“Indeed. Well, the rumors that have come to my ear suggest that Hallieth Suriytaiän in fact continues to hold Suriytè and all the land north and the east; that no one within his demesne dare raise sword or hand or voice against him. But Emmer has fragmented, with the south and the coast breaking free of Suriytaiän authority. An Emmeran general, an ambitious man called Corvallis, has taken the south of Emmer and seeks to claim the kingship there, I gather.” The Wolf Duke sounded faintly approving. He added, “Rumor suggests that Torrolay Elin Raëhema has allied with General Corvallis and they work together to resist Hallieth Theraön Suriytaiän. But yes, one hears they are indeed hard-pressed despite their alliance. From which one gathers Methmeir Irekaì must indeed be supporting the Mad King of Emmer.”
This made sense. Kehera wished now she had pushed Hallieth Suriytaiän out a tower window when she’d had the chance. She said, “Your king must wish to rule the whole world.” But she added with what she hoped was quiet dignity, “Yet whatever rumors make their way to Eäneté, it is unwise to discount Harivin strength or determination.”
The duke inclined his head, faintly ironic. “You will find that I do not discount the possibilities Harivir may yet hold for the future. However, if you would now be so kind as to describe for me what you witnessed in Suriytè?” He gave her an inviting flick of a hand. “In a little more detail, if you will.”
“It was . . . very strange.” She did not remember exactly what Hallieth Suriytaiän had said to her, nor exactly what the cold Power had said, but she described the scene as well as she could: the high tower, the Mad King, the hissing frost that had spread across the room. Then the rest of it, stumbling a little, leaving out Eilisè because she couldn’t bear to see the Wolf Duke not care about her friend’s death. But she carefully described Gheroïn Nomoris.
“Gheroïn Nomoris,” murmured the duke’s seneschal, speaking for almost the first time since the conversation had become fraught. “We know that name. A hound of the king’s. A hunting hound; one is not astonished the king should set him to an important task. But carrying a tie such as you describe?” He glanced at the duke, frowning. “The Nomoris family is not known to be above common.”
The duke himself made a slight, dismissive gesture. “Gheroïn is a cousin of the family. A by-blow with a tangled inheritance. I am not surprised to learn the Heriduïn Irekaì line has crossed the Nomoris line once or twice.”
“Your Grace has met Gheroïn Nomoris?” Kehera asked, catching a note of familiarity in the duke’s tone.
“When I was presented at court as a boy,” the duke answered distantly. “I became closely acquainted with the man, unfortunately.” He was not, evidently, inclined to speak more of that, moved a hand to encourage Kehera to go on with her story.
“There’s not much more,” she said, and edited her father’s man out of the tale because she did not feel equal to explaining Quòn. She only said she had gotten away and found help in Enchar. And His Grace knew how that had come out.
“Yes,” said the duke, his yellow eyes glinting. “Perhaps it will please you to know that the slave dealer who betrayed you did not survive questioning. I regret that you cannot be offered the chance to attend a proper hanging.”
“Oh,” Kehera said again. “No. I mean, that’s all right.” She couldn’t quite decide what she thought about Parren’s death. But she was glad not to actually have to watch him hang.
“He should have known better than to kidnap Eänetén folk,” Gereth told her, perhaps guessing at her discomfort. “The Black Rose House does appear to have been complicit, for which the entire house will likely be . . . dismantled.”
Kehera was surprised at the grim satisfaction in his tone when he said this. But then she thought again. “I had the impression that perhaps the . . . Black Rose . . . sells girls to men who will murder them. Perhaps I didn’t understand.”
“Oh, you understood,” the seneschal told her. He gave his duke a sideways look. “Not quite legal, but very hard to stamp out.”
“I am perfectly aware of your opinion,” the Wolf Duke said dryly. “Indeed, I could hardly fail to be aware of it.” He added to Kehera, “The Black Rose House tithes directly to Irekay, so I have been constrained in dealing with its excesses. Your Parren, however, set the house into my hand. And chance or the Fortunate Gods seems to have arranged . . . various other tactical elements. I believe I will now be able to destroy the house, root and branch.”
