The Seven Towers

by Patricia C. Wrede

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Carachel smiled. “Do you now that you only call me ‘my lord’ or ‘Your Majesty’ in public or when you disapprove of what I am doing?”

  “I meant no criticism,” Jermain said stiffly.

  “I’m not so sure of that. But this is no whim, though you may think it so. I do not want men I must persuade to the proper course of action; we may have no time for explanation and persuasion when the Matholych arrives. And we cannot afford the time we would lose if we stopped now to talk with them.”

  “Then I had best go and tell them what you expect.”

  As Jermain had anticipated, the commanders of the Barinash army were not happy to be told to break camp immediately and fall in behind the column of men from Tar-Alem. They had little choice, however, for their orders were much as Carachel had described. Reluctantly, they gave the necessary orders, and the Barinash troops hastily began preparing to leave. The disorganized way the men went about their preparations did nothing to improve Jermain’s opinion of them, but somehow they were ready when the end of the Tar-Alem column finally moved past the camp.

  The combined armies made good time for the rest of the day, but by the time they pitched camp the Barinash troops were in an unhappy frame of mind. Many resented being forced to “eat dust” at the back of the army, and a number of fights broke out between the men from Tar-Alem and those from Barinash. Jermain spent several hours trying to pacify irate Barinash officers, then remained awake late into the night designing an order of march he hoped would be satisfactory to everyone.

  The next day’s march was easier, and in three more they had crossed the North Plains. The two armies began to show signs of merging; there was less grumbling and the fights practically ceased. They continued to move faster than Jermain had expected, but Carachel grew more and more worried about their speed. Finally, Jermain grew puzzled by Carachel’s continued anxiety. When the army camped for the night, Jermain went to Carachel’s tent and demanded to know the reason for his concern.

  “If I push the men too hard, they’ll be in no condition to fight when we reach Gramwood,” he told Carachel. “I don’t want to do it without an explanation.”

  “You’ll follow my orders,” Carachel snapped.

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Jermain said with icy formality. He stood and waited, stiff with anger.

  Carachel lowered his head until his forehead rested on the edge of his hand, covering his eyes. “I am sorry,” he said after a moment. “Of all the men who serve me, you deserve that the least. I fear my temper is not the best these days.”

  Jermain did not reply, but he relaxed a little. Carachel shook his head tiredly.

  “You want an explanation; well, I cannot give you one. Only that I feel uneasy. . . . I do not know what is wrong, but I fear that someone has stirred the Matholych, that it moves sooner than I had thought.”

  “But you are not sure?”

  “My spells do not work well in the southern kingdoms, and messengers are too slow. I can sense the wrongness, but that is all. The only way for me to learn what is actually happening is for us to move south more quickly.”

  Jermain frowned. “Are you certain it would do no good to send scouts farther ahead? They may not be as fast as sorcery, but they’ll give us at least a day’s notice of anything unusual.”

  “Send them by all means, but do not expect too much. Your scouts have neither the ability nor the training to detect the first stirrings of the Matholych.”

  “Then perhaps you could give them something that would assist them,” Jermain said, his temper rising once more.

  Carachel looked startled, then thoughtful. “Yes, that might be possible. It must be a simple spell, something that will use very little power, for I must hoard my strength to face the Matholych. Still, I think it can be managed. I will have them for you tomorrow morning.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  “Even so, we must move more quickly than we have been. If the Matholych is stirring—”

  “What good will it do?” Jermain demanded. “If sorcery alone can prevail against the Matholych, why should we weary the army with a forced march? If speed is your only concern, it would be better for you to ride ahead with a few men, since you are the only sorcerer among us.”

  Carachel was silent for a few moments. “Perhaps I have been overly concerned; as yet, I know very little for a certainty. But if the Matholych is stirring, the Hoven-Thalar may also be moving earlier than we expected. And if we are too late to oppose them . . .”

