“You have a friend,” she smiled, “in the son of the Lord Chancellor, do you not? He wanted so much to join the search that his father agreed - and then came himself, with his lady, in another coach. They were worried, you see,” and her smile left her, “that you and Lord Bress may be hurt or ill.”
“And you found us in an avalanche,” I said, wonderingly.
I considered telling her about the Shee, but there was plenty of time for that; my my mother still seemed to have difficulty dealing with the sudden changes in our lives, without introducing the complication of malevolent fairies.
“And Lord Bress,” I prompted. “He truly is recovering? And… he came here? What did you think of him, Mam?”
“He’s a strong man, and yet…” She was not a woman who was comfortable with words, nor with expressing her feelings, so I was surprised to hear her say, “he’s a broken man. A sad and a… a broken man. I felt only pity for him. He’s fond of you,” she looked at me. “I found I couldn’t hate him.”
We ate in silence for a moment, and I knew, then, that the subject of what she had, in her pain and loneliness, asked of me, would never again be metioned between us
“Your horse,” my mother said, and I looked up in surprise, “it’s beyond, in the field - they left feed for it. A pretty, good-natured beast.”
I stared at her. “She wasn’t killed? How could anyone - anything - survive that…”
But we had, had we not? Lord Bress and myself?
“’Twas a miracle, indeed,” my mother nodded. “The brigands - they found only five bodies - and all the horses but your pony - all gone.”
The brigands.
I forced my thoughts away from that dark encounter, and considered my horse - beyond, in the field, she had said. And my mother had described her as a good-natured little beast. It could not be my mare.
But it was. I went out to the field, and there she stood, her long black mane blowing in the wind from the sea, long black tail trailing on the dead grass. She nickered to me, and came over to nuzzle at my hand and nip it only lightly, with great restraint. I wondered at the change in her, which had begun, now I thought about it, in the shared horror of the dancing, pale fiends in the Forest of Lirr. I wondered to myself if shared experiences, the comfort gained from a body held close, could sometimes make friends even of enemies.
I saddled the little mare, and led her about the house to where my mother now stood, her eyes on yet another ship passing south to north towards High Geeragh.
“So soon?” she asked, sadly.
“I must go, Mam.”
She nodded. “You’re a man, now,” she said, simply. I had to turn away abruptly and make a great fuss of checking the girth before I mounted.
She walked a small way along the beach with me, and I left her there, promising to return within soon for a visit. She did not weep, that would not have been like her, nor did she hug me to her; she touched my face, all the while gazing into my eyes, and then she stood back. “God speed, son,” she said.
When I reached the headland, and looked back, she raised her hand to me, and I stood in the stirrups and raised my hand to her, and waved with a gaiety that I did not, at that moment, feel.
“Sir? Young sir?” A group of ragged men stood by my horse. I only now became aware that the normally bare hilltop road held more traffic that I had ever known. My attention had been all upon my mother; but here they were, as she had said, the soldiers, mostly neatly but poorly dressed, making their way home. “Have you news of old Sanctawn of Green Borough, young sir?”
“No, I’m sorry, but if you ask in the village beyond…”
“And in the village beyond,” another man’s eager voice claimed me, “is there news of Oonagh, wife of Sconal?”
This was Dougal the blacksmith’s mother-in-law, and a horrid woman she was. The man’s face was alight with hope. “She’s well,” I was able to tell him, “and you’ll find her in the village, at the home of the Blacksmith Dougal.”
It was hard to make any progress along the road -
“Do you know of Ashling, wife of Declawn of Thool?”
“Is my father, Brion of Clonmara, still living?”
“ Is there is a cottage, still, below on the beach? And the woman who resided there, does she live there still? The woman called Liardin, wife of Fenvar the Fair-haired?”
I felt the blood leave my face, and turned to this new stranger. News at last of my father, someone who knew him, who had, perhaps, sailed with him -
But no.
I stared at him, stared down into the face so like my own.