“Not before time,” muttered Gereth.
“Precisely at the right time,” the duke corrected him. “And not before Laören has departed. Be patient, my old friend.”
The seneschal nodded.
Kehera said cautiously, seeing a chance to make good a promise she had thought beyond hope, “The other slaves that the slave trader Parren brought with me to your city—”
“Lady?”
“Your Grace. I should be pleased if those slaves were to find good places. If they might even be freed, if they could find honest work. I would be . . . I would be grateful.”
“Slaves are not customarily freed. The brand marks them as unfit for ordinary employment.”
Kehera had not realized this, and was quietly appalled.
Perhaps the Wolf Duke saw this, for he added, “However, I am not necessarily concerned for this custom. But what are those people to you, that you should care for them?”
“People,” Kehera said, not quite sharply. “What else would they have to be?”
A trace of amusement informed the curious fire-ridden eyes. The duke inclined his head slightly. “My household can no doubt absorb a handful of freed slaves. I shall be pleased to issue the appropriate orders.” He glanced at his seneschal, who nodded with obvious satisfaction.
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Kehera hesitated. “I had . . . before everything . . . one of those men—two of them, in fact—were going to help me get through the pass. But it went wrong.”
“Indeed. You might have found this challenging, even with two men to help you.”
“Well, I knew it might be difficult, but Tageiny seemed like the kind of man I would be glad to hire for something dangerous and difficult. I thought I might trust him, that much at least, especially since he would have been free as soon as we entered Harivir. I cannot now redeem my word, I know. . . .”
“Indeed,” repeated the duke. “Tageiny.”
Kehera nodded. “And a younger man, Luad.”
“I see.”
“I would be truly grateful if they were freed, Your Grace. And there was a little girl, Geris . . . and an older man. I believe he had done nothing wrong. . . .”
“You wish all of these people freed, I gather.” The duke was plainly amused, but he added, “They shall be. Gereth will see to it, and he will be able to find suitable employment for them, I am sure.”
Kehera bowed her head. “You are generous, Your Grace.”
A dismissive shrug answered this. “I can afford to be generous, can I not? I would prefer that you view me as . . . potentially, your ally. Certainly not any simple enemy.”
“Your Grace, I would be glad to think of you as a friend, but I don’t think I would ever think of you as a simple enemy.”
For a moment those wolf’s eyes lingered on her face, and she wondered whether she had offended him. She had not meant offense. But he only said softly, “You may retire, if you wish. I hope our circumstances will all be greatly improved by this hour tomorrow.”
Sometimes a retreat in good order is as much of a victory as is possible. Kehera stood up thankfully. “Of course, Your Grace. Good night.”
12
The sun gleamed dimly, low in the flat winter sky, veiled by cloud the exact color of beaten silver. Later those clouds would probably yield to the sun and the day would become almost pleasant. But at dawn, it was cold.
Innisth called for bread and fruit preserves because that was his invariable habit. But he did not eat. It seemed unwise to break his fast, given the coming charade. It wou
ld be a small play, for an audience of one, but the injury would be real.
He felt very little fear. The blow would not be crippling, or else it would; he expected the former but did not doubt his ability to cope with the latter if it became necessary. If his physicker was incapable of repairing the damage, he would still be the Duke of Eäneté. He did not rule his province with his leg. Nor did he need to fear the pain. There was nothing unfamiliar about pain. It would not touch his dignity.
Verè Deconniy did not seem to share his sanguine outlook. The young captain also refused breakfast, but neither could he settle. He moved restlessly from table to window and back again, waiting for Innisth’s signal that they might go down to the practice yard. It was too early. The men would not begin training for another half hour. But Deconniy plainly wanted to go down at once.
Eöté also did not touch the food. She sat very still in the chair nearest the fire, her hands folded in her lap and her eyes on the table.
“You may both eat, if you like,” Innisth told them. “You will need your strength, my captain. There is no reason you should go without, Eöté.”
