The Seven Towers

by Patricia C. Wrede

  “Vandi! Wait till you hear—” She stopped, and her brown eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Who’s he?”

  “He’s my nephew, Eltiron, and he happens to be Prince of Sevairn,” Vandaris said. “If you expect to live in this castle for any length of time, you’d better learn a few more manners.”

  “Well, he doesn’t look like a prince,” the girl said in the tones of one paying a high compliment.

  “Tari . . .,” Eltiron said warningly.

  The girl looked at Eltiron. “Was that the wrong thing to say? I’m sorry; I didn’t realize. I’m Tarilane Corriel.”

  Eltiron nodded. He had no idea what he ought to say; squires, in his experience, were seldom seen and never heard. He noticed Vandaris watching him unusually closely, which made him even more nervous. “Um, I’m glad to know you,” he said finally.

  “Huh,” Tarilane said. She sounded skeptical, but not unfriendly. “What are we going to do next, Vandi?”

  “Haul the bags up to my rooms before Marreth gets wind that I’m here,” Vandaris said. “Come on, brat; we don’t have all day.”

  Tarilane gave Vandaris an odd look. “You sure you want to stay here that long?”

  Vandaris was already halfway inside the stall. “Why not?” she replied over her shoulder.

  “Oh, reasons,” Tarilane said, looking warily at Eltiron. “I heard some people talking.”

  There was a muffled sneeze from the interior of the stall, and a moment later Vandaris stuck her head back out into the aisle. “Tari, in this castle you listen to people talking in order to find out what they’re trying to hide and who they’re planning to back-knife. You don’t believe any of them. What’d you hear?”

  Tarilane made a quick survey of the stable, glanced at Eltiron, shrugged, and said, “They said he isn’t to be trusted.”

  “Eltiron?” Vandaris said in surprise. “That’s interesting. Why?”

  “Something to do with somebody important who got killed or something a couple of months ago. They said it was the Prince’s fault.”

  “Who?” Eltiron burst out. “Who was it?”

  “Why do you want to know?” Tarilane demanded.

  “If I’m being accused of killing someone, I want to know who I’m supposed to have killed!”

  “Oh, that who,” Tarilane said. “I thought you meant who did I overhear. I didn’t catch the name, but I’d recognize it if I heard it again.”

  “Was it Jermain?”

  “That’s it!” Tarilane looked at Eltiron suspiciously. “How’d you know?”

  “That’s something you can find out later, elephant ears,” Vandaris said. “You going to stand there all day, or could I maybe get some help?”

  Tarilane scowled at Eltiron and ducked into the stall. Vandaris looked at Eltiron.

  “You heard anything about this?”

  “No, I—” Eltiron swallowed hard. “Jermain was my friend; I thought everyone knew that. How could anyone think I—” He stopped abruptly, not knowing how to finish the sentence and afraid his voice would fail him before he could do so.

  Vandaris studied Eltiron intently for a few moments, then nodded. “This visit gets more interesting by the minute, and it’s hardly started. I wonder what Marreth’s got under his belt to surprise me with?”

  Eltiron did not reply. His aunt shook her head. “Do you always take gossip this hard? Or is there something in it?”

  “No!” Eltiron’s shout echoed through the stable; the horses shifted nervously in their stalls.

  “Calm down,” Vandaris said mildly. “I was only asking. Look, I’m in a better position to hear things than you are. Would it help if I listened around for a few days and told you about it later? It’ll give you some idea of what’s being said, anyway.”

  “Could you?”

  “Dragon’s teeth, man, would I have said it if I couldn’t? I’ll talk to you about it in a day or two, after I’m a bit more settled.” Vandaris slung one of the saddlebags across her shoulder, gave her sword squire a cheerful cuff, and started toward the door of the stable.

  Eltiron did not see his aunt at all the following day. Terrel had arranged a seemingly endless series of meetings, during which Eltiron sat and listened to the royal tailors argue about wedding garments, the court secretaries argue about protocol, the castle stewards argue about menus and supplies, and all the lords and ladies in the city argue about precedence. At least that was what it seemed like to Eltiron, who hated the whole business with a passion he had no time to indulge.