  “It will be just as bad if the men are too tired to fight when we arrive.” Jermain was familiar with the effects of too fast and long a march, and he did not want to take men into battle whose reflexes were dulled by fatigue and lack of sleep.

  “I do not think so. And we must be in time.” Carachel rose and began to pace the length of the tent.

  “We do not know that the Hoven-Thalar are moving yet,” Jermain pointed out. “And even if they are, surely the armies of Gramwood and Mournwal will be able to hold them for a little while.”

  “A day; two at most. That is not long enough. I must have some time to . . . prepare for the Matholych. How quickly can we reach the battlefield, if you push your men?”

  “We can be there in a week to ten days, if we must, but such a pace risks exhausting the men. We can, however, move somewhat faster than we have been. It would not take too much longer, and I would prefer not to try a forced march until we are certain of what the Hoven-Thalar plan.”

  “Very well,” Carachel said reluctantly. “We will compromise for a few days, unless we learn more in the meantime.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  Next morning, Carachel gave Jermain the charms he had promised: six glass mirrors the size of a silver coin, each suspended from a thin gold chain. The mirrors were dark, but Carachel assured Jermain that at the first sign of the Matholych they would glow red. Jermain gave the mirrors to his scouts with a minimum of explanation; if any of them saw his mirror glowing, he was to note the place and return to camp at once, no matter what else he might wish to investigate.

  The scouts received their orders somewhat nervously, and several threw dubious looks at the mirrors. Jermain was mildly surprised at their obvious discomfort; he had expected the men of Tar-Alem to be less fearful of magic than those of Sevairn, since magic was more common in the north. He watched the scouts depart, then turned back to prepare the army for the day’s march.

  The army continued to travel quickly, and by evening they were camped at the edge of the nameless forest that covered the southern part of Barinash and much of Gramwood. As soon as the men were settled, Jermain ordered extra sentries posted. He himself spent much of the night riding around the perimeter of the camp, for though he did not share Carachel’s apprehension, he was restless.

  The restlessness grew worse as the army moved on into the forest. Jermain spent more and more time near the front of the column, where the road before him was clear and he was not as conscious of the mass of men around him. Several times he went on ahead of the army, though he could not go too far without leaving his duties as Commander-General unfulfilled.

  The trees along the road grew larger as the day wore on, providing the marchers with welcome shade. Unfortunately, thought Jermain, they also provided more than sufficient cover for anyone who might wish to follow the army undetected. He frowned, wondering what had made him think of that, then laughed a little at his own foolishness. The track left by the combined armies of Tar-Alem and Barinash was sufficiently obvious that no one would have any need to skulk in the woods to discover the direction of their march. Jermain shook his head and rode back toward the rear of the column.

  When the army camped at last, Jermain was tired but still restive. He would once more have spent the night riding the perimeter of the camp, but he did not wish to tire Blackflame unnecessarily. He therefore contented himself with walking, and it was very late before he finally sought his bed
.

  The army’s second day in the forest was worse than the first. The deep shadows along the path seemed ominous; in vain Jermain told himself that the forest was no different than it had been when he met Carachel a few weeks before. He began to urge the men to greater speed, and he found himself looking over his shoulder as he rode and periodically touching the place where Amberglas’s medallion lay beneath his tunic.

  By the end of the day, Jermain’s uneasiness was disturbing Blackflame as well. The horse had become accustomed to being cared for by Carachel’s grooms during the two weeks of the army’s march, but when they stopped at last to set up camp he refused to allow any of the grooms near him. Jermain walked the horse for some time, talking soothingly in hopes of calming the animal enough for the grooms to take over, but to no avail. Finally he decided that it would take less time to groom Blackflame himself than to soothe him, and he led the horse around to the back of his tent.

  Jermain’s tent was near the edge of the camp, beside a small stand of trees and bushes. There were few other tents nearby. The trees were too large and too close together to permit the tents to be pitched in their normal orderly rows, and as a result the army was spread out far more than Jermain liked. He frowned as he replaced Blackflame’s bridle with a halter and tethered the horse to one of the trees. Was it too early in the march to order the captains to increase the security around the edge of the camp?

