by Dave Duncan
where the wind would remove his tracks. When he
noticed the tall red-blond man standing in the
shadows watching him, his heart almost jumped out of his
mouth.
Of course it was Marshal Leofric, the Bael
of another color, and his single eye had seen
Gerard a long time before Gerard's two had seen
him. He was dressed in ragged Chivian garb,
nondescript yeoman garments that would normally
escape attention, but if he had been prancing
around the countryside with that sword at his side, it
was a wonder he had not been questioned. At least the
patch over his empty eye socket was of plain
leather, not silver and emerald.
"Day after tomorrow!" Gerard blurted as he
dismounted.
"That's how our numbers come out too. Bring that
horse in here before anyone sees it." He had a
small camp set up inside the hollow shell
of the keep.
"How long have you been here? Has anyone seen
you? Has anyone been asking you what--"
"I come and go," Leofric said. "Vagabonds
and trash use this place all the time. Not
horsemen."
"Aeled?"
"He'll be around when he's needed," the thegn
said guardedly. "Sit there." He pointed to a
fallen stone lintel.
Gerard obeyed uneasily.
Aeled's werod ranked Leofric a better
killer than Aeled himself, because he had fewer
scruples. He handed his visitor a slate and a
piece of chalk. "Write, "I have not betrayed
Aeled.""
"Why? Is this some sort of test? If you
don't trust me, then--"
The Bael folded his arms in a way that put his
right hand very close to his sword hilt. "I will
trust you when I have seen you write. Are
you frightened to write what I told you?"
It seemed to be a perfectly ordinary
piece of slate, but Gerard's fingers shook
slightly as he obeyed orders. I have not
betrayed Aeled. Nothing happened.
"Rub that out. Now write, "The Crown
Prince is not coming to the wedding.""
Gerard wiped a damp hand on his jerkin. "I
won't. I don't know whether he's coming or not."
Leofric shrugged. "Write that, then." He
dictated a dozen more sentences before he was
satisfied and took back the slate.
"What would happen if I had written a
lie?" Gerard asked hoarsely.
The big man smiled. "You will never know." He
hurled the slate against a wall, shattering it. The
whole thing had been a bluff, then--or perhaps not,
because his mood was less threatening now. "I have been
wanting to throttle you for months, but Aeled says
this is the most wonderful foering he has ever
attempted. You have not been to the park yet?"
"No."
"Lots of wagons in and out the gate all day
today. A swordsman in blue livery and one in
green--I think those were Blades!"
"Very likely. Advance scouts for the Prince?"
"And a coach containing a woman in white wearing
a foolish pointed hat?"
"A sniffer?" Gerard covered his face and
howled. "They never said they were going to call in the
Sisters! This is the end. We can't do it without
enchantment of some--"
"It's a small snag, but we foresaw the
possibility."
"I didn't," Gerard admitted. "I should
have." Bringing in White Sisters to inspect any
building where the King or his heir would be staying was
probably the Blades' standard practice.
"If she just looks around and then goes before he
arrives ... that isn't very likely, is it?"
"No. And I like the look of the weather even
less. Off you go now to the Park, and we will talk
again tomorrow night."
Panic! "No, wait! It's impossible!
I can't go slinking in and out under the eye of
Blades! Nor can I ever smuggle conjurements
past White Sisters! Suppose they have
inquisitors there as well?"
He saw he was not going to change Leofric's
mind on anything. If Aeled ordered the
marshal to eat a longship he wouldn't ask for
salt.
"Why should they?" The man of action sneered at
the scholar's timidity. "Listen. At sunset
tomorrow take out one of those boats they keep tied up
at the waterfront. Take a woman with you if you
want--I expect that's what they're for. When you
reach the old mill, lose an oar. Drift
downstream a little way, pole ashore with the other
oar, and then walk back to the park for help. The
right bank, the one on the north, understand? Leave
the woman, if any, to wait in the boat. I'll
catch you on the road."
"What's the plan? Why not tell me now?
What about the enchantments? What--"
"Tomorrow, laet. What you don't know you can't
let slip."
"I'm not a slave! Not in Chivial."
The tall raider did not even bother to look
annoyed, merely contemptuous. "Ceorl, then.
I thought you wanted to go up in the world?"
"I promised to help Aeled."
"Then do as I say." For the first time Leofric
offered a smile, although a singularly unreassuring
one. "And win your reward! You should worry less
about what Aeled will give you than about what I will
if anything happens to him."
