by Sean Russell
“Your trust is an honor, your grace.”
“And you may call me Prince Michael.”
“My Prince,” the man said, making a quick bow before hurryingoff.
Lord T’oldor returned to find Michael going over the plan ofbattle with his new officers, deciding how the companies would be arranged, howthey would move to their places, and how they would be supplied both with foodand arms. Moving such a large force even a short distance, which was what theyintended, took a great deal of planning. Men who had been fed fought betterthan those who were hungry. And men who believed in the abilities of theirsuperiors fought better still. The army of Innes would have no idea of theabilities of the Prince. He would have to prove himself. They didn’t know hehad fought the servants of Death in the Stillwater and wouldn’t believe it ifthey were told.
“And what said Lord Menwyn?” Prince Michael asked Lord T’oldor.
“He was not pleased and there were accusations of infamy allaround.” The man smiled like the rake he was. “I have seldom more enjoyed beingthe bearer of bad news.”
“Then he will do what I require?”
“You control the superior force, my Prince. If you refuse tofight, Lord Menwyn and his allies will be outnumbered by the Renne. They willbe driven from the field.” The man looked up at the sun. “We will know withinthe hour for he must soon begin moving his army to the river, or retire.”
“It will be a long hour. Captain Rica? What became of Lord A’denne’smen-at-arms?”
“They were distributed among the companies of the Wills andof Innes, your … my Prince.”
“Is it possible to find a man who served in Lord A’denne’spersonal guard?”
“I believe it could be done.”
“Good. When you find such a man send him up that hillsideand have him wait at the crest. The men who aided me in my journey here arehiding in the trees. If he had a banner or some token of the A’denne that hecould display, it would be useful.”
There was a moment’s silence, then Lord T’oldor spoke. “PrinceMichael, Carl A’denne was a traitor to your father’s cause. He is widely blamedfor our failure on the Isle of Battle, for we believe he warned the Renne ofthe invasion.”
“Lord Carl was the enemy of Sir Eremon, who had my fatherunder his sway. He is still the enemy of Sir Eremon, which makes him my ally.Tell this man you send up the hill to bring my companions to join us afterdark. There are some secrets that it would be better Lord Menwyn not know.”
“My Prince,” Rica said hesitantly, “you told me that I mustspeak my mind when I felt it necessary …”
“Yes, Captain. Please say what you will.”
“Your men … they are ready to lay down their lives tofight our enemy, the Renne. Many of your soldiers lost comrades and kin on theIsle of Battle. The lust for revenge is strong. It is true that they resentMenwyn Wills, who they believed supported Sir Eremon in the murder of yourfather, but their real hatred is reserved for the Renne. A change of allianceswould be a dangerous thing right now. You might lose the army.”
“Captain Rica,” Michael said, “I chose well in you.” Heturned to the serious man-at-arms, and all of his other newly appointedofficers. “I traveled far in the company of the man you call Sir Eremon-thoughhis real name is Hafydd and he was once in the service of the Renne. He hasmade alliances with … powers we can’t understand and has become a sorcerer ofgreat skill. Killing him now would be almost impossible. If he comes back …No. When he comes back, he will kill Menwyn and me and take over thisarmy, with which he will overrun the land between the mountains. And thisman-this sorcerer-is loyal to no one and to no thing. Better a hundred yearsunder the rule of the Renne than a year under Hafydd. But we don’t have to warwith the Renne-they will ally themselves with us against Hafydd.” PrinceMichael watched the faces of the men. They looked at him darkly, mouths drawndown, their arms crossed. How to make them understand? “Menwyn Wills, unfortunately,hates the Renne above all things and will never give up his feud, and thisweakness will allow Hafydd to return. We can only hope to defeat Hafydd if wehave strong allies and are prepared for great sacrifice-perhaps our own lives.I believe the Renne are those allies. And Menwyn Wills? He would lick Hafydd’sboots for another ten minutes of life.” He looked from one man to the next,meeting their eyes. “I know Hafydd. A more heartless, cruel man has not beenborn of woman. If this army will not give up its desire for revenge againstthe Renne, and make them our allies, then you will bend a knee to thissorcerer, and he will lop off your heads and the heads of your families, for hewill not suffer any to oppose him.”
