by Greg Keyes
This forest had that look, only worse, for while the one in Herilanz had been of straight, clean-boled trees, these twisted and wove together like a gigantic bramble-bush.
It hadn’t been hard to follow the Hansan knights. The land between Paldh and Teremené was a rural one, the kind of place where people noticed strange things. A group of foreign armored knights and men-at-arms traveling hard and asking after two girls was a bit out of the ordinary. Even though he was a stranger himself, it wasn’t hard to start people talking if he was polite and bought something.
Near Teremené he’d met the knights at a bend in the road, headed back toward Paldh. By the time he realized who they were, it was too late to try and hide. Instead he could only ride forward, reckoning that they wouldn’t recognize him. They didn’t, and the girls weren’t with them.
There wasn’t much he could do then but keep going. Either they had found Anne and Austra and killed them, or they had given up the chase. The last seemed unlikely, and so it was with a heavy heart that he entered Teremené. It was there, with a few well-placed questions and paying three times what he ought for a beer, he’d discovered that a few of the knights, “the really unpleasant ones,” had gone off north, and some even said they had captives with them, a couple of Vitellian men.
And now, a few days later, Neil paused in front of a dark forest on a horse he’d named Prospect, wondering how deep it was.
“Well, Prospect,” he sighed, “let’s see what sort of nightkinders haunt this place, eh?”
He switched the horse’s reins and started in, but hadn’t gone more than a few yards before something ahead caught his eye, a flash of gold, and then something running into the trees. It stopped behind one of the big oaks.
Grimly, he dismounted, pulling his blade, wincing at the balance in his hand. The horse wasn’t a warhorse—he wasn’t sure what would happen if he tried to fight mounted, especially in these woods.
A head peeped around the tree and he caught a flash of a familiar face. Then the head jerked behind the trunk. He heard a muffled shriek, and he heard footsteps crashing off through the forest.
Austra.
Sheathing the sword, he ran after her, puzzled, certain she had recognized him.
She wasn’t trying to hide anymore, but was instead running as if all the demons of the sea were coming after.
“Austra!” he called, trying not to shout it too loudly, but it only seemed to spur her to redouble her efforts. Still, he was the faster runner, and here where the trees were big there wasn’t much undergrowth.
She was perhaps ten yards ahead of him when a man on a horse suddenly cut across her trail. She shrieked and dropped to her knees.
The man had on armor but no helm. He’d swung one leg over the black mare he rode, the start of a dismount, when he saw Neil.
The armored man didn’t have time to cry out. Neil launched himself like a javelin, hitting him at the waist. Still on the horse but not well balanced, he pitched over the other side and landed with a thud and a clank. The impact canceled Neil’s forward flight and dropped him on his side of the horse, so he rolled beneath its belly, drawing his sword. The other fellow managed to get his mail-covered arm up in time to stop his first cut, but Neil heard bone snap. He was sure now that it was one of the Hansan men-at-arms, if not one of the knights. He knew he ought to fight by the code of honor, but so far these men had proved only that they disdained the code.
He cocked back to cleave the man’s naked head off, and suddenly realized he’d forgotten the horse. He dropped and rolled as hooves pawed the air and stamped where he’d just been standing. He backed away from the raging beast and that gave the knight time to regain his feet. He opened his mouth, and Neil suddenly understood that he was about to call for help.
So he did the only thing he could—he threw the sword. It tumbled and struck the man across the chest and face. His shout came out as a yelp, and blood spurted from a crushed nose. Neil charged, ducking under the man’s wild head cut, and punched him in the throat, feeling cartilage crunch. The knight flopped to earth like a scarecrow cut from its pole.
Unwilling to take any chances, Neil picked up the man’s sword and decapitated him. It took two chops.
He turned, panting, to find Austra still whimpering, curled up on the ground.
“Austra? Are you all right?” he asked.
“Stay back,” she gasped. “You’re one of them. You must be.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I saw you die!” she wailed.
“Oh,” he said, suddenly understanding. “No, Austra. The cut wasn’t that bad, and a lady had her men fish me from the water. I almost died, yes, but I’m not a nauschalk.”
“I don’t know that name,” she replied. “But Cazio cut one’s head off, and it was still moving.” She was looking up at him now, her eyes flooded with tears.
Neil glanced back at the man he had just decapitated. He didn’t seem to be moving. “Well, I’m not like that,” he said. “Cut my head off, and I’m dead, I promise you.” He knelt and took her by the shoulders. “Austra,” he said, gently, “I fought them, remember? So you could board the ship. Why would I do that if I were one of them?”
“I—suppose you’re right,” she said. “But the shock, too many shocks, you know. Too much of this. Too much.”
He felt pity for the girl, but he didn’t have time to indulge it. “Austra,” he asked, gently but firmly, “where is Anne?”
“I don’t know,” Austra replied despondently. “She’s supposed to be with Artoré and his sons, and they were supposed to be going to Eslen, but then I saw them bring Artoré into the camp, and I thought one of the monks must have heard me, though I was a hundred yards away—”
“Austra, are there more of these fellows in the woods?”
