"Thank you, Your Highness," Rohan said. He bowed his head courteously. "It would be my honor and my pleasure to partner Lady Anamara, if she would be willing to put up with my own awkwardness."
"Then it is settled."
Again the Dowager turned her attention elsewhere, and again Rohan noted that none of the other young nobles had been singled out as a partner for any particular lady. What, he wondered, was the Dowager scheming now? He began to appreciate Ashen's characterization of the Court as a snake-pit of intrigue.
The sweet arrived, was devoured, and then the center of the Hall was cleared, with tables pushed aside and benches lined up. In the solar above, musicians began playing. A lovely young girl came and stood in front of Rohan, obviously shy. Slim and wispy the way all Ash women were, according to Ashen, she possessed not the light blue eyes one expected with pale blonde hair, but eyes such a deep, brilliant, vibrant sapphire they were almost black. Her face was a perfect heart shape. She curtseyed, and to his amusement, blushed quite charmingly.
"You must be Anamara," he said.
"Yes, my lord. I am bid to come and present myself to you."
"Our gracious lady, Her Highness the Dowager Queen Ysa, has done me great honor.
Lady Anamara, will you dance?"
"Yes, my lord." She blushed again as Rohan took her hand to lead her out onto the floor where couples were already lining up for a galliard.
Intrigued, Rohan tried to draw her out in such conversation as could be managed, during the dance, and discovered that she was a distant relative of the Ash family, who had been left an orphan. This, then, was the commonality that Ysa had commented upon. Perhaps the Dowager was not entirely given to scheming after all, for, unless appearances were misleading, Lady Anamara was as fresh and innocent as any girl he had ever known. By the time the galliard had ended,
Rohan felt himself quite smitten with her.
The dancing was interrupted, however, by the arrival of the formal entertainment for the evening. To Rohan's astonishment, this proved to be the very Magician whom he had seen, so very mysteriously, at the inn where he had stayed. His caution aroused anew, he conducted Anamara back to the place where she had been sitting, now pushed into the shadows by the clearing of the Hall, and instead of returning to his seat at the high table, sat down beside her.
No sense, he thought, in creating trouble. Who knew what this Magician might take it into his—or her—head to do, in front of the Court? One thing Rohan definitely did not want, was that his small ability with tricks be revealed to all.
But the Magician seemed not to notice Rohan or, if he did, he gave no indication of having seen the young man before. He went through a more elaborate exhibition than he had presented for the common people at the inn, culminating in producing white doves from nowhere, to fly freely into the rafters of the Hall. Then, with a mighty burst of fire and smoke, the Magician himself disappeared as the people applauded and cheered.
Rohan turned to Anamara, hoping to dance with her again before the evening ended, only to discover that sometime when he had been distracted watching the
Magician, the girl had slipped away.
Next morning, he went searching for her and finally found her walking in a small garden located outside the castle, close by the walls.
"Ah, here you are!" he exclaimed. "I missed you last night."
"I do not enjoy big entertainments the way the rest of the Court does," Anamara said. "And so I left."
"Is this your special place?"
"You might say so. I come here in the mornings, for exercise, and also I come here when I want to be alone. I used to enjoy the flowers."
"There are still a few left. Hardy ones."
"But all the best have faded. They say it is the unnatural cold that has killed all the others."
"Then I might suggest that you go back inside, lest the unnatural cold blight you as well, for you are the best of all the sweet ladies here at Court and, yea, even in the world."
Anamara blushed crimson. "Sir—"
"I'm sorry. But you are so lovely, I find myself saying things I never thought of before."
She turned away, and to Rohan's astonishment, he knew that ihe was weeping.
"What is wrong, dear lady?"
"Nothing. Please go away."
"Not until you tell me what I have done, that you should shed a tear."
"It isn't you. Well, in a way it is. I feel I can talk to you, as I cannot with others."
"Then pray tell me what troubles you, and I will find a way to mend it. Come and sit, and draw your mantle close around you. I will sit near and warm you with my presence, and you will tell me what is in your heart. Then you will feel better."
"You are kind, but there is nothing you can do," she said wanly. But she allowed him to lead her to a small bench set where what sunlight there was could reach it. There, as he asked a few careful questions, she unburdened herself.
She was but lately come to the Court, and hated it. She longed for her home, but as her father had been killed in a skirmish to the North and her mother had died shortly thereafter from grief, she was in no position to object to the Dowager's summoning her to Rendelsham Castle.
"I suppose some would envy me, supposing I am lucky, but I am not. The Dowager has complete control over me, and I find it hateful. She treats me as if she owns me and so, I suppose, in a way she does. She could, if she wanted to, marry me off to anyone she chose—even someone old and ugly—if she thought it would bring her any advantage."