“But Prince Michael,” Lord T’oldor said softly. “CaptainRica is right. Your army wants revenge on the Renne. Talk of sorcerers willonly frighten them.”
The man-at-arms who had been a guard of the late Lord A’dennebrought the small company down the hillside and, using the passwords, escortedit into the presence of Prince Michael of Innes. Not long before, the sun hadplunged into the western hills, setting the horizon aflame, and dusk crept outof the east like spreading smoke. The armies had arrayed themselves in a halfcircle around the Renne landing place, and waited in utter silence, the penaltyfor speaking being death.
Dressed in their stolen mail and surcoats, Pwyll, Lord Carl,Samul Renne, and Jamm appeared in the failing light. Michael stood with hissenior officers on a small rise in among a few trees. Around him his runnerscrouched, ready to carry orders to the company captains. His guards were thereas well, though not many in number. Prince Michael felt safe with his armyaround him, and now with Pwyll and the others he breathed a great sigh.
“What goes on?” Pwyll whispered. He had realized immediatelythat the unnatural silence was no accident.
“The Renne are about to land,” Michael whispered.
“Vast …” whispered Carl.
Pwyll leaned close so that none of the officers might here. “Butthey are your allies,” he whispered.
“Yes,” Michael said softly, “but my army desires revenge fortheir losses on the Isle of Battle. I have had no choice but to bring themhere. Pwyll, I don’t know what to do.”
Carl A’denne had leaned close to listen. “You must withdrawyour army,” he said urgently.
“There will be a mutiny if I do.”
“But the Renne will not land here,” Carl said. “They willhave sent false information through Vast, whom they know to be a traitor. TheRenne will land either north or south and fall on your army from behind,driving them into the river.”
Michael put both hands to his forehead. “I wrested controlof my army from the Wills. Now how do I wrest control from the soldiers?”
Forty-one
Vast sat on the gunwale of the boat as the oars dippedsilently. He could just make out the other craft, all painted black, their passengersstill and silent. A horse whinnied softly on the western shore. Barges wouldbring them across as soon as the Renne had landed and established a perimeter.It would take several hours to move all the men, their mounts and equipment. Hewondered how long Menwyn Wills would wait before ordering the attack. No doubthe would want to destroy the Renne army, not just drive them back to thewestern shore. It would take patience and nerve. He worried that Lord Menwynpossessed neither.
The Duke could almost feel the men around him in the darkness.Feel the living heat of them. Many of his own men would cross over the riverthat night. The final river. His heart sank at the thought of it. They woulddie because of his bargain with Menwyn Wills. Because the Renne did not offerhim enough. Never enough.
As for the Renne … by morning they would be a noble housein hiding, those that were left. They would have to be hunted down to the lastchild-none left alive. Otherwise, their genius for hatred would bring aterrible revenge.
He looked up at the stars, then at the dark shadow of theeastern shore.
“Is the current not setting us too far south?” he whispered tothe massive shadow that was Lord Fondor Renne.
“No,” Fondor answered. “We are exactly on course
.”
Vast felt himself nod, though none could see in the dark. Hegazed fixedly at the shoreline again. He knew the river hereabout as well asanyone, having traveled it all his life. They were already south of the streammouth where they planned to land. Disaster was about to be born ofincompetence.
He touched Fondor on the shoulder. “We are too far south. I’msure of it.” He leaned toward the riverman who held the boat’s tiller. “We mustgo north-”
But a blade at his throat stopped his speech.
“Say not another word, Duke,” Fondor whispered.
Vast found himself staring down into the water, ten thousandpoints of light wavering across the surface. He wondered if he’d ever see sucha sight again. Traitors were never shown mercy. He swallowed hard. He had madehis choice and now the price would be exacted. The wavering stars drew his eyeagain, the sheer beauty of them.
I’m crossing a river of stars, he thought. But it wasthe darkness that seemed to draw his eye, as though he could tumble out of theboat and fall endlessly into the night.
