Guardians of the Keep

by Carol Berg

  He nodded ever so slightly.

  I tried to blot away some of the blood from his ankle, but when I so much as touched the grotesque wound, he sucked in his breath and his face went even whiter. Little whimpering moans caught at the back of his throat. “Ah, Paulo, I know it’s awful. But we have to press on it a bit to stop the bleeding. Can’t have you leaking all over the blankets.”

  While Kellea stoked the fire to roaring and put a pot of water on to boil, I held the ragged remnant of Paulo’s breeches on his wound. First we cleaned the wound with wine and boiled oak bark from Kellea’s packet and forced the bone back inside, and then I held his upper body while Kellea pulled and twisted his poor limb into some semblance of alignment. Gripping my arms, he buried his face in my breast and did his best not to scream. But he couldn’t manage it. His racking sobs tore me to the heart. After a while he fell insensible again and we finished the horrid task as best we could. From a small tin, Kellea extracted an oily yellow paste and spread it onto his torn flesh, then bandaged and splinted his leg with pieces of a broken crate, binding it with lengths of our rope. So pitifully little we could do.

  Kellea was almost as pale as the boy when she was done. “It’s far from straight, but I just can’t get it to move any more,” she said. “We’d have to use rope and pulleys to make it right, but even then I’m afraid we’d just do more damage. I’m no surgeon.”

  I threw Kellea’s cloak over her shoulders as she dribbled willowbark tea into Paulo’s mouth. Then I moved the horses farther into the deep cave and unsaddled them, giving them a cursory wipe-down with a piece of sacking Paulo kept for that purpose. We couldn’t afford to have them die on us. I dared give them only half a ration of grain from Paulo’s emergency supplies. Who knew how long we’d be here? By the time I had done what I could for the beasts and hauled the rest of our supplies close, Kellea had fallen asleep.

  All through the night we took turns watching Paulo and feeding the fire. I forgave the bandits their crimes in thanks for the wood. Paulo shivered and moaned quietly, and I gave him more of the willowbark tea. What on earth were we to do?

  At some time, I fell asleep without waking Kellea. When my shoulder was touched lightly, guilt set me apologizing even before I could unglue my eyelids. “Is he all right? I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” I fought my bone-weariness to sit up, but my dream refused to be banished with the opening of my eyes. Paulo lay beside me, his cold hand gripping mine. His face was pinched and pale, but bore a trace of his old grin as he gazed up at the one who knelt on the other side of him.

  “This will hurt for a moment,” said the newcomer, his voice quiet, weaving a cocoon of peace and reassurance, “but nothing as to what you’ve done already. Then I’ll be with you, and we’ll take care of it. All right?”

  Paulo nodded, a silver knife flashed in the firelight, and Karon’s words of healing scattered embers of enchantment like fireflies through the cave.

  CHAPTER 14

  A Dulcé had shaken me awake. “My lady,” he whispered. “Would you be kind enough to step outside where we could speak? I would most appreciate it. The Prince has said it will take him a goodly time to care for the boy.”

  “Yes . . . yes. Of course.” This could not be a dream if I was stammering so foolishly. “Of course I’ll speak with you.”

  Kellea’s blankets lay empty, no sign of her in the cave. I wrapped my cloak tight, dragged my eyes reluctantly from Karon, who was binding his bleeding arm to Paulo’s, and stepped into the dawn light. Kellea wasn’t outside either. The only tracks in the snow were the sun-melted muddle of our foot-and hoof-prints from the previous night.

  The Dulcé followed me out of the cave.

  “I didn’t even feel it change,” I said in wonder, pulling the pink stone from my tunic and clasping it in my hand to savor its lingering warmth. “We had a difficult evening.”

  “So it would appear.” The bearded man’s eyes glinted with good humor. “And, in our great hurry, we most rudely gave you little warning.”

  Recovering some measure of politeness, I said, “You seem to know me, but I’ve not had the pleasure. . . .”

  “My name is Bareil,” he said, bowing in the way of the Dulcé, with one arm extended and one behind his back. “Dulcé, as you see. Guide to Master Dassine for thirty years and now privileged to perform that service for Prince D’Natheil.”

