by Dave Duncan
I knew that would not be the end of the affair, but such things take time. While waiting on the next episode, I decided to visit Uthom in the Middle. During my previous visit, the capital had been in mourning for High-honor, so I had avoided it. This time I was resolved to drop in on the royal family.
My methods never fail: a few nights' entertaining in one of the better hostelries to let my reputation spread, invitations to perform in private houses, notice from the nobility … eventually a royal command.
There was little risk that anyone would remember my performance at Still Waters. Few had seen me, and aristocrats in general are unwilling to make themselves seem like greater fools than they already are. "By all the gods, you look younger than ever, don't you?" No, it was not likely. If challenged I could have claimed to be my own son, I suppose, but I make a point of never speaking anything but the strict truth.
Two months after the runaway horse and three weeks after I arrived in the capital, I was summoned to court.
The palace was monumental. I have seen masonry watchtowers smaller than the pillars in the great ballrooms. All the doorways were slits, all the staircases cramped spirals, easy to defend. The contrast between his fortress and the delicate beauty of Still Waters testified to the difference between the two brothers who had founded the houses. All his life, Ven had been a fighter.
When I had last seen Just-blade, he had been a sleepy adolescent, stifling yawns. Quarter of a century later, he was a hunted wolf—moody, saturnine, and suspicious. Oh, his manners were impeccable. He behaved exactly as a king should, a gentleman, but a dangerous one. He did not froth and rage and sentence his friends to torture, yet he somehow conveyed the impression that one day he might. In appearance he was tall, lean, and clean-shaven, having driven beards out of fashion by his example. He was reputed to be as fit and active as a man ten years his junior, but he could not hide the darkness in his soul. Too many kings become obsessed with their place in history, and he must have known his reign would not be well remembered. The war was bleeding his people white and would not go away. Reaching for glory, he had grasped frustration.
His wife had died a couple of years before. He was expected to remarry soon, and the court was abuzz with speculation on his choice. His sister acted as his official hostess in the meantime. Princess Nightingale looked even more fragile than she had the first time I saw her—bitter and emaciated. Her marriage had been fruitless. Now her husband lived apart from her, reputedly wenching on his estates and siring progeny like a goat, as if to prove that her barrenness was not his fault. On her I sensed an even darker shadow, and she was to die within the year.
With these two at its head and war seething in the background, the court was a brittle, nerve-wracking carnival—gaiety on the surface and dark currents beneath. You are aware by now that even the most humble peasants in Verlia favor bright colors in their dress. The courtiers blazed like a shower of diamonds in sunlight, gems on black velvet.
At my first appearance in the great hall, I told the tale of the Winter War again, with emphasis on Ven, of course. It went quite well. I received a standing ovation, a sizable bag of gold, and my own quarters in the palace for an extended stay. Noble ladies flocked to invite me to their salons and soirees whenever the king might not have need of me.
I soon tire of aristocrats, for their life lacks reality, but there are times when I tire of poverty, also, and I had resolved to restore my credit rating. The court was depressingly artificial by day, inspifingly promiscuous by night. This was winter, after all, when featherbeds are softer than ditches. For a few days I flourished. All I lacked to amuse me was a source of good stories. From dawn to dusk, I heard nothing but vapid gossip. Then the crown prince returned to court and suddenly the gossip became vicious.
The first time I saw Star-seeker was at a formal ball, where the festive throng glittered brighter than the candles. Music rang back from the high rafters. Youths of all available sexes leaped and whirled in frenzied dance, displaying sprightly limbs through flutters of brilliant motley. I was leaning against one of the huge pillars, gasping for breath after a wild participation in these revelries, and at the same time grasping for metaphors that might do justice to the scene: swarm of dragonflies, school of tropical fish, madhouse of kingfishers? A pot of peacocks … Bullfinches in a flower shop …
The music grew even faster, the pace frenetic. More couples reeled to the sidelines, exhausted. Astonishingly, the king was in the midst of the mob, dancing as wildly as any. For a man nearing forty, he was doing most exceedingly well. I chuckled and waited to see how long he could keep it up.
Then I recognized his partner and my holiday had ended.
I turned to my companion—whose name, I am ashamed to confess, completely escapes me, and shouldn't, because … well, never mind.
"His Majesty has found the second-loveliest lady in the hall, I see."
"Sweet-rose of Kraw," my companion murmured, sliding soft fingers into my motley to tickle my ribs. "Haven't you heard?"
"Heard what?" I retorted, responding in kind—we were reasonably well concealed behind a potted hydrangea.
"The king has made his choice. An announcement is expected momentarily."
Indeed? What about my friend Zig? What about that romance I had detected? I lost interest in ribs while I mulled the possibilities. The gods stage tragedies as well as romances.
The king reached the end of the royal stamina. He stopped abruptly, gasping. Instantly the music stopped, also, of course, and the rest of the dancers. Cheering and laughter and applause … The floor began to clear.
I watched as Just-blade offered Sweet-rose his arm and led her off—although I think he was leaning on her, more than she on him. I could not fault his judgment. To have ranked the beauties in that room exactly would have been an impossible task, but she would certainly have been in any man's top four or five. He was older than she, but not impossibly so. When the king of Verlia made his choice, how much choice did his choice have?
