by Dave Duncan
"If you can, I can, dear. I'll bail."
I shivered at the prospect, but it made sense. "I can handle a sail," I growled. "What do we do with True-valor?"
"You take me with you," True-valor mumbled. "Otherwise I'll be racked and then beheaded."
Zig grinned and poked him with a boot. "You mean that, prisoner?"
"I swear. I heard. You can trust me."
"Not at dice, I don't! Your chances will be better if you stay behind, you know."
"I don't think they will be," I said. "We're going to have divine protection."
I showed them what I had found wrapped in a kerchief, tucked inside in the prince's motley—a small white clay dove. It was not very lifelike or beautiful, just a pottery image of a bird. One eye was a small black stone and the other an empty hole. Its legs and feet were fashioned of twisted wire and it had lost a couple of toes.
That was why the prince had displayed unexpected courage.
That was why he had died saying, "Betrayed!"
In silence, I passed the god to Sweet-rose.
I wiped the royal blood from my hands. I cut True-valor free with his own dagger and returned it to him.
Then I crept downstairs to discover how many men the prince had brought with him. I expected a small army. I found two more horses, tethered to the rail.
That's the true story, my lords and ladies. Sweet-rose eloped, but not with the prince. He died. That I am sure of. Verl the god left the land named after her, and perhaps that does explain why Just-blade never sired another heir.
We rode down to the nearest fisherman's cottage and traded him four horses for a half-rotted hulk of a dory and a few supplies. The boat looked as if it would blow apart in the first breath of wind. Even a surly peasant glower could not quite conceal its former owner's rapture at the exchange, but Sweet-rose gave him coins, as well. Let him enjoy his dream! He would not keep the mounts long when the king's men came around, as soon they must.
The voyage was unpleasant, but not as bad as it might have been. Zig was a competent sailor and there are few rigs I have not handled in my time. Hull and mast and sail all failed us at one time or another, but we improvised and survived. Sweet-rose was a trooper. Trooper True-valor was seasick the whole time.
When we reached Algazan, I was called away to witness a revolution. We split up. I never saw any of them again. Last spring I heard how the oracle had proclaimed a child of Sweet-rose, beyond the Grimm Ranges. Like many others, I came here to find him, or her. I failed.
I can't tell you any more than that.
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22: The Fifth Judgment
Fritz had done us proud with candles. The taproom was bright for the first time since I arrived, the flames sparkling back from the weapons hung on the chimney, the dusty bric-a-brac on the shelf, even the sad painted clay eyes in the mounted deer heads, every one followed by a shadowy herd of antlers on the stonework. The wind outside wailed louder than ever, moaning under the eaves, sucking in the chimney. Halfway through my narrative, the door had begun rattling like a palsied castanet.
Alas, the only happy face I could see in the midst of all the brightness was Frieda's. She was gazing intently down at her hands, not at me, but dimples had appeared in her cheeks; she was certainly pleased about something. Her brother's vexation had increased in proportion. I could not guess what was annoying Fritz, but I would applaud it heartily, whatever it was.
As for the rest of my audience … The dowager had apparently gone to sleep. I hoped she was merely brooding, because I was banking heavily on her support.
Rosie had her eyes open, but they did not seem to be seeing anything. The porcelain dove and its wrapping still lay on her lap.
Gwill was barely conscious, probably aware of little more than his own misery. I could hear phlegm rattling in his chest.
Apart from those, the candles revealed only unfriendly glares: the merchant, the actress, the notary, the soldier. Four out of seven—a majority.
"Claptrap!" the merchant grumbled, folding his arms across the dome of his belly. "You might at least have invented a yarn with some plausibility. That one has more holes in it than a laundry-wife's basket. You must think us all simpletons." He coughed harshly. "What's wrong with your chimney, landlord?"
Fritz's fists were clenched into mallets. "The wind has changed, your honor. The chimney smokes sometimes when the wind is from the south." He shot me a glance of hatred.