Where was the figure of god-like power who had filled my boyhood dreams, whose giant shadow had fallen between my mother and myself all the years of my life? How ordinary he looked! A tall, thin man with a clean-shaven face and blue eyes above a noble nose - but the hair was streaked with grey, more silver than gold, and his thin shoulders stooped. I demanded, “You are he, Fenvar of the ship White Cloud?”
He appeared startled. “You know of me, young sir?”
“You sent no message to the woman, Captain. All these years.” I could not prevent the coldness in my voice. This man was a stranger, but the greatest stranger was myself, speaking like this, after all the years of my grief and my longing.
“I was in a prison for those who refused to promise not to fight again.” He lifted his chin a little. “I am an officer of the Royal Navy of Geeragh - I would not sign an oath to disobey my Lord Bress, just to save my own skin.”
I glared at him. “You think so much of the Lord of Geeragh?”
Fenvar the Fair-haired regarded me coolly. “I am his man,” he said, with dignity. “If you cannot say the same, boy, you on that fine little charger and carrying a weapon at your side,” and an edge crept into his voice, “then you have no right wearing that livery.”
I thought, with part of my whirling brain, I have not seen my father in all the days of my life, and we are about to quarrel over the Dark Lord of Geeragh.
I said, “And have you killed in the name of the Lord of Geeragh? Have you taken a life?”
Something in my voice must have betrayed me, for his expression changed, his eyes narrowed and after a pause he said, almost cautiously, “A man does his duty. In times of war… a man does what he is required to do. A sacrifice to the greater good… to protect one’s country, one’s way of life, one’s people.”
I did not reply to this. My heart was too full. With those keen blue eyes gazing at me, through me, I managed, “Liardin still lives in the cottage below. I do not. I’m your son. Fen. Fenvar. They call me Fen.” I said it without pride, or any emotion at all. I said it because it had to be said, and I knew of no other way.
His face went white as he stared at me. Feeling something else was required, I dismounted and stood before him. There was, suddenly, absurdly, an enormous weight within me and a pressure behind my eyes that was as embarrassing as it was unbearable. I don’t know what I would have done if the captain of the White Cloud had not cried, “Fen? My son?” and pulled me to him, and hugged me to that thin, warm chest. He wept; great, unmanly sobs, and did not let me go.
I tried to be the man my mother said I was, now, but how to do that, when a war hero was weeping in my arms? So I cried, too. We stood on that cliff top and we cried for a long time.
My mother was still on the beach. We both saw her, standing there, her gaze on the ships that passed.
“The White Cloud made it through the storm,” my father told me, “we fought all that next day - but a cannonball destroyed the rudder, and we were surrounded. We fought on, hand to hand, but we were outnumbered, and the ship was going down. There was a chance I could save my men - those that remained alive or wounded. The captain of the Foyrrian vessel hailed me - suggested an honourable surrender, and I accepted.”
I said, my eyes on my mother’s lone figure, “I’m glad.”
“Come,” said Fenvar, a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go down to her.”
He looked at me in surpirse. “You’ll not come with me now?”
“I have responsibilities,” and this made me smile a little. “Mam will explain. I’ll come next week, I promise you.”
Fenvar the Fair-haired embraced me once more, and he gazed at me with what seemed to be a look of pride, and then turned towards the path that led down the cliff, to the beach.
I lost sight of his tall figure once he reached the dunes, but he appeared again, then, a fine figure, his back now straight, his head up, walking along the sand in great, purposeful strides. He did not call out, or wave.
My mother had bent to pick up a pebble, had her arm back, ready to throw the stone into the surf, when she caught sight of the man moving towards her. She stood still, watching… she stood very still.
The stone was forgotten. I saw it fall from her hand. And she was running, then; my sedate, self-controlled mother, running along the beach. I heard her cry, a cry from her heart, and she was swept up into his arms, and held there; the two tall, slim figures were one, there on the beach.
