Sing the Four Quarters

by Tanya Huff

  At Theron’s raised brow, Pjerin nodded. “We’d have to go at least a day’s travel to find trees that size.” Turning to Vencel, he smiled approvingly. “Good idea.”

  The duc’s praise was as overwhelming as his temper. Vencel colored and looked away, ears red.

  “Before we get to work, I do have one explanation I need to make.” Stepping away from Pjerin, Theron let his gaze sweep over the guard and the four nobles who had accompanied him, unaware that they probably rode to war. Obviously, they now knew differently and deserved to be told the whole. No, not the whole, he decided. Cemandia would be at the sea before I started to untangle it.

  He spoke Shkoden this time and finished the severely edited chain of events leading up to this moment with, “… now we must stand side by side with the people of Ohrid to defend our land from Cemandian invasion!”

  There’s something about being a king, Annice decided as the guards, caught up in the appeal, cheered, that lends a certain grandeur even to overblown rhetoric. From anyone else, that ending would’ve been over the edge. Even as Tadeus repeated it, it had lost a little of its majesty.

  She glanced up at Pjerin, trying to gauge his reaction. If they hadn’t run, then Olina would never have believed him dead, and they wouldn’t have been able to regain the keep, and they wouldn’t all be preparing to stand off a Cemandian invasion. If only Olina hadn’t emptied out that palisade.…

  The two younger nobles—as Theron had known they would—looked thrilled at a chance to prove themselves against such overwhelming odds. One hated the Cemandians for personal reasons and had spent the entire trip wishing for much this situation. The fourth merely smiled.

  “You’re not surprised, Lady Jura.”

  The scarred and grizzled veteran of the Broken Islands campaign inclined her head. “Sire, I am many things, but I am not a diplomat, nor a courtier, nor a friend who might keep you company on the trip. Now I understand why I was chosen. How long have we to prepare?”

  Even the horses seemed to hold their breath waiting for the answer.

  Theron spread his hands. “Two days, maybe three. No more.”

  “Rider in the pass!”

  All heads turned toward the high watchtower. Some things needed no translation.

  “Maybe less,” the king amended dryly.

  * * * *

  “Surrender?” Theron folded his hands over the saddlehorn and looked calmly out at the Cemandian herald. Although the herald had addressed him in fluent Shkoden, he continued to speak the local dialect. “I don’t think so.”

  The herald shot an anxious glance at Tadeus who was Singing softly so that all those gathered on the battlements above could hear the conversation. A muscle twitched along the side of his face, but holding both lance and reins he had no way to make the sign against the kigh. “Majesty, Prince Rajmund wishes me to point out that you are vastly outnumbered and unable to close the pass. You may be able to hold the keep, but you cannot keep us out of Ohrid. It will only be a matter of time.”

  “Then it will be that matter of time.”

  “Majesty, there will be many deaths for no reason …”

  “There may be many deaths, but they will all be for a reason. To keep this land free of Cemandian rule.”

  “My prince says that he believes the people of Ohrid have no wish to die for such a reason.”

  “Your prince is wrong.” Pjerin’s voice barely needed bardic assistance to fill the pass. “You can tell him I said so. And you can tell my aunt that if she had a heart, I’d cut it out and feed it to her.”

  “I will tell them both, Your Grace.” The herald turned his attention back to the king. “Majesty, my prince suggests that it is not yet too late for a joining between himself and your heir to unite these kingdoms in peace.”

  “Tell your prince that I do not wish these kingdoms to be united and I, and my heir, will fight to our last breath to prevent it.” Theron’s voice changed slightly. “And herald, tell your prince that it is not too late for him to take his army home before he spills the blood of Cemandia to no avail.”

  The herald, who recognized a dismissal when he heard one, bowed, wheeled his horse, and galloped back over the border, flesh crawling with the certain knowledge that his every move was watched by the kigh.

  * * * *

  “I should be on the barricades!” Pjerin tossed his hair back off his face. “This can wait.”

