A Strange and Ancient Name

by Josepha Sherman

  He was up the ladder and back to his pallet before the boy could reply.

  IX

  OLD FRIENDS AND NEW

  Hauberin woke this time amid silence and stray rays of early morning sunlight stealing through cracks in the walls, and found Alliar sitting at his side in human guise, studying him with almost parental warmth. But then Alliar realized Hauberin was awake, and scrambled up in embarrassment, making much of brushing stray bits of straw from clothing and hair.

  “Li? Are you all right?”

  “Why shouldn’t I be?”

  “Stop that.” Hauberin got to his feet, catching his friend’s gaze before Alliar could glance away. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. Truly.” The being hesitated, then added softly, “Thank you.”

  “I only did—”

  “Hush. I shall not forget.” For an instant the familiar golden eyes were alien, filled with cool, elemental power . . . Then Alliar grinned. “Enough solemnity. It’s a bright morning out there. Shall we see how Squire Aimery is doing and go out on the road again?”

  Hauberin smiled. “We shall, indeed.”

  But when Hauberin, Alliar, and the limping Aimery stepped outside to a chilly morning and a sky full of sunlight and speeding clouds, they found themselves no longer alone.

  ###

  “Now, wasn’t this a stroke of good fortune, Your—ah—my lord?” Aimery asked cheerfully. “Meeting up with these my lord baron’s men, I mean, and them with spare horses so you need no longer be afoot. A stroke of good fortune, indeed.” But then the boy’s eyes widened. “Or . . . did you . . . ?”

  “Did we what?” murmured an amused Alliar.

  “Oh, my lords, you know!” Aimery surreptitiously sketched what presumably was meant to be an arcane gesture in the air. Alliar chuckled.

  “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “But—I—”

  “Enough, Li,” Hauberin cut in, adding silently, “You’re alarming the boy. We don’t want these other humans wondering about us, either.” He hesitated, then added warily, “You are feeling well?”

  “Oh, my friend, I thought I’d already assured you. Yes. I am.”

  The tender, wry, amused little mind-touch that accompanied the words reassured Hauberin more than any decirations. “Aimery,” he said to the boy, “I hate to disillusion you, but all I did was wave the party down. Couldn’t do much else,” he commented silently, “not with this Realm’s damnable lack of Power.”

  “Nervous, are we?” Alliar teased.

  “No. Yes. How should I not be nervous?”

  The castle was looming up before them, a great mass of walls and towers. Hauberin, casting a speculative eye over the heavy, narrow-windowed fortifications, heard Alliar’s soft, “Impressive. A fortress truly meant for war, eh, Aimery?”

  “It was in the past, my lord. And should God will it, it certainly could be again.” The boy’s light voice was suddenly more mature, the voice of a squire trained to arms. “Even if matters should ever come again to siege, well, with the grace of God, we should be able to hold it far longer than forty days.”

  “Forty days?” Hauberin, who had just been deciding he wouldn’t care to attack those walls without magic, raised a curious eyebrow. “Is that some ritual time span?”

  “Oh no, my lord.” Aimery flashed his quick grin. “Well, yes, in a way I suppose it is. After forty days’ service to their liege lord, common men-at-arms are free to go home to their fields.”

  “Then after forty days, there’s peace, perforce?”

  “Ah . . . no. If the attacker hires mercenaries—those Godless men—the siege can go on till the castle falls or is relieved.”

  “Or the attacker runs out of gold. Why such contempt in your voice?”

  “For mercenaries?” Aimery regarded Hauberin with horror. “To fight for your liege lord, the man to whom you’ve sworn homage, is right and honorable. But to soil your knightly vows by fighting, killing, for nothing but gold . . .”

  “I see. But why are you looking questions at me?”

  “Your pardon, but I was just wondering . . . Don’t you have siegecraft in—your native land?”

  Hauberin laughed, remembering his brief non-attack on Serein’s estate. “In my native land, battles seldom last long enough to warrant a siege. Remember, we have other weapons than swords at our disposal.”

  As the boy stared at him, plainly imagining who-knew-what arcane terrors, Alliar cut in, “Even at this range, I can’t make out the device on that banner. Aimery?”