The orchestra struck up again. The floor began to fill.
"Ouch!" I said. My companion had just pinched me.
"Pay attention!" she said dangerously.
"I am! I am!" I hauled her away to dance before I got raped in the hydrangea.
But I danced her over toward the royal dais, where Just-blade and his fiancée presumptive were sipping wine. Near them sat Princess Nightingale, looking distinctly unwell. The normally somber monarch was actually smiling. Sweet-rose laughed at something he said. I could tell nothing at all from her manner. Poised. Gorgeous.
"She must be old Fire-hawk's daughter?" I murmured in my partner's ear—the dance being one of those clingy, swoopy affairs.
"Another word about her," she whispered sweetly, "and I shall scratch your eyes out."
Then …
Right across the center of the floor, pushing through the dancers like a badger in tall grass, came a troop of eight or nine young men, marching in unison, all dressed in black. Gaiety collapsed behind them like a startled soufflé.
The sizable but overweight youngster at their head could only be Star-seeker, the crown prince. If his father was a hungry wolf, then he was a starving bear. He had the sort of knothole eyes I can never trust. I thought his face already showed signs of dissolution, but perhaps I had let myself be overly prejudiced by gossip. Even by court standards, his reputation for debauchery was extreme.
The others were his personal cronies. I had heard tell of them, also. Some had even worse reputations than he did—lechers, drunkards, duelists, and plain thugs. They invariably dressed in black. I have nothing against youthful rebellion if it has some moral purpose behind it. Star-seeker's did not, as far as I had been able to discover. He was not antiwar or pro-war, anti or pro anything. He was pro-self and nothing else.
The prince bowed perfunctorily to the king, lifted Sweet-rose's hand as if to kiss her fingers, and hauled her from her chair into his arms. Before anyone could speak a word, he whirled her a
way into the dance. Her crystal goblet shattered on the floor. Nightingale smothered a scream. The king leaped to his feet, his face inflamed with fury. He was too late. They were gone and in any case the prince's henchmen stood across his path—the whole thing had been carefully planned. I have seldom seen an act so outrageous executed with greater panache.
The black-garbed men bowed and then dispersed to steal dance partners of their own. I trod on my companion's feet and stammered an apology.
Needless to say, the court was agog from that moment on. Personally, I would not have been surprised had Just-blade announced his engagement that very night without even obtaining the lady's consent. I have known kings who would have done so, but he did not. The scandal festered for several days. The king was fourteen years older than the lady, the prince five years younger. Which one would she choose? When I asked why she should necessarily choose either, I received blank stares for answers.
Rumors bloomed in many hues. The nastier matrons whispered that the minx was deliberately setting father against son. From what I had heard of Star-seeker, he was quite capable of having started the whole affair on his own, with no encouragement from anyone. Others, though, suggested that he had been first in the field and the king was the intruder. The girl's mother was behind it. Or she had been summoned to court to talk sense into her daughter, if you preferred that version. The king had threatened to disinherit the prince. The prince had threatened a revolution, a theory not too farfetched, considering the state of the country.
Next to Sweet-rose herself, the favorite topic for speculation was the royal god. Any other Verlian family would certainly seek divine guidance on such a matter and accept the god's verdict. Royalty was a little different. Ven and all his descendants had been very careful to distinguish between the household god, Veil, and the state god, Hool. Hool was mighty and remote; he determined the succession but otherwise never interfered. He was an exception. Ever since the Hannail disaster, the people of Verlia had held to a strange belief that gods must not be allowed to meddle in politics.
Which god had jurisdiction here? Did Verl support son or father as future husband of Sweet-rose? Or did Verl have other plans altogether? No one could know the answers except the royal family, and they were certainly not discussing the matter in public.
I dearly wanted a chat with the lady. I was unable to arrange one, for she vanished from view. Her situation was intolerable, yet I was not seriously worried about her, having seen her dragged from a galloping horse to fall bodily on a trader of tales. Any woman who can survive that and then come up asking her rescuer if he is unharmed must be tough as saddle leather. I itched with impatience to find out what was going on behind the scenes, and I was mightily curious to know what had happened to Zig, but I remained confident that I would find out eventually.
I did, of course—even sooner than I expected.
A pall settled over the palace. The king canceled all scheduled balls and banquets and entertainments until further notice. My services as royal storyteller were therefore not in demand, so I was at once showered with invitations to regale the nobility in their own houses. This was winter, remember, and the nights were long. I obliged.
I returned to the palace not long before dawn, and I confess that I was not at my best. I had overindulged in rich food, strong wine, and the attentions of a maiden—well, young lady—by the name of Glorious-virtue of Gnash. She was of very good family, and the most incredible contortionist I have ever met outside a circus. My old friend Galda the Human Python could have learned things from her. Without using her hands she could … But I digress. Note that I was very weary and leave it at that.
The palace was in an uproar. Guards were running in all directions. Normally I should have made it my business to inquire as to the cause of this turmoil, but the steady hammering in my head deterred me. I did notice that I was allowed in without trouble, and that seemed odd. A palace's first reaction to emergency is normally to bar the doors to intruders, yet the watch let me enter without a glance, I climbed wearily up the stairs and staggered along to my door.