Forty-two
Hafydd did not concern himself much with the beauty or thewonder of the chamber, but Beld found himself staring like a peasant in apalace. The room was vast, yet not a single pillar supported its dome, whichcurved overhead like an ivory sky. Across the floor spread a great mosaic, thepattern eight-sided like the chamber itself. The walls were highly decorated,but the faint light of the torches barely touched them, and Hafydd wouldn’thave much patience for him wandering off to admire the art. Near the far side,the floor was bisected by a narrow channel that ran with water, and on theirside of the channel, was a small, round pool, faintly aglow and half-obscured beneathcurling vapor wraiths.
“He will ask you to kill me, now,” A’denne whispered, slippingquietly up beside Beld.
Beld looked over to Hafydd, who stared into the steamingpool. No guards were within hearing. “I cannot,” he whispered.
“You must,” A’denne said softly. “Only you might get closeenough to murder him, but if you refuse to”-the man swallowed hard-“end my lifehe will never trust you.”
“How do you know I would want to kill him?”
“Because I have watched you, Beldor Renne. I don’t know whathappened, but some … understanding has come over you …” He struggled tofind more words but could not. In his face, Beld saw resignation and a visiblestruggle to control his fear.
Beld touched the stone beneath his shirt. “He’s too careful.”
“With me, yes, but he suffers you to come near. When youkill me show not a trace of remorse. Strange to think that he would trust sucha man more, but I believe it’s true.”
“Lord Beldor …!” Hafydd called out, his harsh voicedistorted and eerie in this place.
Beld hurried over. Hafydd stared into the pool, his handsclasped behind his back. White light streamed up from below, and an intensecold knifed through his clothes and into his skin. Hafydd didn’t look up, andBeld found himself gazing into the pool, wondering what so fascinated the oldwarrior.
“Do you see him?” Hafydd whispered.
Beld bent a little closer. The veils of steam swirled slowlyover the surface, and the light from below caused him to squint. There …! What looked like a face-raven-haired and bearded-eyes closed, lips so faintthey were all but colorless.
“I think I do see … a man’s face.”
“The great enchanter,” Hafydd said softly. “Wyrr, encased ina coffin of perpetual ice.”
“What will you do now?” Beldor heard himself ask.
“We have bargains to keep, Beldor Renne. Bring the book, theearthenware jar, and Lord A’denne. You’ve kept your blade sharp?”
“It is always sharp, Sir Eremon.”
Hafydd turned and looked suddenly into his eyes. “Then haveit ready. You will kill A’denne for me. I will tell you when and how.”
Hafydd summoned his guard captain. “Have someone bring metwo of those chairs,” he ordered.
Beld stood frozen to the spot. He had killed many men-hisown cousin, even-and felt no misgivings before, nor any guilt after … But nowhe felt suddenly light-headed, strange, as though it were he about to die. Beldfingered the green gem beneath his shirt. Had he fallen beneath a spell? Wasthis what others felt when they went into battle? He was flushed, hot, breakingout in a sweat. He watched Hafydd with a growing sense of horror.
The knight opened the wooden box containing the book, andBeld noticed that everyone took a step away, as though they could feel themalice, the coldness-colder than the ice that encased Wyrr. Laying the box overthe backs of the two chairs, Hafydd opened the book. Beld felt a sudden weightinside him, like a stone dropped into the winter river. There was no cheatingDeath. You could only pass through the gate with your honor intact or withoutit. He saw that now. Toren had always understood it instinctively. Even Deaseknew it in his way. It was the only thing one took from this world. Nothingelse passed through the gate-not even love. Beldor knew. He had groveled beforethe entrance to Death’s kingdom, stripped of all pride and property … and ofhis honor, as well. That had been his deepest regret. He would go honorlessinto that dark place, to be remembered for nothing else.
With the utmost care, Hafydd laid a rope in a circle,perhaps thirty feet across. A small sackful of gray dust he emptied evenly overthe rope’s entire length. In the center of this, the sorcerer made anothercircle, two yards in diameter, and from it, eight lines were marked on thefloor with gray dust, cutting the circle evenly.
“Bring the earthenware jar and your sword, Lord Beldor. Stepnot on the lines! And Lord A’denne … We will need you as well.”