His sister shot me a wink. "It is good news, sir. Listen!" We listened. Somewhere something was dripping. "The weather here is extremely changeable, but in winter when the south wind blows, it is usually a warm, thawing wind. Our door always rattles then. I won't let Fritz mend it, because I like the sound. It is a promise that spring will return some day, cheerful tidings."
"The road will be clear?"
"The way back down to Gilderburg, certainly," Fritz agreed glumly. "The pass … possibly. But it is not dawn yet. The north wind may return."
He hoped it would. Even if he turned me out without my boots and cloak, I had a chance now. I should be in the company of other travelers, who might lend me garments for the road. Snow can turn to slush, and then mud, very fast. I smiled blissfully back at him and shook my head to let him know I rested my hopes on more than the temperature. I had no intention of letting the overgrown lout manhandle me or maltreat me any more than he had already.
Meanwhile …
Meanwhile I regarded the merchant. "Some aspect of my tale distresses you, sir? I swear to the truth of every word."
"You add perjury to your crimes! Counsellor, how would you question such a witness?"
The notary sniggered. "With pleasure, Your Honor!"
"You demolish his fable for us, then, and we shall let our landlord demolish the rest of him." The fat oaf guffawed at his own wit. The actress shrilled agreement. Fritz bared his teeth with joy.
"Very well." The notary turned his ferrety face to mine. "Let us consider the mortals first, Master Omar. What happened to the bodies of the crown prince and his friend?"
I eased back from his rank breath. "I have no idea. We left them lying where they were."
"And yet for twenty years the prince's death has never been reported? Does not that seem a little strange?"
"Perhaps it does, now that you mention it. He should have been found by now."
"And you traded four royal horses for a boat? Why did the king's investigators not find those horses in the area and learn of the fugitives who sailed away?"
"I presume the fisherman was careful not to incriminate himself."
"Would the disappearance of an heir apparent be investigated so perfunctorily?"
"I am not experienced in assassinations, Counsellor. King Just-blade may have been relieved to be rid of such a son." I was enjoying myself. My low opinion of the grubby notary was not being raised by his inept cross-examination.
"Even if he is profoundly grateful for the results, a king does not ignore high treason. Would Just-blade not have ransacked the whole area, using interrogation and torture to establish the facts?"
"You are asking me to draw conclusions. I am a witness, not a theorist."
He pulled a face. "Your description of the god's image does not match the dove that was produced for us tonight."
"I stand by my testimony."
"Indeed? But how can the idol you saw have been the royal god? The prince had brought Verl with him. That makes sense, for it explains how he managed to track you down. But then she let him be killed?"
"I told you. He seemed as surprised by that as you are. Again, I will not speculate—especially about the minds of gods."
"Then you stole the god! You gave him to the woman. How is it possible to steal a family god away from his family?"
"Same answer."
"Bah!" roared the merchant, interrupting this farce. "The whole tale is gibberish. You said that the god told Sweet-rose how to escape from the palace. These family gods of Verl
ia speak only to members of their families! Is that not the case? Is that not what we have been told many times tonight?"
"It is conventional belief," I said with a shrug. "I merely reported the facts because I was asked to."
We all stole a glance at the dowager, but she had her head down, with her floppy hat hiding her face. She still seemed to be asleep, but I suspected that she was listening. I hoped she was. I was about to need her.
"Not facts!" The big man snorted. "Lies! Lies from start to finish. We have not even mentioned the largest objection of all. If Sweet-rose eloped with a foreigner and not the crown prince, then why has Hool proclaimed her child to be the rightful heir to the throne?"
"I told you," I said. "I do not theorize upon the minds of gods."
"Rubbish! Stable scrapings! Captain Tiger, do you not agree?"