Darkness was falling by the time Gerard reached the
gates, which were being guarded by men-at-arms in the
Duke's livery. Although private armies were
forbidden in Chivial, such rules never applied
to royal cronies like Ditch Muck.
To Gerard's extreme annoyance they would not take
his word for who he was; he had to unpack one of his
bags and bring out his herald's tabard before he was
allowed to ride on up the driveway. His anger
faded when he realized that many of those men were doomed
to die when they were hit by the horror of the Catterstow
fyrd. And not only they--the grounds had become a
small city of tents and pavilions, in
expectation that the three hundred guests would
certainly bring at least twice that many servants,
plus horses and guards. Trying to imagine the
chaos when several werodu of Baels came
charging through, he was appalled, nauseated. To think
that all this sorrow had flowed from his folly with the
rapier in Ambleport, a single stone of evil
becoming a landslide! It was too late to back out
now, for Aeled's fleet must be somewhere
close and if he found the wedding guests fled he
would seek out other prey. It would need a real
army to stop him, and there was no army within call.
Gerard had expected to be billeted in a tent
himself, but he was shown to an attic room. It was
considerably less imposing than the quarters he
had occupied the last time, understandably, but
considerably more than he felt he deserved. He
was going to betray h
is hosts' hospitality, and few
crimes ranked lower than that.
Nor did it help his feelings that Lady
Candlefen was one of the most charming persons he had
ever met, straight-backed and yet warm, witty
but dignified, a silver-haired ideal of what
mothers should be. That she and her husband were marrying her
daughter to a toad must distress her deeply, but
the toad had forced their hand. She did not discuss
such matters with strangers. She greeted Gerard
in the great hall, which he recalled as an echoing
empty place and yet now was bustling with people, for
numerous impoverished Candlefen relatives would
not miss a chance to arrive as early as possible,
stay as long as possible, and eat as much as
possible. She ought to be almost frantic at this
stage in the preparations, but her greeting was serene
and cordial.
"Charlotte was so pleased that it would be you
recording the vows, Gerard!"
He doubted that very much. "I am happy to have the
honor, ma'am. She must be very excited."
Lady Candlefen was well aware that her
daughter and the gentleman scholar had fallen
hopelessly in love within ten minutes of their first
meeting. She sympathized, it was unfortunate, but
chance was elemental and such things happened. They had
to be kept under control, that was all.
"I think she is too busy to know what she is
feeling. You will join us for dinner, sir herald."
He tried to refuse and was overruled.
College recorders were annoying anomalies,
neither servants nor gentry, but most noble
families expected them to eat in the kitchens.
"If you'll excuse me," Lady Candlefen
said, glancing around, "I'll tell them to set one
more place. ... Ah, Sir Yorick, Sir
Richey! Have you met Master Gerard?"
Callously abandoning him to two predatory
Blades, she departed.
Richey wore the blue and silver of the
Royal Guard and Yorick the Crown
Prince's green and gold. Yorick was
fresh-faced and eager, while Richey in his late
twenties, nearing the end of his service, seemed more
cynical. Apart from those details, they could have
been brothers, both to each other and to any of the other
dozen or so Blades Gerard had met in the
past. Until that moment he had never considered
Blades as anything more than exotic flunkies,
but suddenly he was very much aware of their stealthy
menace and the dangerous swords they wore.
The Blades politely wanted to know who he
was and why he was there and they were going to get answers.
When he told them, they thawed a little, and he was
reassured that he must not seem one thousandth part as
guilty to them as he felt. Perhaps he could discover
how badly his plans were collapsing--
"Can I assume from your liveries that this house
will be honored by both your principals tomorrow?"
It was the young one who answered. "No."
"Oh." He hoped his smile conveyed
amusement and not panic. "I can't or it
won't?"
"Yes."
The older Blade chuckled softly. "He
means neither. You can't assume, but no, His
Majesty is not coming."
Yorick snorted. "There you go, giving out
state secrets to all sorts of suspicious
characters. The College of Heralds is probably
riddled with subversion."
"Rheumatism mostly," Gerard said.
"Spirits! Is that a White Sister?" It was an
idiotic question, because her tall white hennin loomed
over the tallest heads and no one else wore those
anymore.
"Either that or the family ghost." Was
Yorick's interest in Gerard increasing or was that
notion just a figment of his terrified imagination?
"They never told me they were going to bring in a
sniffer!" He tried to sound like a petty
bureaucrat with an out-of-joint nose, which ought not
to be difficult. "What are they afraid of?"