  The meetings went on into a second day, followed closely by another brief and painful interview with Marreth, but somehow Eltiron found enough time to send Vandaris a message. Vandaris responded in a scrawled note, the gist of which was that she would meet him the next day at the top of the Tower of Judgment.

  The Tower of Judgment was the oldest and tallest of the three castle towers, and Eltiron had haunted its top for years. Because of its height, he could see much farther than from either of the other two; sometimes it seemed to him that he could see more clearly as well. In addition, the top of the Tower of Judgment was one of the few thoroughly private places in the castle. Hardly any of the servants or courtiers ever took the time to climb the long, spiral staircase to the tower top, and Eltiron had come to think of it as his own. It was therefore a shock when, on the third day following Vandaris’s arrival, Eltiron arrived at the door at the top of the Tower of Judgment and heard voices on the other side.

  He paused uncertainly. Had Vandaris brought someone with her? He set one hand to the door, and a fragment of the conversation came clearly to him.

  “. . . overstepped yourself. Did you think I would not learn of it?”

  “I never doubted it, my lord.”

  Eltiron started and pulled his hand away from the door as if he had suddenly discovered that it was made of live snakes. Neither of the speakers was Vandaris. Eltiron did not recognize the first voice at all; the second was Terrel Lassond’s. But who would Terrel call “my lord” besides Marreth?

  “Then you were a fool to try,” the first voice said. “It is fortunate for you that your attempt did not succeed. My plans for Jermain Trevannon do not include his death.”

  Eltiron started again and missed Terrel’s reply. He still could not place the other speaker, but the mention of Jermain was enough to make Eltiron abandon all thought of not listening further to the conversation.

  “And the other matters?” said the first voice.

  “I expect no trouble about the marriage,” Terrel said. “The party from Barinash should arrive in another week, and the wedding will be at the end of the month. Marreth is being . . . intractable about other things.”

  “Persuade him if you can,” the first voice said. “Otherwise we must wait until after the Prince’s wedding. I want nothing to interfere with that.”

  “I understand. You know, of course, that the lady Vandaris has returned to Sevairn?”

  There was a moment’s pause. “No, I had not known.” There was another brief silence. “For now, proceed as we had planned. I will let you know if there is a need for any change.”

  “As you wish. But I would not like to underestimate her. I haven’t met her myself, but from what I hear she could be a dangerous opponent.”

  “I will keep your advice in mind, should I feel a need for it. Now, I believe there is one more thing.” Behind the tower door, Eltiron shivered at the sudden, smooth menace in the unknown voice.

  “Yes?” Terrel’s voice was expressionless.

  “The little matter of Jermain Trevannon. I have no use for unreliable assistants; too much depends on our success. You appear to have forgotten that. Allow me to remind you.”

  Eltiron heard a choking cry, quickly muffled. “Fare you well, my lord Terrel, and remember, in the future, not to cross me,” the unfamiliar voice said over the sound.

  Suddenly Eltiron realized that the conversation was at an end; in another moment, someone would come through the door and find h
im. He pulled back and looked desperately around. The top landing of the Tower of Judgment was small and bare, and there was nowhere he could hope to hide if he remained. He turned and plunged down the stairs, hoping to get out of sight around the curve before the door opened.

  Three quarters of the way down the first spiral of stairs, Eltiron paused, listening. He heard the tower door open and close again, and realized that he might still be seen descending the stairs, or crossing the courtyard outside the tower. Besides, he still had to meet Vandaris. On the other hand, neither Terrel nor his companion would think it strange to meet Eltiron coming up the stairs; his liking for the tower top was well known. Without stopping to think further, Eltiron turned and began to climb.

  He had retraced over half his steps before he finally saw Terrel coming slowly downward. The Chief Adviser’s face was white, and when he saw Eltiron his smile was strained as well as faintly mocking. He hesitated just long enough for Eltiron to notice, then stepped aside to let him pass. “Your Highness,” he said.

  Eltiron nodded without stopping. “I hope you enjoyed the view, Lord Terrel,” he said with cold politeness as he went past.