  Jermain was about to remove Blackflame’s saddle when the horse shifted and pulled away from the trees. At the same time, Jermain heard a rustling among the branches. He stepped back and drew his sword. “Whoever is there, come out and declare yourself,” he called.

  A tall, hooded figure slid out of the shadows and stood beside Blackflame. “This is a poor greeting for a blood-bonded friend, Jerayan.”

  There was only one man Jermain could think of who would use the Hoven-Thalar version of his name. “Ranlyn? You fool, what are you doing here?”

  CHAPTER 11

  Eltiron stared. “You have a message from Jermain? But you came from Barinash, and he’s somewhere in Gramwood or Mournwal! How can you—that is, I would appreciate it if you would explain, lady.”

  “Explanations are so useful,” Amberglas said thoughtfully. “Though not quite so useful as kitchen knives and brooms and saddlebags, which are generally much more practical but not as interesting. Of course, one can put a great many interesting things in a saddlebag, but that’s not quite the same thing. It’s quite simple, really. He’s in Barinash.”

  “He is? What’s he doing there?”

  “Several different things, though not all at the same time, which is quite sensible of him, since it’s rather difficult to travel in two directions at once. Although there are a few things that can be done at the same time. Singing and washing turnips, for instance, or writing a letter and chopping wood. Of course, someone else has to chop the wood.”

  “Oh. May I see Jermain’s letter, lady?”

  “I’m afraid that’s quite impossible.”

  “Why?” Eltiron said, bewildered.

  “Because he didn’t write a letter. I do hope it isn’t inconvenient. Inconvenient for you, I mean; it wasn’t particularly inconvenient for him because he didn’t really want to write a message to anyone.”

  “It isn’t inconvenient,” Eltiron assured her. “But what did he say?”

  Amberglas appeared to be studying the bushes immediately behind Eltiron’s left ear. “He said, ‘Tell Prince Eltiron that all his dissembling will not keep the Hoven-Thalar from overrunning Sevairn. And tell him I will not forget what he and Terrel did.’ ”

  For a moment, Eltiron stared at her, trying to absorb what she had said; then he shut his eyes in pain. Ever since his talk with Vandaris he had known that Jermain, too, might think Eltiron had deliberately betrayed him. Now he could no longer convince himself that Jermain would understand the mistake. Jermain thought Eltiron had known exactly what he was doing. Worse yet, Jermain apparently thought Eltiron and Terrel had planned the whole thing. It hurt Eltiron that Jermain could so severely misjudge him, and disillusionment made the hurt worse. Didn’t Jermain know him and trust him better than that?

  Eltiron sighed and opened his eyes. Amberglas was watching him with a faint frown, and he shook his head. “It . . . was not quite like that, lady.”

  “I’m not entirely surprised, though of course he was quite positive; but then, people generally are positive even when they are quite wrong. And I don’t think he was in the best of humor, which isn’t at all amazing, what with that broken rib and losing a great deal of blood and so on. Not to mention making it worse by riding around the forest without attending to any of it, which was really very foolish of him.”

  Eltiron went cold. “Jermain was wounded? How? Is he all right?”

  “Not precisely,” the woman said vaguely. “Of course, it is frequently very difficult to be precise, but then, so many things are. Difficult, I mean. Climbing Dragon’s Head Mountain in midwinter, for instance, or running from Leshiya to Miranet City in less than three days. Or being patient.”

  Eltiron closed his mouth on an angry reply and looked at her for a moment. “Please continue, lady,” he said at last.

  “Very good,” Amberglas said approvingly. “I thought perhaps he was underestimating you, though of course it’s quite easy to underestimate people, which may explain why it is done so frequently. Jermain Trevannon is quite well at the moment, though I really couldn’t say how long it will last; people are so very unpredictable. And it’s certainly no fault of those extremely impolite soldiers who were chasing him when we met.”