Two pairs of eyes lifted to his face and immediately fell again.
Annoyed, Innisth pushed back his chair and rose. Let them be dismal alone, if they were so inclined. He himself felt, so close to the departure of the despised Irekaïn lord, that a weight was lifting from his shoulders. Or perhaps that was due to the Raëhema girl’s appearance on his doorstep. He felt that the world was wider this morning. As though every possibility waited to fall into his hand.
He said to Deconniy, “Do not come down to the yard until the usual time.” Then he said to Eöté, “Do not come down at all. Laören will be there, and we shall not put easy temptation in his way.” He did not wait for acknowledgment, but strode out to find Captain Etar.
The senior captain was on his feet, pacing from one side of his small room to the other. He, too, plainly wanted to go down to the practice yard and was having to exert himself to resist. He turned sharply when Innisth rapped on his open door and grimaced. “Your Grace. It will go well. No reason it should not go well.”
“Of course,” said Innisth.
“I think it unlikely you will be badly injured,” said Etar. “Still, your physicker will be . . . where?”
“In the barracks, attending some recent minor injury. That cannot cause suspicion. There is always some minor injury among the men. That will place him as near as seems practicable.”
Etar paced again, then nodded at last. “I want to warn him. But that’s not wise. So I will also be ready to tend you immediately after the wound is dealt, that no time may be lost. Deconniy?”
“He is ready to play his role, I think. You must be sure he suffers no undo harm after he is arrested. If Lord Laören attempts to bribe his guards, this must be handled with delicacy.”
“I’ll see to it.”
“Indeed.” Innisth paused, then added evenly, “If I should happen through some mischance to be killed, the Eänetén Power must go to someone.”
“Yes. Have you any idea where the tie would go?”
“A difficult question, unfortunately. To the best of my knowledge, I have no child of my body. The Power’s choice will thus be unpredictable. A distant cousin, an unknown by-blow of my father, who can say? Nor can I say how much of an imprint I have myself set on Eänetaìsarè. My father held the deep tie for much longer than I.”
“And your grandfather was worse,” said Etar. “I know.”
“Just so. In the event you must take what steps you see fit, but it would please me to think that you would strike down any man who took the tie unless he were such a man as should do well by Eäneté. In all such matters, I would trust your judgment. As you no doubt remember, a fall from a high place will kill any man, deep tie or no.” The duke paused.
Etar bowed his head. “Your Grace may depend on me. I give Your Grace my word that should this tragedy occur, I will without fail see the tie goes to a man you would approve.”
“You reassure me, my old soldier.” Innisth gave this first and oldest of his captains a spare nod of approval. “Shall we go down?”
The younger men were already at their practice when Etar and the duke came into the yard. It was sheltered from the wind by the barracks and the house, but cold. Still, some of the men stripped to the waist to spar, particularly the unattached young men, as was the custom. Girls gathered at the windows of the house to watch; that too was traditional. Innisth did not look to see whether Lord Laören also watched. Making certain the Irekaïn lord witnessed at least the end of the morning’s practice was Gereth’s task. Innisth trusted he would see to it.
The practice weapons, made of weighted wood, were edged with chalk to leave clear marks as well as bruises. But as they warmed up, some of the men, more expert than the others, switched to real swords. Verè Deconniy came into the yard at last to the ring of steel against steel.
Deconniy saluted the duke, but casually. He acknowledged Captain Etar with a more formal salute and an apology for his tardiness, then strode across the yard to claim a sword. He was already undoing the laces of his shirt. Innisth could not quite restrain a glance up toward the windows, but light slid across the glass and he could not tell whether Laören was there or not. Looking away again, he strolled closer and leaned against a post to watch Deconniy spar with Lieutenant Tejef. Steel rang. The light ran down their swords—the sun had come out; Innisth had not noticed until that moment. Their boot heels rang on the flagstones. Sweat gleamed on Deconniy’s shoulders and chest. He was not over-large, but, shirtless, one could appreciate the muscular definition of his body. Innisth allowed himself to watch the young captain with open attention.