  “No, it can’t, Your Grace.” Elica put her hand on his good shoulder and pushed him back into the chair. “Unless you want to lose the use of that arm, it has to be healed. Now. You haven’t exactly taken care of it.”

  “I haven’t exactly been in a position to,” Pjerin growled.

  “Let her work,” Theron said quietly coming into the room. “We’ll need you whole come morning. But if you have a moment, Healer, I was wondering about Annice.”

  “Well, she’s exhausted and perhaps a little thinner than I’d like, but, all things being enclosed, I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. The blood …”

  “Blood?” both men exclaimed.

  “The blood,” Elica repeated, once again pushing Pjerin back into the chair, “is perfectly normal for this time in her pregnancy given that it’s been only pink or brown spotting. I wouldn’t have even mentioned it had I realized she hadn’t told you.”

  “What else hasn’t she told me?” Pjerin wondered, shifting irritably. “She said she was fine.”

  “She is fine. After a little sleep, she’ll be in much better shape than you are if I don’t take care of that wound. In fact,” Elica sighed, “she’ll be in better shape than I am after half a Quarter in the saddle.” The rest of the king’s party had arrived in the late afternoon to find the keep on a war footing and explanations more confusing than enlightening. Elica had taken one look at Annice and ordered her to bed; had taken a second look at Stasya and ordered her to follow. During the examinations, she’d heard the complete story.

  Annice’s healing of Gerek—if that’s what had actually happened—would have to be investigated by the Healers’ Hall. Before she left, she’d take a look at the boy herself. At the moment, with a war imminent and no other healers closer than Marienka, Elica was willing to acknowledge that the Circle held many wondrous things and leave it lie.

  “Stasya,” she continued, anticipating the king’s next question, “may need healing to help her body overcome the effects of that pit. I’ll know in the morning. His Grace,” she added pointedly, “needs healing now because when I’m finished, he’s going to want to sleep.”

  “When you’re finished,” Pjerin declared, “I’m going back to the barricades.”

  The healer rolled her eyes. “Was there anything else, Majesty?”

  “No, nothing else.” Theron nodded at the duc and Elica and left the room. When a healer used that tone of voice, even kings gave way.

  Elica turned to Pjerin and studied the angry red lines radiating out from the torn scar tissue. “This is going to hurt,” she began.

  Pjerin’s mouth twisted up into what might have been a weary smile. “I’ve been healed before. Let’s get this over with.”

  “You’re not going back to the barricades.”

  The smile showed more teeth. “You’re not going to be able to stop me.”

  Some time later, Elica picked up the lamp and gently patted the hand of the sleeping duc. “I’ll see you in the morning, Your Grace,” she told him and quietly left the room.

  * * * *

  “What can you see?”

  Heart pounding, Pjerin jumped and spun around. “Annice! Are you supposed to be up here?”

  “What do you mean?” She smiled at the sentry, then leaned against the battlements of the high watchtower and stared out into the pass. “Stasya and Tadeus want to see how far away I have to be in order for them to Sing. This is as far away as I can get and still be in the keep. If it comes to it,” she added distastefully, “I may have to lock myself away in an interior room for the d
uration. Someplace with a heavy door and no windows.”

  “I meant, should you be up here in your condition?”

  She wasn’t going to tell him that she’d had to rest four times on the way up the narrow stairs or that she’d thought more than once she wasn’t going to make it. “We walked across the country with me in this condition. How’s your arm?”

  “Better.” He’d been furious to discover he’d fallen asleep and more furious still to have His Majesty tell him not to use it until he had to.

  Annice smiled, correctly interpreting the undertones, then suddenly sobered. “I don’t think you should have just let Nikulas go free. I mean, he tried to kill you.”

  “His brother was dead and he believed I was responsible. It was a perfectly natural response.”

  She couldn’t believe him sometimes. “Of course it was. And suppose he tries it again?”

  “He won’t.”

  “Pjerin …”

  “I know my people, Annice. One way or another, he’ll be convinced.”

  “And Sarline?”