  “That’s the baron’s personal standard, showing he’s in residence. The device is his own, of course: azure, an antelope reguardant, argent.”

  “A what?”

  “A silver antelope—it’s white, really—looking over its shoulder, the field—that’s the background—blue.”

  “Then why didn’t you just—”

  “Ae.” It was a soft, involuntary cry from Hauberin.

  “My lord?”

  “It’s . . . nothing to worry you.”

  “Not the right design, my prince?”

  “No.” Hauberin fought down a sudden keen despair. “I was so certain this was the right fortress. If we have to begin anew . . .”

  “It could have changed hands, you know, through marriage or—the boy did mention war.”

  Hauberin sighed. “Let us see what we shall see,” he said aloud. Standing in the stirrups, he added, “There seem to be travelers ahead of us.”

  “Oh, yes, my lord.” Aimery was settling happily into the role of guide. “In these times of peace, there are always merchants and victuallers and the like. See? The drawbridge is down and the portcullis is up.”

  “And the gates,” Alliar commented, “are closed.”

  “Not completely. There’s a door in one, do you see it, to let people in and out without risking the danger of an unexpected attack.”

  “And whose eyes are those, peering at us from that window by the gates?”

  Aimery gave Alliar an admiring glance. “You’re sharp-sighted, my lord! That’s the chief porter, the fellow who keeps watch on everyone coming and going, and who decides who gets to enter.” As Hauberin thoughtfully began to gather a persuasion-spell in his mind, the boy continued lightly, “He’ll recognize my livery, of course, even if it is . . . ah . . . somewhat the worse for wear, and let us pass.” He smiled confidently at Hauberin and Alliar. “Don’t worry, my lords. You’re with me. No one will stop you.”

  “Thank you, Squire Aimery,” Hauberin replied somberly. “That is most reassuring.”

  They were in the shadow of the walls now, and the prince shifted uneasily in the saddle, his good humor fading. The castle reeked of damp, of chill stone and old death—

  Nonsense.

  The damp and chill were real enough, but as for anything else: that was only overwrought nerves complaining.

  But the sheer mass of the fortress weighed down on him, silently hostile. This outer defense was so thick it was like riding into the mouth of a cavern, or a monster . . .

  Don’t be a fool! It’s just a place, a thing; it has no life of its own.

  Aimery was giving the all but unseen porter a self-confident little wave. But Hauberin hardly noticed. He felt a new darkness pressing down on him, the cold burning of iron overhead . . . The prince glanced up as they passed under the weight of the portcullis, the cruelly spiked iron gate, and flinched. If it should start to slide downward . . .

  “It’s securely fastened, my lord,” Aimery had seen. “No danger, never fear.” But then the boy stopped short, blinking. “It’s the—the iron, isn’t it?” he whispered. “Just as the old tales say: your people can’t endure iron.”

  Hauberin frowned, not happy at having a weakness exposed, even to a friendly human. But before he could speak, Aimery added: “Don’t worry. I’ll keep your secret, by my faith. Oh, but my lord, you’ll have to be very careful here!”

  “Just what I’ve been telling him,” Alliar murmured.
/>
  Hauberin glanced at the being as they rode on. “You look as uncomfortable as I feel.”

  “So much stone . . . No winds could ever find their way through all of it.”

  “We have castles in Faerie, too, Li.”

  “Made of air and light.”

  “Poetic. If hardly accurate.”

  Hauberin hesitated, remembering last night’s hysteria. Maybe he should tell Alliar the being need not continue; surely he could go on alone. But . . . Powers, he really didn’t want to be alone, not in this cold, iron-haunted place . . .

  Ashamed of his weakness, the prince said, a bit too briskly, “Cheer up, Li. I see sunlight ahead of us.”

  Alliar straightened. “And a new line of walls beyond that. Winds, what a suspicious folk!”

  “You’d be suspicious, too, if you didn’t have magic to shield you.”

  Hauberin glanced up at the two guard towers flanking the entrance, vaguely sensing the presence of wary humans, eyeing narrow openings in the stone that could only have been arrow slits. Oh, he definitely wouldn’t like to attack this place without magic!