  “Where is Dassine? I’ve news of such urgency . . .”

  His smile dimmed. “Master Dassine is dead, my lady. Two days ago at the hand of unknown assassins.”

  “No! But what of the Prince . . . his recovery . . . his future . . . ?”

  “I’ll tell you all that I may, but if you please, a question first. What’s happened here? The boy inside . . . who is he?”

  “His name is Paulo. He was leading us down the mountain last night. Lost his footing and fell. We didn’t know—”

  “The peasant boy who accompanied you and the Prince to the Bridge last summer.” The certain eagerness that had sparked Bareil’s question sagged into disappointment. It put my hackles up.

  “A brave and honorable boy, who was as responsible for saving the Bridge as anyone. If you know his name, then you know—”

  “Please, madam”—Bareil flushed and held out his hands in an eloquent apology—“I am quite familiar with the merits of the boy Paulo and honor him as I do all who aided us in that great victory. But I will confess that I was hoping—Ah, the Prince must explain.”

  Biting my tongue, I stepped away from the cave mouth to the edge of the path. Pink and orange harbingers of the sun spilled over the peaks we had crossed, tinting the snow-blanketed landscape all the colors of flame. Below us, much closer than the forever distance of my night’s imaginings, were the trees—pine and fir of deep green, flocked on this morning in snow, colored rose and coral. But my heart was behind me in the cave, and I could not keep silent, no matter the moment’s irritation. “How does he manage with Dassine dead?”

  Bareil stepped up beside me, his arms folded under his cloak. His low voice bore everything of kindness. “You must understand, my lady, that a madrissé may not discuss his madrisson or his madrisson’s business with anyone, no matter how close. It is a violation of the absolute trust that must exist between them.”

  “I understand that.” Of course, understanding did nothing to heal resentment.

  “Master Dassine had a unique confidence in you, Lady Seriane. Because I must enlist your aid in carrying out his last wishes, I will stretch my oath so far as to say this: if you question the state of the Prince’s heart, then he grieves sorely; if you question his will and courage, they are undiminished. But if you question the state of his recovery, it is not complete, and so I must ask you—The Preceptor Dassine entrusted me with the knowledge of his purposes and his plan for D’Natheil, so I must beg you to abide by all that he required of you.”

  “If it is necessary.”

  “Quite necessary. To look closely into the unresolved contradictions of his past or to strain too hard to understand those things still hidden is very difficult for the Prince.”

  “Yes. I saw it.”

  “Master Dassine believed that, even if he failed to pursue his course with the Prince, eventually the memories of the Prince’s life as the man born in this world would return. They might be in differing order, however, or, due to the influence of present-day events or D’Natheil’s life that is also his, they might spur different emotions and interpretations. Such was not my master’s desire. He tried to submerge the Prince in his past by isolating him from everything, anything, that could distract him or burden his senses. And he gave my lord little time to analyze or react to his recovered memories. Master Dassine believed it imperative that nothing prevent the Prince from becoming the person that he was . . . as you knew him. This is still possible. I bear the knowledge, and there are those in Avonar who have the skill, to complete Master Dassine’s plan. But the terrible events of the past few days and the mission that Mas
ter Dassine laid out for the Prince before he died . . . those must take precedence.”

  The sun warmed my face even as a sharp wind gusted off the snow, chilling my back. “I can’t judge the importance of your mission, but I bring news of such significance that I would believe it was my willing it so that brought you here. Yet from what you say I shouldn’t tell Karon . . . D’Natheil. My news involves him so deeply and is connected with the most painful part of his past . . . and perhaps with the future as well.”

  Why? Why? Why would the Zhid and their masters, the Lords of Zhev’Na, want Gerick? A possible answer had come to me in the long night’s journey, forgotten for a time in the horror of Paulo’s injury, now recaptured in the clarity of the morning.

  Bareil’s small face crinkled into a frown. “Would you please consider trusting me with your information? Though we have just met, I feel as if I know you very well. I’ve been privy to all of Master Dassine’s work in these past ten years. My only desire is to complete it and serve the Prince as I may.”