Etar called the match and waved Tejef away toward one of the younger men. “Tem extends too far when he lunges; work on that,” he told him, and turned toward Deconniy. But Deconniy had already taken a deliberate step toward the duke. He was smiling, flushed with exertion, and when he beckoned to the duke, anyone watching would certainly see more than one kind of invitation in the gesture.
“Practice weapons,” Etar ordered, and jerked his head toward one of the other men.
“No need,” Deconniy said, light and amused, meeting the duke’s eyes with a lover’s boldness. “I won’t slip—and His Grace won’t get even a single touch.”
“Indeed?” said Innisth, allowing the corner of his mouth to crook upward. He had designed this little play and set it in motion; but even he had not expected Verè Deconniy to be quite so convincing. His own part was easier. He only looked Deconniy up and down, allowing the Eänetén Power to rise and look out of his eyes. Heat flushed through him, sensual and savage. He made no effort to hide that heat. He knew that Laören, lord as he was and holding some minor tie of his own, must see it. Feel it.
“Your Grace, this is not wise,” Etar protested.
“Practice weapons aren’t the same,” Deconniy said with careless confidence. “Dancing on the sharp edge of danger adds savor to life.” He was still smiling, though his expression had become a little strained. Only a close look would see that strain. But anyone would see the smile. And if Laören was not watching, Innisth was going to be very angry with Gereth. He did not let himself glance around, but only beckoned for one of the other men to bring him a sword.
Astonishingly enough, the match went exactly as it had been planned. There was the same tentative, slow beginning as in their practice sessions, the same smooth acceleration of the pace. Deconniy retreated briefly, then seemed to gather himself and press the attack. Innisth, as always, found himself forced to narrow his attention, concentrating on the choreographed swordplay. It prevented him from anticipating the coming blow, which was perhaps the point.
Deconniy struck, too quickly for Innisth to evade.
Innisth was aware first simply that a heavy blow had been struck; it felt like the kick of a horse. He stumbled, but did not fall. Deconniy took a step forward and caught his arm, supporting him.
Etar was there as well suddenly, taking the sword from his hand. A wave of dizziness swept through Innisth, and he staggered again, catching his weight on the injured leg.
That was when the pain finally hit. Innisth had been right; he did not lose his dignity. He lost consciousness. His last memory was of Deconniy, who, white and stricken, caught him as he fell.
Innisth Eänetaì dreamed he walked along a path that ran through a forest. The path was covered with a blanket of snow. Fine dry snow drifted in the air and blew stingingly against his face and hands. The black trunks of trees crowded close on each side of the path, reaching tangled and leafless branches overhead. A pale light, like and yet unlike that of the moon, glowed against the white snow. It was bitterly cold. He felt distantly that he should turn back, but he did not. A cold wind rattled the naked branches against one another and hissed through the light snow. His boots crunched on the snow. There was no other sound.
Then there was. A lighter, quicker step: a wolf wove through the trees, paralleling his path, a lean gray wolf with yellow eyes. It slanted back its ears and dropped its jaw in a silent wolf laugh, savage, but not without humor. Its shadow stretched out long behind it: the shadow of a man and not of a wolf. Innisth stopped and turned. The shadow lying on the snow behind him was the shadow of a wolf.
A cutting wind rose, whipping through the black wood, sending the snow stinging into the air. Somewhere not far distant came the long humming cry of a winter dragon, like the resonant voice of the wind itself. Innisth turned toward that threat, but a small falcon, a buff and slate kestrel, darted through the air before him, quick-winged, visible for only a second and then instantly gone again into the snow. He paused, not knowing quite why. Turning again, he found the wolf pacing gravely toward him out of the blowing snow, no more than a few feet distant.
“Eänetaìsarè, it is, walking in your shadow,” a quiet voice told him. A woman’s voice, oddly familiar. He stopped, listening, his heart leaping up and beating fast as though this was the one voice he had longed to hear.
Winter of Ice and Iron Page 24