She nodded her head.
“Okay, then—quietly, let’s go somewhere safer, and then you’ll tell me everything, yes? Sort it out in your head while we ride.”
“We have to save Cazio,” she mumbled.
“Right. We’ll save everybody, but first I have to know what’s going on, and I don’t think it’s wise we talk here. Come on.”
In a knightly contest, Neil could rightly claim the victor’s arms, armor, and horse as the spoils of victory. And though this battle had been fought on less-than-knightly terms, he reckoned the same still applied.
The fellow’s sword was a pretty nice one, made of good steel and with a better balance and edge than the one he’d purchased in Paldh. In a melancholy mood, he named the new weapon Cuenslec, “Dead Man’s Sword,” and hoped it did not prove to be a prophecy that would continue to fulfill itself.
The byrnie of chain mail fit him, if a bit loosely, as did the breastplate and gauntlets. The greaves were too long, however. The helm was tied to the horse, along with two spears, but the beast was unapproachable.
In fact, the horse was something of a problem. It would probably return to camp, alerting the dead man’s companions to his fate. Of course, they would know eventually, when he failed to return, but later was better than sooner. Still, he didn’t feel like killing the poor beast. Instead he took the rope he tethered Prospect with at night, made a lasso, and after a few tries captured him. Then he tied the other end of the rope to a tree.
Thus equipped, he and Austra returned to Prospect and rode back out of the forest, over a little hill and beyond sight of both the forest and the road, which felt safer than hiding in the woods. There he listened as Austra told her story and described the scene at the seid.
“You shouldn’t have left Anne,” he told her.
“I don’t see how you can say that, after she betrayed you,” Austra snapped. Then, looking chagrined, she went on, “Besides, she was safe, or I thought she was. Cazio and z’Acatto weren’t.”
“Yes, but how did you reckon to take on those knights by yourself?”
“I thought I might sneak in and cut their bonds,” she replied, “but so far I haven’t been
able to get close enough.”
“And you haven’t see Anne at all.”
“No,” Austra said.
“Do you think they’ve killed her?”
“I don’t know,” Austra said miserably. “They’ve got Artoré and his sons. They must have killed one of them, because they brought an extra horse. But I counted, and there wasn’t a horse for Anne.”
“So you believe she got away?”
“I hope so,” Austra said. “This is all my fault. She would never have come here except for me.”
“There’s no point in worrying over that,” Neil soothed. “Concentrate on what you can do, not what you could have done.” He was surprised to hear himself say the words, and even more surprised to realize that he actually meant them—not just for Austra, but for himself.
Yes, he had failed, several times now. He would probably fail again, but the thing a man did—the thing his father would have told him to do—was to keep trying.
“If Anne’s alive,” he reasoned, “she’s on the other side of the forest. We can’t go through on the road, or they’ll ambush us the way they did your friends. But we have to go through—we have to find out if she’s still alive.”
“But Cazio—”
“There are at least two knights left, one of them a nauschalk. How many priests and men-at-arms? How many would I have to fight altogether?”
“Some of them come and go,” she said. “But I think maybe five monks and fifteen fighting men.”
“That’s too many,” Neil said. “They’ll kill me, and kill you, and then kill your Cazio and z’Acatto, and we won’t have served the queen—or Anne—very well. Our duty is to them first, do you understand?”
Austra bowed her head. “Yes,” she agreed.
“And you won’t try and run off again?”
“No.”
“Good. Then let’s get going, while we still have the light.”
Austra just nodded again, but continued to stare at the ground. Neil lifted her chin with his finger. “I swear by the saints my people swear by, once we know one way or the other about Anne, I’ll do what I can for your friends.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“Right. Let’s go then.”
He took them into the forest off the road and swung wide around it, keeping his bearings by the sun. To his relief, it was less than a bell before he saw light through the trees. The forest, it seemed, was great in length but narrow in breadth. By that time the sun was setting, but in the dim light he made out a castle—and farther away, a village.
“Do you know that place?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Well,” he said. “Let’s ask in the village.”
Neil took them warily along the road, though it was all but deserted. They only had two encounters; the first was where the road split into branches headed toward the village and castle respectively. The only light was a crescent moon, but they heard the rumble of a carriage coming from the castle. Neil could only make out a shadow, but reckoned it was still a few hundred yards away. He twitched Prospect onto the town road, and the noise of the carriage soon faded behind them.
The second encounter came on the outskirts of the village, when he made out four horsemen coming toward them. He tensed in the saddle, putting his hand on Cuenslec’s pommel. In outline they didn’t seem to be armored.
“Who’s there?” a man’s voice barked from the darkness—in the king’s tongue.
Neil gripped his weapon tighter, for though the voice sounded familiar, he couldn’t place it.
“Put that away, Aspar,” another voice said. “Can’t you see who it is?”
“Not in this light. I don’t have sainted vision, like you do.”