"The Candlefens?--nothing," young Yorick said.
"It's a piece of antiquated hocus-pocus
that the King insists on. Sniffers can find a
conjuration if it's in plain view in an empty
field. In a crowded building like this one, they
wouldn't recognize a love spell if there were
naked bodies writhing all around them."
"Oh, come," Richey objected. "The King
is too fond of his treasury to throw away
money. He wouldn't have the White Sisters
patrolling his palaces at all unless they did
some good."
Gulp. "You mean they actually do uncover
conjurements directed at His Majesty?"
"Certainly," said Yorick. "All the time.
Are you finding it over warm in here, Master
Gerard?"
"What? No! No, if anything I think
I'm a little chilly. The damp, you know ...
Why, there's the bride and I haven't paid my
respects yet ... do please excuse me.
Been great fun chatting with ... do it again some
..." Gerard fled like a hare.
CHARLOTTE
III (continued)
"By the way, Charlotte darling--while I
remember--an army of rapists and slavers will
invade the house on your wedding day to carry you off,
but their leader is a dashing young fellow with lots of
muscles and while he's a bloodthirsty monster
he does have a big smile and he says he will
marry you and make you Queen of Baelmark one
day. So don't worry, you'll be much happier with
him than with that disgusting old duke."
That was what he ought to say, but of course
family and admirers were fussing around the bride like
midges, and even if she had been alone, the
message would have had to be passed with more tact.
Considerably more tact!
She was taller than most women but still as slender
as a child. Blue was always her best color and tonight
she wore a rustling dress of sapphire silk,
whose voluminous skirts accentuated her tiny
waist. Her thick and high-piled hair shone in the
rich tones of honey fresh from the comb, she had the
amber eyes that so often showed up in the House of
Ranulf, and her neck was the longest he had ever
seen on a woman--she favored low necklines
to display it. He could stare for hours at the
perfection of her ears and nose and delicately
pointed chin. She had the fragility of a
porcelain doll and rode to hounds like a hussar.
A word of praise made her blush hotter than
a smith's forge, yet he had heard her
blaspheme worse than a blacksmith hitting
his finger.
He lingered on the fringes of the swarm for some time
before she acknowledged him with a brief smile, and
all the time she kept up the required pretense
of happiness and cheerful chatter. He had seen her
in a myriad moods: Charlotte festive;
Charlotte wistful; Charlo
tte reflective;
Charlotte elated as she put her horse over
gates and hedges, daring him to catch up;
Charlotte laughing as she chased the spring lambs;
Charlotte witty; Charlotte mischievous at
cards; Charlotte graceful as moonbeams in
minuet or gavotte--a woman of
constant variety--and yet he had never seen
Charlotte somber, not even when she spoke of her
abhorrent future with the repulsive duke.
"One makes the best of things," was as far as she
would ever go to admit unhappiness.
At last she introduced him and brought him into the
conversation. "It was Master Gerard's inspiration
to hold the ceremony in the rose garden." The
gentry nodded without pretending any interest in a
mere heraldic scribbler.
"I distrust the weather now, my lady," he
said. "We may be forced indoors."
"Oh, I am certain it will be glorious on the
day." She would never stoop to pessimism.
Then came the summons to dinner, and her brother
Rodney offered his arm to lead her in. Of course
Gerard was seated far below her during the meal. He
did contrive a face-to-face meeting later in
the evening, but only when they were back in the crowded
hall, amid scores of possible onlookers, so
their faces smiled while their whispers were bitter.
"Why are you here?" Smile, smile. "You
promised you would not come."
"I was terrified you might have changed your mind.
If you have, then there is still time. We can run away
together."
"Gerard! Oh, Gerard, have you forgotten that you
are about to marry me to one of the wealthiest landowners in
Chivial?"
"I have thought of nothing else for months. You
don't have to go through with it. We can flee
to Isilond or Thergy and be together always."
Aeled's money would just cover the fare, with nothing
left over.
She laughed as if he had just made a joke,
but her eyes denied the mirth. "Living on what,
Master Gerard? I do not know how to mulch pigs
or brew gruel."
"I'll find work! I'd work myself to death for you,
Charlotte."
"That really does not sound very practical.
Perhaps I can learn to clean fish on the docks.
Will you take my family with us? Or how will you
defend them?"
Alas, there was the root of all the trouble! As
seventh in line of succession, she was so close to the
throne that she needed royal permission to marry, and the
Duke of Dung Murk was a lifelong pal of