The soldier studied me with eyes like flint. "I find the tale hard to credit, yes. The entire realm has believed for twenty years that Prince Star-seeker eloped with the woman he loved because his father the king planned to marry her against her will. To be told that he was murdered instead—and the body left lying where it fell … this strains belief."
"Throw the perjurer out! Innkeeper, take him!"
Fritz began to rise.
"Let him be," the dowager croaked, stirring.
"You believe him?" Tiger shouted. Rosie jumped and looked around nervously.
"Master Omar has told only two lies tonight."
"Two?" I exclaimed over the incredulous murmurs. "Perhaps one tiny fib. White lies like that do not count, my lady. They are merely a social grace."
"Two." She peered at me along the row. Her smile was an unexpected grimace of wrinkles and gums. Her eyes shone like pearl in the candlelight. "You named me the greatest beauty in the room."
"That was simple truth."
"It was an outrageous exaggeration, even in those days. But I am grateful." She chuckled.
"It was true. And the other matter was a trivial gallantry.''
The others exchanged puzzled glances. Fritz uttered an animal growl, as if reaching the end of his self-control.
"No, it was germane to the matter." The crone's voice was a crunching of dry leaves. "In gratitude for that falsehood, I will now rescue you, Master Omar!"
"I shall be in your debt, ma'am."
She nodded, painfully easing herself upright in her chair. "I do not see faces as well as I once did, but when I first heard your voice tonight … It brought back memories. Ah, how it brought back memories! These others may doubt. They squirm and scuttle to avoid unpalatable truths, but I accept, Master Omar, although I may not understand. Very well, listen, all of you. I am Rose-dawn of Kraw, and I was the sinner who caused all the trouble. Long ago, it was … yet still I pay."
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23: The Dowager's Tale
What do you know of gods, who were not born in Verlia?
You hanker after great gods, remote gods. You go to grand temples and pray there in your hundreds, each one believing that his own voice will be heard amid so many. You credit your gods with worldwide powers and do not see that you have shackled them with worldwide responsibilities. You expect your prayers to be heard and your sins overlooked. You pray to gods of battle for victory without thinking that your enemies invoke them, also. You deafen your gods with conflicting entreaties and wonder why they fail you.
But we? We are satisfied with little gods, our own family gods. We know that their powers are small, but because we ask little of them, they can help us. Because we, their children, are few, they hear us and help us and keep us true. All my days I have knelt before the same one god, giving him all my love and obedience, safe in the knowledge that I have his love and care always.
Alas that I did not heed his warnings! But that was my folly, not his.
Let me tell you how it is. We honor our gods in our own homes daily, making offerings, praising, worshipping. We live with our gods, and they with us. We ask their advice and seek their blessings on all our undertakings. In Verlia we know more of gods than any of you can ever know. We are brought up with our gods, and by our gods.
Four times in our lives we make special bondings to our gods, four special sacraments. When a child is born, the parents take it to their god in the presence of all the adults of the family, and the god accepts it and names it. "He is mine!" the god will say, or "She is mine!" Verlian men do not worry about their wives' fidelity.
Children grown to adulthood are brought again before the god. They make certain promises and again the god accepts them, speaking to them directly and in their presence for the first time. "You are mine!" Few indeed are those who do not weep when they first hear the voice of their god.
The third sacrament is marriage, when a young man brings his bride, or a young woman her groom, to live in the ancestral home. The god accepts the newcomer, and ever after she or he belongs to that god, also.
And at the end, when the play is done, when we lie a-dying, then our god is brought to us. We Verlians die in the presence of our gods, knowing that thereafter we shall never be parted.
Verlians trust their gods. We trust them especially to ensure we have descendants—to worship them and to remember us.
I am Rose-dawn of Kraw. Even before I was wed, I was Rose-dawn of Kraw. My father was Leaping-spirit of Kraw, a younger son of Kraw's children of Fairglen, a minor branch of the great clan. In truth my father was only a farmer for his uncle, despite the greatness of his god.
