"I am Indec," she said, taking O'Reilly's hands between both of hers. "Abbess of this house. Prince Desmond has told me of you, Sorcha. You are welcome to us indeed; you will be safe here, and happy, and we will do what we can to make your time with us serve you best."
"How shall I call you?" murmured O'Reilly, suddenly shy, though at the same time feeling greatly comforted.
Indee laughed, and put her arm around the Terran girl's shoulders, drawing her into the cool dim cloister.
"Well, as makes you feel easiest: Indec, or Abbess; the Sisters call me Mother, but you, of course, need not do so."
"On the contrary," said O'Reilly slowly. "I think I should like to, very much."
*
The folk of Tintock had furnished them supplies enough to last a fortnight if necessary, and horses to ease the long road that still remained to Keverango, and it was these sturdy, rough-coated mountain ponies that Aeron and Morwen now rode down out of the Dales and, next morning, across the grassy expanse of the ten-mile-wide Pass of the Arrows, Bwlch-y-Saethau.
Both knew well that this was the most dangerous part of their long flight, for the Fianna had had certain information that a strong force of Imperials and Fomori had been dispatched that way to cut off just such an escape. And to cross the Bwlch in daylight was deliberately to court capture, but--
"There is no choice," said Morwen shortly. "We cannot afford to lose still another day. Who can tell what may be happening by now in the City? And the pursuit may be hotter than we know."
"Or there may be none."
"As you say, though I think that unlikely--Please, Aeron, let us ride on. We can speculate to your heart's content once we are safe up there." She pointed south to the high peaks of the Dragon's Spine, stretching away before them in the clear air.
They rode the first five miles through upland desolation; but then, because of the way the land lay in the Pass's southern reaches, they were forced to take to the only road, a narrow track winding through steep folds of the foothills.
Morwen was in a fret of apprehension. "We must go faster," she urged. "If we are caught here we are surely finished."
No sooner had she spoken than they heard voices ahead, echoing in the narrow combe, and an eddy in the wind carried to them the smell of cookfires.
"A camp," whispered Aeron, unnecessarily, and her companion nodded.
"Nowhere to hide or flee and time too short for magic. So we must do the other thing--" Morwen reached across and tugged off Aeron's hood, flung back her own as the camp came into view around a bend in the road. "They look to be Coranians by their uniforms, and perhaps less quick to recognize us than Fomori might be. Better it is that we ride past without guile, as if we were concealing naught. They may be more like to allow us to pass, so. Please gods," she added doubtfully.
Aeron raised her brows, then ran a hand under her collar and lifted out the unmistakable hair to cascade down the back of her cloak. If she was to be taken by her enemies, far rather it be so, without mask or concealment, not skulking in disguise like some runaway fudir...
As they came level with the camp, which was set back a length or two from the road, no one seemed to mark them, and Aeron dared to begin to hope that just perhaps they would be able to--
"Halt! You there!" A guard had risen from where he sat beside the road, and they saw that although he carried his blastgun loosely cradled in the crook of his arm, still it was aimed at them. Morwen reined in her horse; Aeron's, imitating, stopped of its own accord.
The soldier was big, and undoubtedly a Coranian.
"Well now," he said. "And just who might you two be?"
Morwen replied unhesitatingly, "I am Morwen Duchess of Lochcarron and this lady is Aeron the Queen."
The soldier roared with laughter. "Forgive a poor alien soldier for not having known you at once," he gasped. "I beg your royal indulgence--But may a common warrior ask Your Exalted Graces where you might be bound?"
"To our winter palace on the southern coast, where it is a good deal merrier than it is now back at Caerdroia." Morwen smiled winningly down at him. Now if only Aeron would match her mood...
But the soldier's attention had already shifted. "And you, flamehair? Or should I say Your Majesty. You too are for this southern palace?"
Aeron nodded, eyes wide and guileless. "Indeed so, sir."
"Truly," interposed Morwen, "my sister and I are merely returning to our home, a small farmstead in the foothills to the south." She pointed vaguely, not daring to chance meeting Aeron's eyes. "It is perhaps two days' ride from here. When the battle was on, we thought to be safer north of the Bwlch--the Pass--but now all that is over and things are settled, and we are going home."