  Terrel’s eyes narrowed, but he did not reply, and after a moment Eltiron heard the echoes of his footsteps fading gradually as he descended the tower. Eltiron sighed in relief; now there was only Terrel’s unknown companion to get past. The tower door reappeared around the curve of the stairs above him. Eltiron’s steps slowed; when he reached the top landing, he stopped completely. This is ridiculous, he told himself. You’re a prince; you have every right to be here if you want to be, and there’s no way he can guess that you heard anything. Eltiron took a deep breath and opened the door.

  His first reaction was a strong feeling of relief; there was no one on the tower top at all. Eltiron relaxed a little and stepped out onto the flat roof of the tower, pulling the door shut behind him. As he did, the impossibility hit him like a blow: There was no one on top of the tower. He had heard two voices, but only one man had passed him on the stairs, and there was no other way to get down from the tower top. There had to be someone there.

  There was no one. Eltiron paced the entire surface of the tower top and peered over the battlements, but he found nothing. After two circuits of the tower top, Eltiron sat down with his back to the stone of the parapet and his face toward the tower door, hoping fervently that Vandaris would not take much longer to arrive.

  CHAPTER 4

  Jermain rose and moved away from the table as the Captain entered. As soon as he had room to draw his sword without hindrance should he need to, Jermain stopped and studied the newcomer. The Captain moved with the confident ease of an experienced fighting man. He’s good, thought Jermain, and he must have either birth or brains as well or he wouldn’t have been made a captain so young.

  “Your Highness,” said the Captain, bowing deeply to Crystalorn. He gave Jermain a brief, appraising look, then turned and bowed politely to Amberglas. “My lady.”

  “Not yours, exactly,” Amberglas said. “Fortunately, it doesn’t matter; but then, a great many things don’t—what color wind is, for instance, or how far rain falls, or whether the fourth King of Gramwood’s mother-in-law served soup in a Dangil china bowl of an Ilmar tureen. That is, if she bothered to serve soup, which some people don’t. So perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

  The Captain blinked. “I agree,” he said after a barely perceptible pause. “I hope I have not offended you.”

  Amberglas smiled. “Not at all. Why are you here?”

  “I have come to conduct the Princess Crystalorn back to her retinue,” the Captain replied.

  “That’s obvious,” Crystalorn said, eyeing the Captain with disfavor. “It would have to be you.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Amberglas to one of the chairs. “There’s no reason why he couldn’t have been someone else, except, of course, that he isn’t, which is a very good thing for him. Being someone else is very difficult for most people because, you see, they aren’t used to it, particularly if they aren’t sure who they are to begin with. It makes things difficult for other people, too, because they don’t know whom they’re talking to, which tends to be confusing. Do you know whom we’re talking to?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Amberglas,” Crystalorn said. “This is Captain Balandare Forrain.” She scowled at him briefly, then apparently decided to continue the introductions. “Balandare, this is Amberglas, and his name’s Trevannon. He was just telling me about Sevairn when you interrupted.”

  Balandare gave Jermain a sharp look as Crystalorn finished. “I apologize for cutting short your conversation,” he said slowly.

  Crystalorn answered before Jermain could reply. “Well, you ought to. I thought Salentor would send Kayth to bring me back; I could have talked for hours before he would have found me. Why’d they have to pick you instead?”

  “As far as I know, Lord Salentor has never willingly chosen me for anything,” Balandare said.

  “Then what are you doing here?” Crystalorn demanded. “Didn’t he send you after me?”

  “I believe Lord Salentor is not yet aware that you have left the caravan, Your Highness,” Balandare said quietly. “Should he ask, Torfil will tell him you are out riding, with myself and a suitable escort.”

  Crystalorn looked at him speculatively. “That was very nice of you, but are you sure Salentor will believe it?”

  “Why should he doubt it, when he sees you return with us, Your Highness?”

  “But—” Crystalorn stopped short and looked at the Captain for a long moment. Then she smiled reluctantly. “All right, you win. I can’t let you get into trouble for trying to keep me out of it.”

  “I am relieved to hear you say so, Your Highness,” Balandare said, smiling.