  “The Barinash guardsmen were chasing Jermain?”

  “I don’t believe so. They certainly weren’t chasing him the last time I saw him, but of course, they may have been busy elsewhere, which would account for their not chasing him quite well. And the Barinash guardsmen are generally quite polite, rather like that captain who came for Crystalorn, though of course you haven’t met him yet so I don’t believe you know.”

  “Then who was chasing Jermain, lady?” Eltiron asked, trying hard to be patient.

  “The Sevairn Border Guards. Which was rather foolish of them, since they really don’t belong in Barinash at all; but then, there are a great many things that the Sevairn guards aren’t at all good at, and perhaps remembering where the border is is one of them.” Amberglas tilted her head to one side and observed him with a preoccupied air. “While I realize that you can’t do anything about it just at present, perhaps you can persuade them to be more civil once you are King of Sevairn. And of course their training is quite dreadful.”

  “Of . . . course,” Eltiron said, considerably startled. No one had ever been quite so matter-of-fact about his eventual assumption of the crown of Sevairn. “Do you know why they were chasing Jermain, lady?”

  “It’s really quite unnecessary for you to keep addressing me as ‘lady,’ and I would think their reasons were rather obvious, though of course you weren’t there, so perhaps you haven’t realized yet. They were trying to kill him.”

  “They were what?”

  “The Sevairn Border Guards were trying to kill Jermain Trevannon. They had a great many reasons for doing so, most of them extremely bad and not at all credible; but then, people frequently do things for odd reasons so perhaps it doesn’t matter. I believe the real reason is that they were told to; the Captain mentioned getting orders directly from Leshiya, though he really shouldn’t have told me that.”

  “Orders from Leshiya? But Father wouldn’t have ordered Jermain killed, not after he’d decided to exile him!”

  “I didn’t say he had, and neither did Captain Morenar, though I must admit that your friend Jermain made the same assumption. At least, it sounded like the same assumption. He said his orders came from Leshiya, and, of course, there are quite a few people in Leshiya just now besides King Marreth, and I would think that most of them were here a month ago as well. Though he never said exactly when his orders
came from Leshiya, so it might have been longer.”

  “If it wasn’t Father . . .” Eltiron frowned. Wendril Anareme could have given orders to the Border Guard, but she had no reason that Eltiron knew to want Jermain dead. Terrel was the logical person to have ordered Jermain killed, but Terrel wasn’t supposed to be able to give orders to the Border Guard. Eltiron’s frown grew deeper. There was something he should remember about Terrel and Jermain. . . .

  Abruptly, it came to him: the conversation on the tower. Terrel and the other man had been discussing Jermain, and the strange voice had not been pleased with Terrel. What had he said? “It is fortunate that your attempt did not succeed. My plans for Jermain Trevannon do not include his death.”

  Eltiron looked up. “How long ago did you meet Jermain and these guards?”

  “Two weeks ago.”

  “And it’s been ten days since I heard Terrel on the tower top. That is what they were talking about!”

  Amberglas’s gaze focused on Eltiron with disconcerting suddenness. “Which tower top?”

  “The Tower of Judgment,” Eltiron said. “I’d forgotten; Crystalorn asked me to tell you about it.”

  Amberglas nodded, and Eltiron plunged into the same story he had told Crystalorn two nights before. Amberglas listened intently, then asked him in a rather roundabout fashion to give his version of what he had seen and heard when he’d found Crystalorn eavesdropping on Terrel and Salentor. When he finished, Amberglas looked extremely thoughtful.

  “I believe I would like to look at this tower a bit more closely,” she said.

  Thought he was a bit puzzled by the request, Eltiron agreed to take Amberglas to the Tower of Judgment. It was not possible for him to do so immediately, however; it was nearly time for him to go back to begin the meetings and formal receptions that had been scheduled for the day. He offered to have someone else show her the tower, but when it became clear that Amberglas wanted him to show her the tower and not someone else, he agreed to meet her early the following morning.