The Coranian did not appear disposed to question this.
"Pity," he commented. "Could you not be persuaded at least to stop and share a cup of hot wine with us? We're not used to such fierce weather, and it's been boring here--such pleasant company would be welcome."
Morwen shook her head with a fine show of regret. "Another time, perhaps, good sir."
"Well, pass then, and go safely. And good luck to Your Highnesses on returning to your kingdom."
He laughed heartily again, but he stood back to let them by. Though their backs crawled, they rode on at a sedate trot until they had rounded a turn in the road and passed out of the combe.
"My thanks for that wish," muttered Aeron savagely, and spurred her horse to a gallop.
*
But the evil genius that rules chance meetings was surely upon them that day, for in the last valley before the safety of the true hills began they ran straight into a Fomori patrol.
By the grace of the gods they were at least slightly better prepared for this encounter, for during the forenoon they had come across the hastily abandoned camp of another Imperial troop. Five minutes' plundering had yielded them the cloaks and cowled tabards of two Imperial lieutenants, which they now wore over their own gear.
Morwen, riding ahead, gave the leader of the Fomori company a crisp salute. Women were not so usual in the Imperial or Fomori forces as in the Keltic armies, where they made half the numbers, but they were numerous enough so that Aeron and Morwen should arouse no suspicions; or, at least, so they hoped.
But this time the officer studied their faces with sharp attention, and, as his gaze rested longest upon her, Aeron felt ice begin to touch the back of her neck. The telltale hair was hidden under the uniform hood, but she was suddenly certain that he knew her.
He turned back to his men, spoke briefly in his own tongue. Aeron, who spoke the Fomorian Lakhaz as well as the Imperial Hastaic, understood him to be ordering his troop on ahead; and they cantered past incuriously, hardly sparing a glance for the two supposed Imperials. Then he looked straight at Aeron.
"Good faring to Your Majesty."
"You are much mistaken, sir," said Aeron evenly.
The captain laughed. "What, do I not know the Queen's grace well enough?" he asked. "I attended Elathan of Fomor in Jaun Akhera's embassy on the plain near Rath na Riogh."
Deep silence. Aeron knew that Morwen, slightly behind her and to one side now, was fully prepared to obliterate the officer by whatever means was quickest and quietest; and, if necessary, the two of them along with him. She lifted her face now without thought of concealment, and she and the Fomori captain looked long into each other's eyes.
Then he smiled. "Go your ways, Aeron," he said, "for all of me. You proved yourself a noble enemy upon the plain of Moycathra, and I would prove to you--and to your illustrious First Minister--that Kelts are not the only folk capable of honor on the field of battle, or off it either."
Morwen stared incredulously, but Aeron's face did not change.
"Courtesy to the enemy has long been the tradition of the Fianna," she said. "But I had never thought to find it among the Fomori. How are you called, my lord?"
He drew himself up proudly in the saddle. "Captain Borvos, attached to the Royal Guard of His Grace the Prince
--of His Majesty King Elathan. We are the last of our forces left on this world, and we ride now to our ship to make our own way home. We were on patrol in the region at the orders of Jaun Akhera himself, to block Pass of the Arrows lest any Keltic royalty attempt to flee this way, looking to escape off-planet."
Aeron laughed. "I am not surprised at his foresight. But you will, truly, allow us to go free and unpursued?"
"I have said so, Majesty. My men will not speak of the two Imperial officers we met on the road to the Dragon's Spine. Nay, I shall order it so, for you are on a secret errand, are you not?" His face was vivid with amusement.
"I would have chosen to meet you in happier time, Borvos of Fomor," said Aeron. She held out her hand to him, and he kissed it; then withdrawing it again she touched heel to her horse's flank. Morwen, still too astounded for speech, saluted him as he rode by. Before they had passed from sight, Borvos had turned his own horse's head again to the north, and ridden on to rejoin his troop.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Whether it was the drunken good wishing of the trooper, or the noble courtesy of Borvos, by some agency they were spared further encounters with anyone, either Kelt or invader, and by hard riding and snatching food and drink in the saddle they managed to gain the safety of the Dragon's Spine by sunset that day--the fourth since their flight began.