"I agree that Her Highness enjoys an unrivaled reputation for intrigue and scheming. But it does not seem that she is going to be marrying you off to someone old and ugly today, at least. I am with you. Why not find such enjoyment as you may?"
She blushed again and, valiantly, dried her tears. "It is as you say. I won't be wed at least until noontime."
Both laughed.
"Did you enjoy the performance last night?" she said. Her voice was a little too high-pitched, and Rohan realized that she was trying to change the subject.
"The Magician was quite talented. I have seen him before."
Then he told her about his journey to Rendelsham, and the inn.
"I think I might have liked that better," Anamara said, "a show in a small room, with not so many people."
"There are not many people around now. And so I can show you this." With a flourish, he produced a rose out of thin air. To his surprise, it was not one of the folded silk ones he was accustomed to creating, but a real one, soft, pink, and fragrant.
"Alas, I have bungled it, when I thought to amuse you!" he exclaimed. He turned aside, made the rose wither, and dropped it under the bench. "Please pretend that you did not see me make a fool of myself." Concentrating, he tried again and this time, held out a silk rose to her. "Blue," he said. "The traditional
Ash color, though not so glorious as your wonderful eyes."
"You remembered my family connection."
"Yes. As to the color of the great Family, my stepmother, Ashen of Ash, taught me about it. I hope my silly little gift pleases you."
"Very much." Anamara took the blue rose, smiling at him. "I will cherish it always."
"Now, dear lady, though nothing would please me more dian to stay here with you all day, playing the fool and covering you with blue silk roses—"
"And saving me from being wed against my will—"
"Yes, that, too. But I cannot stay past the hour. My duties draw me elsewhere.
But surely I will see you again."
"Surely," she said, blushing again. Her shyness returned and she lowered her eyelids demurely over her wonderful, remarkable eyes.
"Until then." Rohan remembered Gaurin's graceful gesture when he greeted or took leave of a lady, and brought Anamara's hand to his lips.
"I will count the hours." Her voice was so faint he could scarcely hear her.
Reluctantly he left the garden to go back to where his men and the rest of the
Dowager Queen Ysa's Levy waited, to receive his first full day's training under
Count Harous, master of Cragden Keep and Lord Marshal of Rendel.
When Rohan had disappeared, Anamara bent and retrieved the withered rose he had dropped beneath the bench and put it with the blue silk one. She kissed the petals and placed both flowers in the bosom of her dress.
Fifteen
For a long time, people had been aware of the fact that the Dowager commanded
Power that was not within the province of ordinary folk. It was widespread knowledge that she was accustomed to shutting herself up for extended periods in her own apartment, or in the tower where only she ever visited. Now it was not at all rare for someone to glimpse a tiny flying creature winging its way out of the topmost tower of Rendelsham Castle, and then to watch it wink out of sight.
Formerly, this phenomenon had been glimpsed but seldom, and had been easy enough to dismiss as imagination at work. Now it was almost commonplace, and thought little on because it no longer held the kind of mystery it had had at first.
However, speculation now filled the corridors. All the gossip— furtive, and in subdued whispers—centered about the probability of even stranger new Power, either in the grasp of the Dowager or soon to be summoned. Surely this must explain the more frequent sightings of the flyer.
Rohan listened to the tales, sifting out what was patently false from what might be true. Eventually he went to the place and the person upon whom Ashen had long relied—the good priest Esander, in the Great Fane of the Glowing.
"Why, yes, young sir/' Esander said in response to Rohan's inquiry. "I know of several good books on the history of Rendel and I will be very happy to see someone interested enough to read them."
"Not just battles and who did what to whom, if you please," Rohan said. "But I have heard a story about a certain King—"
Esander smiled broadly. "I have heard the same stories, and I know the reference. Here, let me search out the volume for you."
Presently Rohan found himself engrossed in a book of archaic lore. In it he learned of a highly talented King, the founder of what later became the Oak
Family. He was the one who had first worn the Four Great Rings, and—most interesting of all to Rohan—he was said to have met regularly with unearthly allies. Rohan closed the book and sat thinking, tapping his finger on the jeweled spine. It seemed entirely probable that the present wearer of the Rings also met with creatures not of this world. Whether this was for good or for ill,
Rohan did not know.
It was interesting, however. And coincidental. Rohan decided that he did not believe in coincidences. Therefore he must be more careful than ever when dealing with the Dowager Ysa.
He picked up another book that had been on the shelf beside the book of lore, and opened it at random. The words on the page where the book fell open riveted his attention.
Though caution and common sense are certainly important, sometimes a risk is called for.