  Suddenly they were coming out into the sunlight and the great open area between the outer and inner rings of walls, and the shock of light and life and noise hit Hauberin like a psychic blow.

  “There’s an entire town in here!”

  Aimery chuckled. ‘“Just about. This is the Outer Ward, where we keep the kitchen and storehouses. The workshops, too. Oh, and the stables and the animal pens.”

  “I’ve noticed.” The barnyard smells were staggering.

  So was the number of people crowded into the Ward. There were folk feeding animals, carving wood, tending forges, folk gossiping and arguing and shouting, and packs of busy, noise, dirty children running everywhere—For a moment, the sheer weight of all those active, teeming, alien human minds nearly overcame him until the prince hastily raised mental barriers to shut them out, or at least mute their roar.

  He glanced at Alliar. The being didn’t look particularly happy, glancing longingly up at the free sky, but otherwise, perversely, seemed to be enduring much more successfully than he.

  Of course. Not having any human blood, Alliar wasn’t as distressingly easily attuned.

  Aimery was eyeing them both warily. Hauberin forced a smile. “It is a bit overwhelming, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose it must be, to a stranger.” The boy resumed his busy, matter-of-fact guide’s voice. “The barracks of the castle men-at-arms are out here, and the families of craftsmen and servants and other such dependents. Here, I believe, our escort will be leaving us—yes? Yes. But we’ll go on.” Aimery rode boldly forward, seemingly affected neither by the noise nor the smells. Hauberin and Alliar exchanged rueful glances and followed, trying not to breathe too deeply.

  “Powers above,” the prince murmured in his native tongue as they passed a well right in the middle of everything. He hoped the human wine would be drinkable, because he certainly wasn’t going to drink any of that water!

  And had his mother, his clean, quiet mother, really grown up amid all this? “I suppose the baron’s actual living quarters lie within this second ring of walls?” the prince asked. “And I trust they’ll be more . . . civilized,” he added silently to Alliar, who gave him a wry shrug.

  Aimery missed it. “Yes, my lord, within the Inner Ward.”

  “What,” murmured the being, “not another armed gateway?”

  “And another portcullis as well.”

  Fighting a growing urge to turn and run like an animal in a trap about to close, Hauberin forced himself to consider these new defenses with a critical eye. The walls and towers were even more massive than those of the outer ring, and the prince nodded grim approval. “Even should your baron fail to defend the Outer Ward, he would still have a fair chance of holding the Inner.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Aimery said dutifully as they rode under the portcullis and into a new courtyard. There was not one sign of green life here, only a sweep of stone cobblestones, a jumble of stone outbuildings, and a large, square-sided stone building, several stories high, facing them across the yard. At least, though, the yard was reasonably clean and empty, with only a few servants going their silent way. It was also blessedly quiet by comparison with what Hauberin had already seen. But as Aimery reined up at the inner edge of the massive gateway, the prince frowned, once more uncomfortably aware of watchful eyes upon him.

  “Now what?”

  “Now I formally announce your presence, my lords.” Aimery stopped, regarding the prince in dismay. “I’m sorry, Your Grace,” he whispered. “I don’t know what to call you.”

  “My name: Hauberin.”

  To his surprise, the boy drew back, eyes astonished. “Not the Auberon?” he asked in a voice that quavered.

  “Hauberin,” the prince corrected, enunciating precisely.

  “Oh. Of course.” Aimery reddened. “T-That other is supposed to be the King of Fairyland.” His blush deepened. “But you’d know more about that than I.”

  Hauberin shrugged. Auberon wasn’t the name of either the High King or Queen, but he certainly wasn’t going to mention their correct use-names to a human.

  Aimery was quick to recover his composure, if not quite his normal color. “Were you come here alone, without one of us squires escorting you, someone would have sounded a trumpet from one of the towers. But since you’re with me . . . See, here’s the gong to call someone to meet us.”

  The boy stood in the stirrups, one-legged, protecting his ankle, and struck the gong a heroic blow. The heavy metallic clang rang painfully on keen Faerie ears, and both Hauberin and Alliar winced. Aimery looked at them in dismay.