  I saw no choice. I could not risk harming Karon with what I knew. And beyond that, Bareil had already impressed me as imminently trustworthy.

  “All right, then,” I said, “tell me what would be the result if the Zhid gained possession of a child . . . a child who is the son of your prince?” I had seen it often, my own king taking hostage the children of his enemies.

  “The legitimate son of the Heir of D’Arnath? The eldest living son?”

  “Well, yes.” Eldest, youngest . . . a hostage was a hostage.

  The Dulcé did not turn pale, or cry out, or do any of those things we associate with uttermost dismay. He just became absolutely still, the pleasant animation of his exotic features wiped out in an instant. “Madam, if the boy had not yet come of age, it would be a day of such woe for my world and yours that there has been no day to compare with it since the day of the Catastrophe itself. Have you reason to believe such an event has occurred?”

  “It’s why you find us in such desperate circumstances,” I said. Then I told him everything.

  “The Third lives and has obtained the prize he has always wanted. . . .” he murmured to himself. “Would I had died with my late master before I heard such ill news. A child alive beyond all understanding, the reprieve of a life we mourned, a tale that should bring only rejoicing. And yet—The circumstances are so extraordinary, the father’s soul now living in the Prince’s flesh. But if the Prince and the boy were to pass the test of parentage . . .”

  “No ‘test of parentage’ is needed. I’m certain Gerick is Karon’s child. He can work sorcer—”

  “No, no, my lady. I do not doubt you. Don’t you see? Matters are far worse than you believe. If the boy is proven before the Preceptors of Gondai as the legitimate eldest son of the Heir, child of his flesh and spirit—no matter what circumstances have caused it to be true—then that boy will become the Heir’s legitimate successor—the next Heir of D’Arnath.”

  Gerick the next Heir . . .

  Bareil shook his head. “You have seen truly. We dare not tell the Prince. Master Dassine’s strictures were clear. Your husband must not know this child is his own until he has relived the path to his own death.”

  “Then tell me how I am to convince the Prince that this rescue is of paramount importance, if I can’t tell him the victim is his own son?”

  “That will perhaps be easier than you think. Ah”—he glanced up, shaking his head and raising one hand as if to refuse temptation—“I speak too freely. I’m truly sorry that I’m unable to discuss the matter with you further. You must speak with the Prince and decide for yourself what to tell him of the child. Master Dassine had great faith in your judgment.”

  “I feel as if I don’t know anything any more.”

  When Bareil smiled, it was with all of himself. Master Dassine had a knack of leaving people in impossible situations. “But only because the universe itself is in an impossible situation. He enjoyed doing battle with the universe—the only opponent he ever found challenging. And in you, madam, he was convinced he had found his worthiest ally.”

  The Dulcé excused himself, saying he would go in to check on D’Natheil’s progress with the “most excellent boy.” Restless, shaken, I climbed up on a rock that promised a good vantage. Still no sign of Kellea. The crumpled ridges of the Cerran Brae ran southward, their faces still shadowed, a contrast to the bright plains that stretched to the western horizon. The northern prospect was dominated by a single peak, its massive, forested shoulders topped by a snowy crest. Nestled at its feet was a frost-shrouded valley, plumes of pink-tinged mist rising from it as if the fires of the netherworld burned below its veil.

  Out of my chaotic thoughts emerged one dreadful comfort. The Lords, would want Gerick alive.

  After perhaps three quarters of an hour the Dulcé popped out of the cave. “The healing is done. Perhaps we should eat while you speak with the Prince. He will need sustenance, and my guess is that you and your companions would not be averse to a hot meal.” He offered me a hand down from my perch.

  “Are you a cook, too, then?” I asked, remembering the only other Dulcé I had met—a kind, charming, pitiful betrayer.

  A shadow crossed his face, quickly smiled away. “Alas, no. Poor foolish Baglos was a chef without peer, even in Avonar where there are many fine cooks. This company will have no such pleasure from me, though I am not immodest to say that the brandy I lay down is considered to be a unique pleasure. We have a bit with us, if you should have need of a drop. . . .”

