the chamber beyond. A low-ceilinged passage that forced you to bend to avoid knocking your head. Like everything else about the design of the Black Keep, it was purposeful—and that purpose was defense. It slowed an attacker’s progress, and obliged him to emerge with his head down. The more easily to have it struck from him with a blow to the back of the neck.
After a series of such passages and rooms, we came to the hall. I breathed out softly. Whatever was to hand, the hall was unchanged.
But cleaner. The plastered walls were newly whitewashed, the tapestries upon them standing out so brightly they must have been taken down recently to have the dust beaten off. Small fires burned on both hearths, and all the tables were in place, including the High King’s on the dais. I frowned. The hall would normally be open and empty, the trestle tables apart and stacked against the wall. Perhaps the King held court soon, and preparing for that event had stoked the household’s vigilance. Any event in which the High King appeared publicly was a source of concern to his retainers.
The man led us through the hall to a room beyond. It led in turn, I recalled, to a second, larger room. That w
as the reception chamber, where the High King’s guests waited until formally entering the hall. Sometimes the High King would receive less important guests there rather than in the hall. Men of distinction met with him on the third floor, in his own work chamber. This small room was the Steward’s, from which he managed the household. Unlike the hall, no fire burned here, but he gestured us to the chairs before the hearth.
I noted the ease with which he came into the room, his presence within it. I sat, placing my bag beside the chair. “You are now Steward?”
“Yes.” He settled himself into the seat opposite.
Hal took the chair by mine, watching. I did not ask what had happened to Steward Bernuth. If he was no longer Steward, he was surely dead.
“I have been Steward nearly two years,” the man said. “Steward Bernuth was my father. My name is—”
Old memories shifted into place. “Gustor,” I said.
He gave a thoughtful nod. “Perhaps you are princess Maudlin.”
Why did I know this man’s name but not his face? I could see his father in him now, both in body and behavior—the dark hair and eyes, the sparse speech. But six years would not have been enough to blot him out if I had known him. “I don’t remember you,” I said. “Why would that be?”
He did not speak. I supposed that while he was inclining towards believing me, he was not yet willing to volunteer information.
I combed my memory. “I remember Steward Bernuth’s son only as a child,” I said. “A few years younger than me. He—you—were fostered in...Logan, I remember now, and had not come back before I left for Ferrant.” I gave a half shrug. “If you were here when I returned, I’m sorry, I do not recall.”
“I was in Eban during the few months princess Maudlin was home then.” He steepled his fingers. “I suspect, lady, that you are who you claim to be.” He lifted a finger as I moved to speak. “But I cannot permit you into the presence of the High King on suspicion.” His voice was apologetic but firm. “You have been gone six years. In our current danger—”
Homegoing (The Tall Ships of Saradena Book 1) Page 35