The cold held, though here, south of the Loom, little snow lay at present upon the ground. At the top of a saddle pass, a ballach, leading from the shoulder of one huge nameless purple mountain to another, Morwen pulled up her horse and swung about in the saddle to look behind her.
Swift concern crossed her face as she saw Aeron still far below her on the switchbacked trail. I should not have pushed the pace so hard, she thought with a pang of guilt, she is so very weary... She began to ride down again, but Aeron looking up waved her to stay where she was.
The long trek up the mountain had not troubled the tough hill ponies, but Aeron, who was still far weaker from the demands of the past few days than she had permitted anyone to see, was trembling with fatigue by the time she came up with Morwen in the mouth of the ballach.
"We will camp here," said Morwen quickly, and for once Aeron did not demur.
There was a little sheltered hollow just beyond the bend in the pass, and after they had tended their beasts they set up a small quartz-hearth and prepared a hot meal. After, Aeron leaned back against the grassy bank and stared up at the arching Criosanna. She had spoken no word for all that time.
"Why do you think he let us go?" burst out Morwen, unable to contain her curiosity any longer.
On the other side of the hearth, Aeron brought her hands out of her cloak and warmed them at the glowing crystal hearth.
"Well, for what he said, surely... that he wished us to know all honor was not dead among the folk of Fomor. Why else?"
"Oh, naught else, but I had heard--" Morwen broke off, and, amazingly, blushed. To cover her confusion, she began with great show of absorption to brew a flask of shakla.
"What had you heard?"
"Campfire tales, gossip, naught to pay heed to."
"Lochcarron--"
"There was some talk," said Morwen with immense reluctance, "that Elathan of Fomor did not share his father's antipathy towards you. That in fact he thought of you--rather otherwise."
There was a long silence, broken only by Aeron's pouring herself some of the freshly brewed shakla.
"I had heard that too," said Aeron then. "What a goleor of alien admirers--first Jaun Akhera, then Elathan." Her voice had taken on a sardonic bite. "Pity it is I am already pledged to Gwydion; otherwise I had had my choice of out-Wall thrones. So--you think that the admirable Captain Borvos allowed two royal fugitives, each with an enormous price on her head, to escape simply because it was gossiped that his new King might harbor feelings of affection towards one of them, and that one the sworn enemy of his people?"
"Well... I thought it not totally impossible."
"Put it out of your mind," said Aeron sharply, swinging her legs around and sitting up all in one fluid movement. "I had it from a captured Fomori lord that the first thing Elathan did upon learning that I had slain his father was to swear to avenge himself still further upon me--and mine."
"It makes little differ in the end, Aeron, so that he did let us escape. And we will not be able to make good that escape unless we move more quickly tomorrow. I know you are desperately tired, but it is still at least another day's ride to Keverango."
"Let us see the maps."
They spread out the maps, and by the light of the quartz-hearth bent over them in silent study. Arianeira had marked out a safe way for them, but not the shortest. Presently Aeron pointed to a finger of land along the coast.
"If we took that path across the headland, we could cut off hours. See how it bends round--"
"And runs close by that townland," said Morwen. "Great risk of being seen, and once seen, surely recognized. From all reports neither Imperial nor Fomori troops got so far south in any province. It would be only our own folk that we would encounter, and they would know us."
"And since what time, Taoiseach of Keltia, do we fear our own folk? Did we fear to ask help at the door of Tintock?"
"Aeron, be reasonable. We have no way of knowing if we keep the loyalty of the people. As for Tintock, that was a calculated risk, and, aye, I did indeed fear to ask, and if you had not been ill of the snow-sickness I would not have asked at all... Besides, did not Arianeira send us this way? She herself admitted that Keverango was garrisoned by Imperials--how if it is but a trap? That when we finally come to Keverango we walk straight into the arms of Jaun Akhera?"
"Ah. We don't know, do we... And I for one choose to believe Ari. So, we shall go by the coast road."
Morwen gave up. "As Your Majesty wishes."
"Yes--my majesty." Grinning, Aeron pulled her cloak around her and huddled herself down beside Morwen to sleep.