“Well met, Sir Neil,” the lighter voice said. “I suspect we have a lot to discuss.”
CHAPTER THREE
CEREMONY
ANNE FOUND HERSELF STARING again at the girl in the mirror, recognizing her even less than she had the last time she looked, only a few hours earlier. This time she wore a bride’s wimple of pale gold safnite brocade that concealed even the few wisps of hair that remained to her. The gown was bone, with long fitted sleeves and edgings in the same color as the wimple. The face surrounded by all this seemed lost and strange.
Vespresern seemed rather pleased by the effect. “It fit you nearly without alteration,” she said. “A good thing, too, as we had little enough time to spare. My lord is in a terrible hurry.” She patted Anne’s arms. “He does so love you, you know. I’ve never seen him go against his father in even the slightest matter, before this. I do hope he’s right about everything.”
Vespresern waited, plainly looking for a response.
“He is always in my heart and my thoughts,” Anne said at last. “It’s my greatest desire to bring him all the happiness he deserves.”
She meant that much, anyway.
“It’s rare that anyone in your position is able to marry for love, my dear,” Vespresern blithered. “You cannot know how lucky you are.”
Anne remembered Fastia telling her the same thing, on more than one occasion—Fastia, who had married so unhappily. Fastia who had once played with her and made her garlands of flowers, whom she had left in argument, whom she could never apologize to.
Fastia, now meat for the worms.
Anne heard footsteps in the corridor.
“Here he comes,” Vespresern said. “Are you quite ready, my dear?”
“Yes,” Anne responded. “Quite ready.”
“Here,” the old lady said. “We’ll bundle you up in this old weather-cloak. There shouldn’t be anyone to recognize you, but safe is what we’ll be.”
Anne stood still as Vespresern draped the woolen garment over the gown. A knock sounded at the door.
“Who will that be?” Vespresern asked—disingenuously, in light of her former statement.
“It’s Roderick,” the answer came. “Is she ready? This is the time.”
“She’s ready,” Vespresern said.
The door creaked open, and Roderick stood there, looking regal in a deep, rust-red doublet and white hose.
“By the saints,” he said, staring at her. “I’ve a mind to see you in the gown this moment.”
“That’s ill luck,” Anne said. “You’ll see it soon enough.”
“Yes,” he said. “I cannot believe I was without you for so long, Anne. Now even a bell seems far too long to go without gazing on your face.”
“I missed you, too,” Anne said. “I spent long nights at the coven, wondering where you were, what you were doing, praying you still loved me.”
“I can do nothing else,” he said. “The saints have inscribed you in my heart, and there is no place for anyone else there.”
You don’t know how truly you speak, Anne thought. Indeed, you do not.
“Come, let us go,” Roderick said. “Vespresern, you go ahead to spy the way. We’ll go down the servants’ stair and through the kitchen, then out the Hind Gate, where the stables are. I know the guard on duty there, and he will not betray us.” He took Anne’s hand. “You have nothing to fear now,” he said. “Your troubles are over.”
“Yes,” Anne said. “I see that.”
Roderick knew his castle and people well—they met nearly no one but an old man in the kitchen, baking bread, and the guard Roderick mentioned. The baker didn’t even seem to notice them. The guard clapped Roderick on the back and said something in Hornish that sounded encouraging and perhaps a bit risqué. It seemed strange to her—the guard was Roderick’s friend, as she and Austra were friends. How could someone so ripe with betrayal, so filled with it, be loved by anyone?
Perhaps they could not, in truth, in the heart. Perhaps that was the real reason Austra had left her—because in her soul she no longer loved her—perhaps even hated her. Not for any particular thing she had done, but because there was nothing left in Anne to love.
But let that pass. It no longer mattered. All that mattered now was
finishing this, however it would finish.
Then they were alone in the carriage. Vespresern rode with the driver, wrapped in a heavy cloak. Outside the last of day’s light was fading and shadows crept along the ground. The moon was a narrow horn thrust into the horizon. In another night it would be new.
“Kiss me, Roderick,” Anne said after the carriage had rattled along a bit. “Kiss me.”
He reached for her, and then hesitated. “Shouldn’t we wait for the ceremony?”
“We’ve kissed before,” she pointed out. “I can’t wait, it’s been so long—don’t make me wait.”
There was no lantern, and she could not make out his face, but she felt his fingers trace the line of her jaw, and then rest gently at the back of her head as she felt his lips on hers, warm and soft. She remembered that night in Eslen-of-Shadows, how his hands had burned on her like metal just come from the forge, how her breath had quickened and her heart had raced, and how she had loved him—and just for the tiniest instant she really remembered and really loved him again, the way only a girl can love for the first time.
Their lips parted, but she pulled him back, both her hands clasped behind his head, and kissed him with all the darkness in her heart, pushing it into him, filling him through his mouth until it rushed out. He moaned, but could not pull away from her as—in her mind’s eye—she erased his face. Then, still gently, she pushed him away. He began to shudder and sob.