Beldor took up the jar, surprised by its weight. A’denne approachedthem, as if in a daze. Beld had seen men go to the gallows before, and theylooked much as A’denne did now-disbelief mixed with grief and horror.
Beld tried to concentrate on the actions of thesorcerer-anything to keep his mind off A’denne and what he was about to do.
Hafydd took the jar from Beld, his face betraying nothing.Two guards had followed A’denne, and stood behind him to either side. Thenobleman struggled to control his fear. Many, Beld knew, broke down at thispoint.
Hafydd took out a dagger and cut away the wax seal aroundthe large cork that stoppered the jar. Using the dagger’s point he levered thecork slowly out, and the smell of strong spirits touched Beld’s nostrils-mixedwith something more bitter.
Hafydd pulled up his sleeve and reached into the liquid,drawing out a dripping, stillborn infant by its tiny feet. A’denne choked backa sob, earning a disdainful glance from Hafydd. The tiny creature was set inthe center of the circle, where it lay in a puddle of spirits, eyes closed,waxen, as still and silent as morning.
“Lord A’denne …” Hafydd beckoned with a finger.
The nobleman took three measured steps and stopped withinreach of the sorcerer, his black honor guard close behind. His eyes blinkedrapidly several times, perhaps stung by the smell of spirits.
“Lean over the stillborn child,” the sorcerer said, and theguards took A’denne by the arms, as he leaned forward from the waist. Hafyddnodded to Beld, who drew his sword. He could feel his heart hammering in hischest, his face flush red.
“Cut his throat, Lord Beldor,” Hafydd said, backing away,out of sword’s reach. “Quickly!”
A’denne glanced up at him, ashen with fear, but even so hegave the smallest nod. Beldor hesitated only a second, the eyes of the guardson him. One swift cut and A’denne went limp, held up by the guards, his bloodpouring out, a crimson stain overspreading the tiny infant. The salt smell ofblood, like the distant sea, assaulted his senses, and Beld reeled away,nauseated and unsteady.
“Your part is done, Lord Beldor,” Hafydd said. “Be carefulwhere you place your feet as you leave the circle.”
Beldor backed away, the scene burning into his vision like aflame; Lord A’denne bleeding out his life onto the stillborn child, which lay,half-human, half-maggot, in the center of Hafydd’s web. The dead and the dy
ing,and the life not yet born.
Turning away to hide his reaction, Beld stepped out of thecircle as Hafydd opened the book, using the box over the chairs for his readingstand. He began immediately to murmur, then to chant. Beld covered his ears,but the words did not stop. They beat upon his eardrums like drops of water-oneby one by one.
The guards dropped the body of Lord A’denne and retreatedfrom the ring, escaping just before Hafydd set it afire. Beld turned away, buta dark fascination drew his gaze back. Among the lines and circles of flame hesaw the smallest movement-the fingers of the stillborn child opened and closed,then it threw back its head and opened its mouth as though to scream.
Elise did not hesitate at the bottom of the stair but rushedout, cutting down the first of two guards. The second guard Orlem ran through,but not before the man called out a warning.
The giant and Elise raced toward a ring of fire thatflickered and smoked, across the floor of a massive chamber. Toren forced himselfto keep pace, his feet hammering the hard surface. A step behind and to hisleft, Gilbert A’brgail matched his pace, sword glowing green in the smoky air.
Hafydd, it could be no other, stood beyond the flame,chanting. His guards formed a line between their master and his sorcery and theonrushing company. Elise and Orlem raised their luminous swords and bellowedlike animals as they struck the line of black guards. Toren threw himself on aman who tried to circle to Elise’s left, and then all order was lost in thefrenzy of battle. Evading this stroke, countering that, cutting a man’s legsout from under him, the feel of his blade slashing into flesh. As he fought alarger opponent, Orlem stepped back into him and sent him sprawling at hisenemy’s feet. He could feel the sword rise above him for the final blow, thenthe man toppled onto him, twitching and writhing. The weight came off andsomeone dragged him up, and Toren found himself facing his cousin-Beld-who hadbeen swept up into the air by Death’s servant.
“You’re too late,” Beldor shouted over the clamor. “He isdone.”