  “Did—did the sound of iron hurt you, Your Grace?”

  “Not exactly. And it’s not ‘Your Grace,’ remember, just ‘my lord’. Here comes someone.”

  “That’s . . . mm . . . Bertran. One of my fellow squires.”

  The newcomer was dark-haired and taller by half a head than the stocky Aimery, more lean and gangling of build, the boy’s senior by a year or so. He stared. “Aimery! What in God’s name happened to you? And why . . .”

  His voice trailed into silence at Aimery’s frantic little hand gestures. Bertran tensed at the sight of the two strangers. For a second, surprise danced in his eyes at the sight of Hauberin’s exotic features. Then a mask of formal, well-schooled politeness fell into place. Bertran bowed.

  “God give you good day, my lords.” Rules of human (at least, noble human) etiquette were presumably keeping the squire from asking questions; if they had come with Aimery, obviously they couldn’t be enemies. “May I bid you welcome? And will it please you to follow me?”

  Their horses’ hoofs clattered against the smooth, well-swept cobblestones. “At least it’s cleaner here,” Alliar commented. “And the folk look more orderly.”

  “Servants of a higher order,” Hauberin said. “See how many of them are wearing the baron’s livery. Aimery? What’s this great hall of a building we’re approaching?”

  Aimery grinned daringly. “Why, just that, my lord: the Great Hall. And above it, my lord baron’s private and guest chambers.”

  “My lords?” Bertran wasn’t approving of his fellow squire’s levity. “Will it please you to dismount?”

  “It will.” Hauberin, amused, sprang lithely down, followed by Alliar, who turned to see if Aimery needed help. But the boy managed skillfully enough, though once down, he had to gesture desperately to Bertran for aid. As servants led the horses away, Hauberin’s sharp ears caught the two squires’ whisperings:

  “Your leg, too?”

  “Wrenched my ankle, that’s all. Bertran, hurry! Believe me, these are hardly folk to be left standing here for long.”

  The urgency in Aimery’s voice made Bertran’s eyes widen. “But . . . Ah . . .” He bowed to Hauberin and Alliar once more, clearly stalling for time while he marshalled his thoughts. “May I,” he said at last, “take the liberty of greeting you in my
lord baron’s name in his absence?”

  “What’s this?” Aimery’s voice was sharp. “The baron’s away?”

  “For the day only.” Bertran had regained his self-control; the boy would make a disgustingly self-possessed adult someday. “Baron Gilbert has gone a-hunting, my lords, he and his lady wife and many of their retainers.”

  “Well and good,” interrupted Aimery again, “but who’s to formally welcome these lords?”

  Bertran frowned at him, annoyed. “Do you think the inner gates would have been left open if none of the baron’s family were home?”

  “Oh.”

  “These gentles,” he bowed to Hauberin and Alliar yet again, “will be formally welcomed by my lord baron’s brother, of course.”

  “Of course,” echoed a smooth voice from the doorway of the Great Hall. Both squires whirled, Bertran just barely keeping Aimery from going sprawling, and bowed deeply, giving Hauberin and Alliar a clear view of the newcomer.

  And the prince felt the shocked touch of Alliar’s mind against his: “That’s the man who nearly ran us down in the forest! That’s the man who tried to kill us!”

  The young man was handsome enough, Hauberin thought sourly, well-made in form and clean-featured face, his dark gold hair and beard neatly trimmed, his height more apparent now that he was afoot. The prince, who hadn’t moved a muscle for all Alliar’s silent outrage, smiled thinly.

  “Whatever happened in the forest, Li, this . . . Raimond is now our host.” The exquisite irony of it tickled his Faerie sense of humor. “And we will be polite.”

  “As you will it, my prince.” The emotion behind the thought was anything but polite. “Eh, but look at him, standing there so arrogantly.”

  “Arrogance can be corrected. This is not the place for it.” Hauberin was very well aware of the castle folk all watching them. His set smile didn’t waver. “We will be polite.”

  But the human’s attention wasn’t truly on him, not yet. “Aimery! What is the meaning of this?”