*
Gwydion was stretched out on the bed, gazing up at the constellations, when the guards at the doors of the room snapped to flustered attention.
Jaun Akhera entered unattended, and an air of extreme irritation--tempered by curiosity, for these were Aeron's private rooms, and he had not seen them before--came with him. Gwydion made no move to rise.
"Where is the Great Seal, Gwydion?" demanded Jaun Akhera with no prelude. "Aeron's finger was bare of it at the breaking of the Gate, and we have found no trace of it in the days since. If you know where she has concealed it, it would go best for you if you were to tell me."
"Nay, I can do better still. I shall show you." Gwydion rose lazily and headed toward the door that led out onto the turret walk, all under the dumbfounded stare of the Prince of Alphor. After a moment's nonplussed pause, Jaun Akhera nodded to the guards to let him by, and himself followed his hostage onto the battlements.
They had not far to go. Gwydion vanished up the curving stair that led to Aeron's chamber of magic, Jaun Akhera close behind him, and halted at the heavy bronze doors.
"The Seal is within," said Gwydion, and lifted the latch.
Jaun Akhera looked at him with sharp suspicion. Gwydion's manner was far too blandly casual, and mockery was plain in the gray eyes.
"As simple as that?"
Gwydion laughed. "You shall judge. Look."
He pushed the doors open, and Jaun Akhera peered past him into the round room beyond. The light from the lantern windows lay in thin jewel-colored strips across the slate floor, and there in the middle of the room, on the low bench between the tour torches, the huge emerald of the Great Seal of Keltia caught the light and blazed like a green beacon.
Jaun Akhera stared hungrily at the prismed sparks spilling from the heart of the stone, then drew a deep breath and made as if to step forward into the chamber. But Gwydion's arm was flung suddenly in front of him, barring the way, and on the Prince of Don's face was a look of honest warning.
"Even you, Jaun Akhera, I should not wish to step t
hrough that door. Think you Aeron left the Seal all unguarded?"
Jaun Akhera favored him with a long measuring stare, then snapped his fingers. A soldier of his guard was up the stair in seconds.
"Lord?"
"Fetch me out that ring," said Jaun Akhera, and he never took his gaze from Gwydion's face. But Gwydion was silent, though his eyes were clouded now, dark as iron, and as hard.
Without a moment's hesitation, the soldier stepped beneath the carved lintel. At once he went rigid, as if frozen, or suddenly caught in amber, immobilized, and on his face a look of stricken terror. He did not have to endure it long: There was a blue flash, and the two men watching closed their eyes. When they looked again, the doorway was empty. Jaun Akhera stared in disbelief, then turned slowly to Gwydion.
The Prince of Don's face reflected a sort of implacable compassion, not for Jaun Akhera, and not a trace of remorse.
"Aeron guards her possessions well," he said. "She did not wish to take the Great Seal away with her, yet she feared to leave it with anyone she held dear. So she brought it here before the City fell, and it has lain here ever since, and will lie so until her return."
"That soldier--"
"--might well have been you. He was the victim of an advanced form of restraint field--combined with certain ranns. Be assured he felt no pain... but his death is on your head nonetheless."
"But--how?"
For answer Gwydion stepped through the doorway himself, and Jaun Akhera gasped in involuntary horror. But the field did not catch upon him, the light did not blast him. He went over to the bench, picked up the ring and tossed it in the air. It flashed green fire as it tumbled over and over in its descent; then he caught it again in his fist and set it down gently once more, and came back through the door to Jaun Akhera's side.
"As you see," said Gwydion. "Did I not tell you you might wish to keep me unharmed a while yet? Not very like that I should ever give over the Seal into your hands, but without me you have no way in all the hells of coming at it, and I think you will not throw away even a chance of that. Aeron keyed that door to three people besides herself, and I am the only one of those three that you have, or are likely to have, to hand. Anyone else attempting to pass into the chamber will meet the same fate as that poor bodach of a guard. And if you think to try reaching the Seal without entering the room, I assure you the consequences will be more unpleasant still. Even to you, Prince of Alphor: Your magic cannot break Aeron's in her own place of magic, and mine will not serve your purposes."
The Copper Crown Page 40