  “Ha! You planned it!” Crystalorn said. “Sometimes I wish I had someone stupid in charge of my personal guard; it would be a lot easier for me to do what I want.”

  “Of course, Your Highness; I’ll see to it as soon as we get back to the caravan. Would Captain Kayth be satisfactory? I’m sure Lord Salentor would be willing to reassign him if you wished it.”

  “Yes, and I’m sure I’d stick a knife in him within two days. I can’t stand Kayth, and you know it. And I don’t want anyone else in charge of my guard, and you know that, too, so stop teasing.”

  “As you command,” Balandare said, bowing deeply, and Crystalorn giggled. “Now, shall we go, Your Highness?”

  “I suppose I must,” Crystalorn said with a sigh. She looked at Amberglas, who had been observing the interchange with an air of vague interest, and sighed. “Good-bye, Amberglas. I hope I can come back soon, but if I really do get married to this prince I don’t know whether I’ll be able to. Leshiya is a long way away.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” Amberglas said. “Though one can’t always tell from descriptions, and a great many places are closer than most people think. Still, I haven’t been anywhere in a long time, and perhaps things have changed, though they don’t usually, at least not much. That is, I’ve been here, which is obviously somewhere, but isn’t anywhere else. At least I think it isn’t. So I shall quite enjoy it, I’m sure.”

  “Amberglas, what are you talking about?” Crystalorn said.

  “Visiting Sevairn,” said Amberglas. “I thought I explained that. I’m coming with you.”

  Balandare looked startled; Crystalorn’s face lit up. “You are? Amberglas, that’s wonderful! I won’t mind going nearly as much if you’re going to be there for me to talk to. Will you stay for the wedding?”

  “I would rather expect to, though it’s hard to be quite positive. So many things can happen, particularly when one isn’t expecting them.”

  “Oh, wonderful.” Crystalorn turned to Jermain. “Will you come, too? I still want to hear about Sevairn.”

  For a moment, Jermain was tempted; then he shook his head. “I fear I cannot accept your invitation, Your Highness. I am not welcome in Sevairn, and I have no wish to
cause trouble between you and Prince Eltiron.”

  Crystalorn looked puzzled, but Balandare nodded. “Then you are Lord Jermain Trevannon, King Marreth’s adviser,” he said. “I wondered, when I heard the name.”

  “I once held the position you name,” Jermain admitted. “As matters now are, I can only ask that you do not mention my whereabouts when you reach Leshiya; it is not my advice Marreth wants now.”

  “I understand,” Balandare said, “and I will not volunteer the information.” He smiled slightly. “Nor am I likely to be asked. Kings and princes normally do not question foreign guards.”

  “Thank you,” Jermain said. He turned to Amberglas. “And thank you also, for your hospitality.” He noticed a faint line between her eyebrows as she gazed in his direction, and he went on, “I was intending to leave today in any case; I have already taken advantage of your kindness for too long.”

  “Not at all,” Amberglas said, still frowning faintly. “It’s just that I’m not certain—But then, one hardly ever is, except about things like rocks and flowerpots and boots, which either are there or aren’t there, but are never almost there. I don’t suppose you’d care to reconsider?”

  “Reconsider?” Jermain said.

  “Yes, do!” Crystalorn said. “You could at least ride with us until we get to the border tomorrow, even if you won’t go on into Sevairn.”

  Jermain felt an uneasy twinge at the enthusiasm in her voice. Not that she was unattractive; quite the contrary. But she was a princess, and much too young, and she was promised in marriage to a man who had been Jermain’s friend. Still, a day’s travel in her company would certainly be pleasant. . . . A day? He’d thought the border was closer than that! Jermain looked at Amberglas just as Balandare cleared his throat and began speaking.

  “I’m afraid that Lord Trevannon’s presence would cause complications, Your Highness,” he said. “It would be difficult to explain his presence to Lord Salentor, for one thing. And I’m sure you’re aware of the political implications if anyone in Sevairn heard that you’d been associating with a man King Marreth exiled. I wouldn’t trust all of the caravaners to keep silent about it if they see him.”