Intrigued, he read on:
If you laugh, you risk appearing a fool. If you weep, you risk appearing sentimental-Reaching out for another is risking involvement. Exposing feelings is risking revealing your true self. Placing your ideas, your dreams, before a crowd is risking rejection.
Loving is risking not being loved in return.
Living itself carries with it the risk of dying.
Hoping is risking disappointment.
Trying is risking failure.
Nevertheless, risks must be taken, because the greatest hazard, pitfall, and danger in life is to risk nothing. If a person risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing, that person becomes nothing. He may avoid present suffering and sorrow, but he will not learn, feel, change, grow, love, or live. Chained by his fear, he is a slave who has forfeited his freedom.
Only that person who dares, who risks, is free.
Rohan closed the book, pondering the words he had read. They touched something deep inside him, and he resolved to have this passage copied out so he could refer to it in times to come. Daring, he decided, was good, particularly when compared to trying to live without risk.
Donning his helm, in which he had fastened the bunch of herbs and dried grasses in obedience to Grandam Zazar's instructions, he left the Fane and stepped out into the courtyard, on his way to go to the practice field. There he discovered
Anamara, apparently making her way toward the Fane, but being hindered by a group of overdressed popinjays, all clad in the height of fashion and none of them, in Rohan's judgment, worth the cleaning of the steel if they were to be run through.
By the badges they wore—deep red background, with a bear standing erect, on a background of oak leaves, all circled with the motto "Strength Prevails"—Rohan recognized them as members of the late King's faction. It had become a fashion with them, to keep Florian's memory alive despite the presence of the young
King, Peres, even though he was still a child. Rohan had run into them before, and for no reason that he could think of, they had been hostile to him from the first moment though it could not be said that they had actually offered trouble.
These men were only a little older than he, in their prime for training as warriors, but apparently dedicated to idleness and heavily engaged in as much mischief and troublemaking as possible.
One of them reached out and brushed back Anamara's mantle so he could finger her sleeve. "Fine clothes for a fine lady," he said with just the suggestion of a sneer in his voice. "And where does my fine lady go this day?"
"Please get out of my way, Piaul," Anamara said, her voice trembling.
"But I want to talk to you," Piaul said.
Rohan stepped forward. "The lady is making it plain that she does not want to talk to you."
Piaul looked him up and down insolently. "And who might you be? I do not recognize your badge."
"I am Rohan of the Sea-Rovers, and also connected with the House of Ash."
"And your business in Rendelsham?"
"I lead the levy of my people the Dowager has ordered."
"Oh," Piaul said. The sneer was very evident now. "Now I know who you are. Your father was responsible for the death of our late King, wasn't he?"
"There was an unfortunate accident, and if you will recall, my father died as well. I was there. Perhaps you were, too." Rohan did not see anything to be gained by dredging up the old scandal of the King's poisoned sword.
"In any case, you're just one more soldier among many. A minor noble at best.
Next thing to a hostage."
"You were never so high in the late King's favor that he granted you status beyond what your birth entitled you to," Anamara said.
Rohan glanced at her, a little startled at the sharpness of her statement. Her face was pale, and a spot of color tinged each cheek. "Let me deal with this matter, my lady," he said.
"There is no matter," said one of Piaul's companions. "We are just leaving."
"Yes," Piaul said contemptuously. "You aren't even amusing. How fortunate we are that we do not have to associate with the likes of you." He pulled a scented handkerchief out of his sleeve and waved it ostentatiously under his nose. "The smell of fish, I am certain, must be one of your chief weapons of war."
The group of courtiers strolled off, laughing among themselves. Turning a corner, they were quickly out of sight.
"Thank you, Rohan," Anamara said. "Please do not allow their insults to nettle you."
"My only concern is for you."
"Would you escort me to my apartment, then? I do not trust that Piaul. I think he is up to no good where I am concerned."
"I will do so with pleasure, my lady."
He offered her his arm and together they made their way to one of the outlying buildings of Rendelsham Castle. "My stepmother, Ashen, preferred having her quarters outside the castle as well," he said. "She liked living apart, even though, I am told, this very isolation led to her being captured and spirited away."
"She was t
aken? Why?" Anamara said, startled.
"Nobody knows for certain. But it was very romantic. My father went and rescued her, and they were married shortly thereafter."
"What a nice story. I'm so glad it turned out well—"
"This one won't," said a muffled voice.
A group of men, faces hidden in the folds of heavy cloaks, stepped out from where they had obviously been lying in wait. Two of them grabbed Rohan, pinning his arms, while a third knocked his helmet off and began raining blows on him. A fourth man opened the door and roughly shoved Anamara through it.
Andre Norton - Oak, Yew, Ash & Rowan 2 - Knight Or Knave Page 20