I was glad I had let him go down the cliff path alone. I turned back to the little mare and mounted. She needed no urging, but turned her head towards High Geeragh, as if she knew which way was home.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The throne room was empty, and so was the Lord Bress’s study. It was Scabious who informed me that the master was in the Room of the Great Mirror, with Poli and Crorliss.
“Is it true,” he called after me, resentfully, “that you’ve been made squire?”
I was in too much of a hurry to pause, for I knew a simple answer would not satisfy him. As it was, he did not need an answer at all; all along the corridor and half-way up the stairs I could hear him whining, “There’s such a thing as seniority, you know. You should have stepped aside for Seablite - he’s the eldest, and then me…”
I knocked on the door of the Mirror Room. There was no answer, so I knocked again.
“Come!” Lord Bress’s voice, strong enough to sound irritated. I was pleased, as I opened the door.
Poli sat at the desk, which had always been empty in the times I had been in this room. Now it was covered with what looked like correspondence and other documents. Poli had her glasses on the end of her nose and was writing. She looked up to smile at me warmly.
Crorliss was standing by the window, with a spyglass to his eye. He, too, looked over at me, and nodded. I bowed my head to him, and turned to Lord Bress.
He was dressed in his customary black, a fairly formal tunic, trimmed - and this was unusual for him - with gold, rather than silver. I noticed, oddly, that he wore new black boots.
He was standing in front of the Mirror, but looked pleased to see me. “Ah,” he said, “are you recovered already?”
“Yes, My Lord. And you, I trust?” I said, as I bowed.
“Crorliss healed me,” Bress said carelessly, then scowled. “What you did, that night of the avalanche…” I glanced at Poli and Crorliss, who met my gaze steadily. “They know,” said Lord Bress.
I had not known that he knew. His back had been turned, he had been fighting off three men…
“You should be knighted,” came the surprising words from Crorliss. “But you’re a pup, still, and it won’t do.”
“My Lord…” I turned to Lord Bress, and found myself trembling a little. “I would like to forget that night -”
“And so you shall. But I will not.” He walked towards me and placed one heavy hand upon my shoulder. He had never done that before. “You will not blame yourself,” he said, his voice lower. “It was I who led us into that trap, I who led Geeragh. You followed - as a soldier does. Do not speak of it to anyone, it will not be mentioned again. Not for several years, when it will be recounted before the altar of the Great Abbey, when you are finally old enough - and strong enough - to bear the arms that you won that night. Do you understand?”
I was overwhelmed with a sense of relief, and gratitude. “Yes, My Lord, thank you.”
But he had already turned back to gaze at the Mirror.
And I gasped, for within it was the Princess Aninn. She seemed to be in her quarters here in the castle; dressed only in a wrap, she was bent over a silver dish and one of her ladies in black was washing her hair.
“Where is she?!” I burst out. “You found her! Where is she? Is she here?”
No one seemed terribly excited. I even heard Poli sigh, wistfully.
“That’s in the past,” Lord Bress murmured, his dark eyes fixed on the image in the Mirror. “I think of her constantly, I ask the Mirror constantly, and all I get is images of the past. I have seen her christening, I have seen her run with a tooth that she had just lost, to show it to her mother. I have seen her sixteenth birthday party. I have seen her,” and he smiled a little, “having her toenails clipped. But I have not seen where she is, now.” And then he added, “She tries to fade her freckles with lemon juice,” in a rather dreamy voice.
Poli, Crorliss, and I looked at each other, a rare moment of communion, then Poli rubbed her eyes with one hand, pushing up her glasses to do so, then adjusted them and sniffed and went back to writing.
Crorliss merely sniffed, and turned once more to gaze out the window with the glass.
I said, into the silence, “The news of the peace with Foyrr is wonderful, My Lord.”
He ignored me, his gaze on the Mirror.
“Yes,” Poli said, keen to be the one to tell me of the latest in political development. “Envoys have been sent to Arrach and Sowragh - we expect a peace with them within this fortnight.”