  “Rozyte’s not even speaking to her. She has enough personal problems right now without me adding to them.”

  Annice sighed. “Pjerin, it’s all very well to be a compassionate lord, but don’t you think …”

  “I think we’re about to have a war,” he interrupted, his expression grim. “And I think I’ve had enough of death already.”

  Even she couldn’t argue with that, so she carefully swung her bulk around and gestured toward Cemandia. “I don’t see anything.”

  Pjerin turned to follow her hand. “Sun’s been up on the other side of the mountains for a while. They’ré moving, count on it. We should be able to see them any … there!”

  The sentry shook her head. “Just the sun flashing on a bit of shiny rock, Your Grace. Happens every morning there’s enough light. We won’t spot them until they’re actually in the pass. Plenty of time to ready bows.”

  The battlements overlooking the pass would bristle with archers, many using crossbows and quarrels supplied from Albek’s packs.

  “Nice of him to leave them,” Theron had said. “Gives the whole situation a certain circular nature I’d like to consider a good omen.”

  Pjerin squinted into the east a while longer, then twisted to face Annice. “You’re very quiet,” he said. Noting her confused expression and the way she was staring down at her legs, he asked, “Anything wrong?”

  “I’m having a baby.”

  “I know that.”

  “You don’t understand.” She clutched his arm, conscious only of warm fluid dribbling down the inside of her thighs. “I’m having a baby now.”

  “Now?”

  “Your Grace! There! Did you see it?”

  “Now?”

  She shook him. “Yes, now.”

  “But you’re not due until Second Quarter! That’s …” He tried to count, but numbers failed him. “… days away.”

  “You think I don’t know that?”

  “Riders in the pass!”

  “Annice, this isn’t a good time.”

  “What are you talking about!”

  “We’re about to be attacked by the Cemandian army!”

  “Fine!” She glared up at him. “You can tell them to wait!”

  Nineteen

  “… because you’ve probably been in labor for the last few hours.”

  “But I’ve had worse cramping during my flows,” Annice protested as Elica sat her down on the end of the bed.

  “Good.” The healer turned to a bowl of warm water a curious server had just brought in and began washing her hands. “You may breeze right through this. We’ll get you cleaned up and into a smock and then we’ll find the rhythm of the contractions.” She shot a grin over her shoulder at Annice. “You can put it to music if you like.”

  Annice felt some of her apprehension fade and took a deep breath, unlacing tightly clasped fingers.

  “What should I do?” Pjerin hadn’t realized how small Annice actually was until he’d carried her down from the top of the tower—all the way from Elbasan, even before at the keep, she’d given the impression of being much larger. She’d convinced him to let her walk once they reached level ground, by the volume of her arguments if nothing else, but he’d kept her arm tucked in his while he sent the first person he saw running to find the healer. He paced to her side, then back to the door, then to her side again. “Should I boil water? Rip up sheets? Rub her back?”

  “Ow! Pjerin!”

  Elica sighed. “Don’t you have a war to fight, Your Grace?”

  “A war?” For a moment Pjerin’s face went blank. “Center it!” Three long strides and he was almost out of the room, three more and he returned to gently hold her face cupped between his hands. “I can’t stay, Annice. I’m sorry. But I’ve got to …”

  “I understand.” She pushed her hands up under his. “I’m fine.”

  He snorted. “You keep saying that.”

  “Then keep believing it.”

  Bending forward, he kissed her lightly, then, as the sound of someone shouting for him drifted in through the shuttered window, almost ran from the room.

  “Did you want him with you?” Elica asked, helping Annice to her feet and pulling the damp shift up over her head.

  Emerging from a fold of fabric, Annice winced at a sudden contraction more powerful than the rest. “No.” Her tone dressed the words in a multitude of meaning. “He got me here. I think he’s done enough.”

  * * * *

  “Are they still holding back?”

  Tadeus cocked his head into the breeze. “Yes, Majesty. Just out of bow shot.”