When I was twenty, I was deemed a beauty, but what woman of twenty is not? Vanity is a betrayer.
When I was twenty I attracted the notice of Fire-hawk of Kraw, the eldest son of Eagle-soar of Kraw, patriarch of our whole clan. I did not think much of Fire-hawk, even then, but I knew he would inherit Still Waters. His wife would be mistress of the fairest palace in Verlia. The prospect turned my head until I was giddy.
Fire-hawk in due course proposed that our fathers arrange for us to be wed. As I was of noble birth, he found me worthy; as I was of humble station, he expected me to be malleable. Anything else he felt was lust. I already had my heart set on a young man. He was named Honest-labor of Swet, and that sums him up very well. I asked my mother's advice, although I did not expect to heed it. She told me to consult the god, so I did.
I went to the chapel and knelt before the tooth of the dragon. I offered a fine swath of silk I had woven, showing autumn vineyards on the hills. I explained my problem.
"What do you see in Honest-labor?" the god asked.
One does not lie to one's god. "His body," I admitted.
"And what in Fire-hawk?"
"His house."
The dragon sighed. "The body will decay. He will grow fat and bald, and he is so lusty that I will be hard put to limit you to half a dozen sons, each as bovine as his father. Honest-labor is the better man. Fire-hawk is jealous and domineering. His house will endure, but your delight in it will fade with familiarity. Yet what you really seek there is power and respect, and the joy you find in those will grow greater as your own beauty fades. You must choose the sort of happiness you wish."
I chose Fire-hawk. That was the first of my sins. At our wedding, he presented me to his god, and of course it was the same god.
"She is mine," Kraw said, and chuckled. A dragon chuckle sends shivers down the bravest spine. "She was always mine. Do not provoke her too far, my son."
At the time I did not understand, and I don't think my husband ever did.
He found rapture in my embrace, and in time I found some in his. I bore him two sons, and they have been a credit to their god. But Fire-hawk was as jealous and domineering as the god had foretold. I gave him no cause for his jealousy and I withstood his anger. When he struck me, I struck him back. He threatened to whip me. I told him I would enter a brothel and shame him before the entire kingdom. He tried to limit my power to rule the household, which was my right, and I played upon his jealousy, threatening to bear him a legion of bastards. Ou
r life together was never tranquil, but it was seldom dull, either.
In due course, I became mistress of Still Waters, and no woman could ask for a finer domain.
Thereafter he used mistresses and tried to ignore me. But, he had a weakness. He drank too much. When he was in his cups, I would go to him in his room and then he could not resist me. Disgusting, of course, but the price I paid. I used to do it every month or two, just so he could never be certain that any child I might bear was not his. We had the same god, you see. Whosoever might be the father of any child I bore, Kraw would accept it, because I also was his from the beginning. Fire-hawk had not appreciated that problem until after our wedding—I pointed it out to him in one of our first quarrels. The knowledge did nothing to improve his peace of mind, for he was a jealous man.
Yet I remained faithful to him, although he could not believe it.
Until High-honor.
Master Omar described the king for you, and brought him back to life for me. He was everything Fire-hawk was not—jovial, gentle, passionate, good company, forgiving. We were not mad youngsters, but love is not confined to the young. Indeed, true love is a phenomenon of middle age, for only then can one be sure that what one feels is not all lust. Passion is a product of love, not its source. Why do the young never see this?
I fell in love with the king, and he with me. Our affair lasted for years, yet in all that time we were intimate only four times. I remember every minute of those encounters. Fire-hawk suspected, or just assumed, and High-honor dared not provoke a man of his power lest the kingdom be rent by civil war. My husband watched and pried and guarded. Four times!
High-honor brought his court to call on us, and I was surrounded by eyes. We could exchange private words, but only in full view. We were never allowed to be alone together, to do what we both so desperately wanted to do.
I went to Kraw in despair.
"An hour!" I begged. "My god, grant me an hour alone with the man I love."