I arrived just in time to stop a band of armed men from breaking it down. "What seems to be the trouble?" I inquired in a hoarse whisper.
"Open in the name of the king!" the officer in charge bellowed.
Perhaps he did not bellow, but it felt as if he did.
Being in no mood to argue with such lungs, I fumbled in my motley for my key. I unlocked the door and was thrust aside while the men rushed in. There was nothing there to alarm them. I knew that. I waited until they finished ransacking the place and came stamping out again. Without a word of apology or explanation, they trooped off to the next room.
Morning would be time enough to find out what was going on. Thinking fond thoughts of bed, I tottered inside and locked the door behind me. The lamps were burning bright.
Sweet-rose was sitting on my favorite chair.
I reeled back against the wall and closed my eyes until my insides came to a quivering halt. When I dared another look, she was still there.
"Master Homer?" She spoke softly. She was utterly composed, a vision of female perfection draped in lengths of, I suppose, silk. The colors were dark and rich, deep blues and greens. They clung endearingly to her curves, but it was what they did not cover that took my breath away. The cleavage, the glimpse of flank and thigh! And in my bedroom! The damage Glorious-virtue had done to me was cured instantly. I straightened up, ran a hand through my hair, straightened my motley …
Sweet-rose returned my smile uncertainly. It may not have been one of my more reassuring smiles. I registered that her hair was auburn and she had very dark blue eyes. The eyes told me, had I not known already, that this was no simpleton maid to be diverted with a few silver words.
I managed a careful bow. "My lady, your presence does me honor."
"It also puts you in much danger, I'm afraid. Won't you sit down?"
I wavered over to the other chair. She frowned slightly at the unsteadiness of my movements. I eased myself onto the seat and leered at her like an idiot.
Her frown deepened. "We have met before, I believe. I offer my belated thanks to you for your gallantry on that occasion."
"My pleasure entirely, ma'am."
A hint of a smile played over her lips. Oh, those lips!
"Was it? I am afraid I hardly noticed you. I was rather shaken. I should have taken more notice of you at the time and been properly grateful. I only learned of your part in the affair afterward."
"How is Zig?"
Back came the frown. "His ankle should be about healed by now."
I waited. She changed the subject.
"I have come to ask for your assistance again, I fear."
She could walk over me with spiked boots if she wanted. Alas! My cause was hopeless. There were at least three ahead of me in line. That did not matter.
"Name it, ma'am."
"You may have heard—or guessed. I have disappeared. The guard is searching the palace for me."
Six of the guard had just looked for her in this room. It held no hiding places. Secret passages could be ruled out, for the walls and floor were solid granite. I made a desperate effort to gather my wits, although they felt as if they had been scattered by a hurricane.
"You made a noise like a dust bunny and they overlooked you?"
She shook her long hair back over a shoulder. What hair! And what a shoulder … "I had protection."
Ah! The fog was lifting. "And how may I serve you?"
"Find a horse for me and bring it to the water gate. I shall swim the river." She studied me, trying to hide her doubts. "You have already proved your courage and gallantry, Master Omar. You tried … I mean you rescued me once before. I was told you were a man to take pity on a maiden in distress. Will you do this for me?"
I noticed that a carafe of water stood on the bedside table, I heaved myself upright and headed more or less in its direction.
"For you I will do anything wit
hin my powers, my lady. You catch me at a bad moment. Give me a little time to pull myself together. Anything you tell me will of course be in strict confidence. What of my friend Zig?"
I took a drink, not looking at her. A long pause suggested that she might have doubts about trusting an obvious drunk.
"Zig enrolled in our household guard."
"I am sure he is an excellent recruit."
She chuckled and I turned in surprise to see.
"Mother had him posted to Zardon the very same day. Until his ankle completely heals, she says." The dark blue eyes twinkled, but not entirely convincingly.
"Where is Zardon?"
"About as far from Still Waters as you can go in Verlia. Not quite, perhaps, but the farthest estate my family owns. On the western coast."
"And where do you head tonight, ma'am?"
She bit her lip.
Having slaked my thirst and feeling a little better already, I wandered back to my chair. "I can guess, and the rack will not drag it out of me. But why do you need my help at all? You have demonstrated powers of invisibility. Will they not serve you in the stables, also?"
"Probably, but my protection will weaken rapidly beyond the palace itself."
Of course. Verl was only the household god.
"Then I shall be happy to aid you."
Sweet-rose smiled—summer dawn, a chorus of bird-song. "She said you would. I shall be very grateful. So will she, I am sure."
"Your smile is all the reward I ever need—but I confess I am a very inquisitive man."
"Verl warned me about that! But she said I could tell you, for you would be discreet."
"Quiet as the grave!"
Might that be too apt a simile under the circumstances?
She adjusted the fall of her motley, partly blocking the view of her thigh that I was enjoying so much. "The king wants to marry me. The crown prince, also, wants to marry me. The prince would settle for less, although not much less, and certainly more than either his father or I will agree to. Do I make myself plain?"