  Theron grunted and pulled on his gloves. “Stasya ready on the battlements?” The bards would not only use the kigh to carry orders beyond the range of his voice, but would see to it that everyone, regardless of what language they spoke would understand what was happening.

  “She’s there, but she’s not happy. She’d much rather be with Annice.”

  “I know. I wish I could allow it, but we need her too badly out here. What about you?”

  “Me, Majesty?” Tadeus grinned. “No, thank you. I’ve been with Annice when she’s not having a good time, so all things being enclosed, I’d much rather stay here, be shot full of arrows, galloped over by heavy cavalry, have my throat slit by a camp follower, and my broken body left to rot under a merciless sun.”

  “Idiot,” Theron muttered. “Are you sure my message got through to the captain in Elbasan?”

  “Perfectly sure, Majesty.”

  “Then all we can do is wait.” He squinted up at the sun. “Still, there’s no question that waiting beats dying.”

  “How much longer is this going to go on?” Pjerin growled, stomping up from the barricades and yanking off his helm. With his hair clubbed back tightly into a wire-bound braid, the angles of his face enhanced an irritated expression. A knee-length vest of scale added a certain barbaric splendor compared to the simple breast-and-back of the king’s company. Although he wore greaves, they were boiled leather rather than metal and both arms were covered wrist to elbow in laced leather guards. Waving his huge mountain bow at the keep, he snarled, “I thought the healer was going to tell us when something happened!”

  Theron covered a smile. “Then nothing has happened.”

  “But it’s been hours!”

  “Pjerin, I sat with Her Majesty through the birth of each of our three children and I’ve learned from the experience—babies come in their own good time and there’s nothing in the Circle you, as a father, can do to change that.”

  “Gerek was easier,” Pjerin muttered, cramming his helm back on. “No one told me when it started, just when it was over. Handed me my son and that was that.”

  As the duc stomped back to the barricade, Theron shook his head. “With any luck, the baby will get his looks, her voice, and someone else’s temperament.”

  “Is he very beautiful?” Tadeus asked, sounding just a li
ttle wistful.

  “I heard you sing ‘Darkling Lover’ just outside Caciz,” Theron reminded the bard. “It contains some pretty explicit description, don’t you think?”

  “Explicit, Majesty, is not always accurate.”

  “Well, allowing for the passage of time, it’s accurate enough.”

  Tadeus sighed. “Lucky Annice.”

  * * * *

  “How long does this usually go on?” Annice panted, right hand gripping the crook of Elica’s elbow and her left pressed flat against the wall to support her weight. She’d lost track of how many times they’d walked up and down the hall, bare feet shuffling against the smooth stone. Although the contractions were definitely coming closer together and with greater intensity, as far as she could tell, nothing much seemed to be happening.

  Elica shifted position slightly so that they both fit through the doorway. “It isn’t over until it’s over, Annice. Every woman is different. Every baby is unique.”

  “That’s not very reassuring.”

  The village midwife stood as they came back into the room. She was a plump, grandmotherly sort of woman with tiny hands and a perpetual smile Annice was beginning to find extremely annoying. “So, how are we doing?” she asked.

  “We,” Annice began, but a contraction cut her off. She hadn’t been able to talk through them for some time, and when it finally ended, she’d forgotten what she meant to say.

  “Fifty-six,” the midwife said. They’d established early on that her pulse would be used for timing.

  “Good.” Elica lowered Annice onto the clean sheet that draped the end of the bed. “I need to have a look and see how far dilated you are.”

  “A look?” Annice’s eyes widened. “Are you talking about what I think you’re talking about?”

  “Probably.” They had a small fire going in the fireplace and a kettle sitting over it on a tripod. Elica poured some of the hot water into a basin and washed her hands.

  Fingers twisting the sheet into two sweaty bundles, Annice reclined against the pile of pillows and tried to relax. “How come nobody warned me about all this?” she asked the top of the healer’s head.

  “Well, possibly because you decided to take a Walk to Ohrid before anyone got the chance.” Elica’s tone made it quite clear what she thought of that particular choice.