  “Not now. Last night I might have traded my horse for it.” I followed him into the cave.

  Paulo slept peacefully next to the snapping fire. His chest rose and fell, slow and deep, and the color in his thin face was a healthy brown. Most incredibly, he had rolled over on one side, his fist tucked under his chin, and his legs—both legs—curled up under his blankets. The bloody rags and splints lay in a pile near his feet.

  Karon sat on the ground beside the boy, his arms about his knees and his chin dropped to his chest as if he were sleeping. But he looked up as Bareil and I walked in, and the marvelous smile that had always been the sign of Karon’s true nature illuminated his tired face. “You invited me back to visit you, my lady, but you didn’t say you would find an even colder spot to meet and provide a challenge such as I’ve not seen in a very long time.”

  “How’s that, my lord?” said the Dulcé. “I thought the saving of my own life had been your fairest challenge!”

  “Ah, Dulcé, a few pinpricks such as you had cannot begin to compare.”

  “I thought you timed your return visit extremely well, sir,” I said, trying not to stare. “But I cannot quite shake the conviction that you are only a convenient fantasy.”

  “I’m sure that if I were your fantasy, I would be able to leap up from this frigid floor and greet a lady properly, and then work some marvelous feat of sorcery to transport us all to southern Iskeran where it’s warm.” He rubbed his head vigorously with his fingertips, tousling the hair that had come loose from its tie at the back of his neck. “I make a most inadequate fantasy, my lady. You should conjure another.”

  “How is Paulo?” I asked, offering him a waterskin.

  “Once we fill his stomach, he should be able to resume your journey with no difficulty,” said Karon, accepting the water gratefully. He drank deeply and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

  “You’ve saved his life or at least his limb, which is much the same. I—all his friends—are grateful beyond words.”

  “I believe I’ve only begun to repay him.” After a quick glance at me and an almost imperceptible shake of his head, all pleasantry vanished from his face. “My debts are innumerable. Bareil told you of Dassine?”

  “A grievous loss,” I said.

  He nodded. “Did he also tell you of the task Dassine set us?”

  “He said only that you have business with me beyond bringing this dreadful news.” I held patience and let him sp
eak first.

  “We’re searching for news of an abducted child. . . .” He told me his story, then, of Dassine’s murder, of the note, and the Healer’s dying words of a child that must be rescued from the Zhid. “. . . so you see, even though it makes no sense, I must discover what I can. Bareil tells me that Dassine trusted you beyond any other, and so I begin with you.”

  This could be no coincidence. My mind raced. What should I tell him? Instinct insisted I claim that Gerick was a descendant of D’Arnath’s line who had been placed in my world for his own protection. Or perhaps that he was simply a Dar’Nethi child who had shown immense power. Anything to convince him that Gerick was the boy he sought. Karon had so many holes in his reality anyway, so what if one was filled with untruth or exaggeration.

  But my heart forbade me to lie to him. Once, in the years of our marriage, I had kept a terrible secret from Karon, glossing over it with misdirection. I could still feel his hurt on the day he’d learned the truth, wounded not so much by the secret itself, but by the barrier the lie had built between us.

  Gerick had grown up as the son of my brother, and I didn’t know why he had been taken. That was truth. I had no evidence that Darzid or the Zhid knew that Karon and D’Natheil were one and the same, and despite my convictions, I had no direct proof that Gerick was our son. Best stay with what I knew and say nothing beyond it. Keep silent where truth would not serve.

  And so I told Karon the story of my brother’s child who had disappeared from his home four nights previous. Treading carefully, I told him, too, of my brother’s mysterious aide who had disappeared on the very same night as Gerick. Though I could not mention Darzid’s role in his own arrest, I explained about Darzid’s strange fancies and how he was a known hunter of sorcerers, yet had been seen consorting with the Zhid in the year just past. “. . . and so with no hard evidence, I’ve come to believe that Darzid is more than he seems and is surely in league with the Zhid.”