“Wonderful.” I said, and had to stop myself from adding, Princess Aninn would be so pleased. Instead, I said, “My father has returned, My Lord. He was a prisoner of war in Foyrr.”
Poli exclaimed in delight, and even Crorliss turned to me with something that resembled a smile.
“Oh?” Lord Bress dragged his gaze from the Mirror. I could see, in the dark-circled eyes, that he made an effort, for my sake, to be interested. “His ship is safe, then?”
“No, My Lord. The White Cloud was lost in battle.”
He waved a hand towards Poli. “Look into the matter of Captain Fenvar the Fair-haired of the White Cloud. He’s to receive a new ship.”
Poli nodded, and made a note on a piece of parchment.
“Thank you, My Lord!”
He shook his head to negate the need for any thanks, but as I moved forward a little, he said, “What did your father say about your lame leg?”
“I… I saw him only briefly, My Lord. I was on horseback… mostly.” In truth, I hadn’t thought about it. I hadn’t had to walk far - only a step had taken me into my father’s arms. I thought, now, with anguish, of what he would say when he saw me, of my mother’s pain when she had to tell him of how my leg was injured. But I - I would tell them it did not matter. And in truth, it did not.
“Crorliss,” Lord Bress said, but his gaze was upon my knee, “why is he stil limping? You said the treatment took some time - but it’s been months.” He raised his eyes to my face. “Is the leg any better at all?”
I glanced up and caught a brooding and unpleasant look on Crorliss’s face. “Yes. I mean, no. I mean, um.”
Lord Bress looked over at Crorliss. “I’ve never known one of your spells to take so long - usually it’s a week, a month at the most. Are you losing your touch, Crorliss?”
“My Lord, I’ve never…!” The healer was pale with anger.
Lord Bress waited. “You’ve never what?”
Crorliss seemed agitated, suddenly shaken by some emotion; it was somehow reminiscent of what I had seen in the bailey that day the search party had returned. “It’s time I spoke up, My Lord. Boy!” He called to me. “Take this glass and keep it trained on the Southern Road. We’re expecting the retinue of King Tiarn.”
I almost stumbled. “King Tiarn of Foyrr?”
Crorliss almost threw the
spyglass to me as he crossed towards Bress.
Poli, at her desk, said, “Crorliss, it’s too late for all that.”
“Perhaps, but we have no choice, do we? Are we going to go on like this forever?”
“What are you two talking about?” But already Bress had decided to ignore them. He was moving closer to the Mirror. There, in the shattered shards of glass, the broken images of Lord Bress and Princess Aninn were walking together on the parapets. He was reaching for her, and at first she pulled back, but he was strong, and she was in his arms, her lips on his…
Poli was standing, saying, “I won’t be part of this, Crorliss - it’s cruel! Keep your secrets! His Lordship doesn’t need this right now, with the King of Foyrr arriving any minute…!”
I dragged my attention away from the three occupants of the room and the astonishing images in the Mirror and made a quick reconnaissance of the Southern Road before lowering the glass and turning back into the room. When had the scene in the Mirror taken place? He had kissed her. He had kissed her! And then he had told her to go to… I was angry, and more confused than ever.
Poli was saying, “We’ll talk about this later…”
“Now is all we have.” There was a particularly nasty look on Crorliss’s face. To Lord Bress, he said, “I am an adequate healer, My Lord, that all -”
“I’m not staying to hear this!” Poli almost shouted.
“Then leave, Poli,” Crorliss turned his head a little towards her.
She was already on her way to the door. “Call me if you need me, My Lord - I have matters to oversee before the arrival of the King.” She swept out of the room.
Bress turned his black look from the Mirror to Crorliss. “You’d better go too. And try to find some way to heal that boy’s leg.”
“I can’t, My Lord.”
“I say do it! Now go!”
In the Mirror, the Princess was in her nightdress walking slowly but restlessly from one window to the next; the torches in the sconces were low, the fire was embers in the hearth… The door to the bedchamber opened and she turned. Lord Bress stood there…
Dark Lord of Geeragh Page 20