Several months had passed since he won the fencing match. He had tried to make peace with his brother. Craya either gave a terse rejection, explaining he had other things to do, or ignored Ryckair completely.
There were times when his mind was too full of questions and he needed to be free of the palace. This was not easy. Whenever he or Craya went out, a heavy guard made it impossible to wander. The solution came with a discovery in a book.
There were secret entrances that led to hidden chambers and corridors, like a place within the palace that were built between the inner and outer walls. Besides Ryckair, only the Kyar were aware of these hidden places and they rarely went there.
It was a warm, summer day. Ryckair found it impossible to concentrate. The next morning would bring the day of fealty, a ceremony that occurred every two years in which each baron and baroness traveled to Meth to swear allegiance to the Crown. It was a time of feasting, trade talks and political maneuvering. Each baron brought a small force of militia and many retainers, most of whom were spies. He would be confined to the palace for a week.
The entire affair was incredibly dull. The following fealty in two years’ time would be more interesting. Baron Dek would bring his daughter, Mirjel. Ryckair had no interest in who she was or what she looked like. He was convinced that she would be his brother’s bride and he could return to the vaults.
He got up and quietly left his study cell. The wizards’ crystal spheres lit the hallway. With an oil lamp in hand, he walked to the globe across from his door and twisted the bracket. A crack silently appeared in the stone as a section of wall opened. He walked through and the wall closed behind him.
Directly ahead, a stone staircase descended into darkness. He lit the lamp and walked down. At the bottom, he came to an immense hall. The light from his lamp only hinted at a ceiling overhead. The far side of the hall was pitch dark. A hearth large enough to roast five pigs on a skewer was built into one wall. Air blew in from unseen passageways.
Another corridor led to more stairs. As he descended the finely finished rock walls gave way to roughhewn stone. At times, he emerged into large caverns with stalactites hanging precariously from the roof. Twice, he crossed rock bridges spanning deep crevices. From time to time, he caught the fleeting glimpse of a shadow or felt a chill run across his body. He knew these to be lesser spirits vanquished by the wizards. They moved formlessly about corridors that demons once ruled.
He reached a cave with a sandy floor. Daylight shone through an entrance. He stepped out onto a narrow beach that sloped into the Bay of Hasp. Towering overhead was the rock pinnacle upon which the palace stood.
He retrieved a small boat that was secreted just inside the cave. It was made of tarred animal hides stretched over a wooden frame. Light and stable it was a favorite of fishermen.
Ryckair folded his clothes and placed the silver circlet atop them. Then, he changed into tan breeches, a brown jerkin and a leather coat. After rubbing soot on his face, he fitted a black wig over his head and rowed the boat out into the Bay of Hasp.
It was impossible to scale the rock pinnacle and guards were never posted on that side of the palace. Once on the water, he appeared to be another fisherman on the bay.
He rowed to a cottage just north of Meth belonging to a pensioned solder whose life King Haram had saved before the twins were born. The man stabled a horse for the prince. As always, Ryckair gave him two gold coins for his service.
Ryckair saddled his horse and rode north on the main road. It was a warm day. The air felt clean and fresh. He came to a fork just outside of Meth. North, the road wound up another league to the high plain that stood before the palace and the slender bridge that connected it to the mainland. West, it led to the Valley of Remembrance where Carandir leaders had been laid to rest since the time of Avar. Beyond the valley stood the Dragons’ Mound, a set of cave-filled hills on which no bush or tree grew. The wind blew cold and biting there, even in the summer. It was reputed to be the hiding place of bandits and outcasts. Past that, the road twisted over the Luser Mountains and so came to the Wild Lands. It was reputed that the road led to the ocean where the Great River emptied, but that path was now lost.
Ryckair took the West road for a short distance until he came to an overgrown path that was barely discernable. He rode his horse through the brush. A few steps in, a trail opened that meandered up a low hill and down the other side. At the bottom was a tree-lined lake that was one of Ryckair’s favorite places. He removed the wig and stuffed it into his saddle bag.
A loud rustling came from the brush above as a horse bounded over the ridge. Ryckair pulled his mount back and watched as a horse and rider barreled down the trail. The intruder wore a green cloak and hood, even though it was a warm day. The prince cursed under his breath.
The rider reined in the other horse. “How dare you block the trail that way, you fool. We might have both been killed. Who do you think you are?”
Beneath the hood was the face of a young woman with auburn hair and hazel eyes. Small specks of green highlighted their color.
Ryckair sat tall in his saddle and tried to look stern. “Who am I?” He paused for a moment, not wanting his true identity known. “I am the royal forester for these woods and you are trespassing.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Are you saying I’m a liar?”
“Yes. Foresters have to study as apprentices for more years than you’ve seen.”
“Well, I’m his assistant and I act in his name.”
Ryckair heard more rustling. A raspy voice said, “She has to be here someplace. Keep looking.” Another voice said. “Sir, hoof marks.”
The young woman looked up the trail. Ryckair dropped his bluster. “Are you being hunted?”
She spun around. “I can take care of myself.”
Ryckair turned his horse. “Then do so.”
“Wait.” She looked up the hill again. “If you truly do know this forest take me away from them.”
For a moment, Ryckair considered riding off and leaving this spiteful young woman to fend for herself. “Oh, very well. Follow me. Silently.” He expected a rebuke. None came.
The sounds of the men faded away into the distance. Ryckair traveled through hidden paths and over hard ground and rock to mask their passage. He led her to a clearing where a stream flowed beneath shade trees. Grass grew in the sunlight and they dismounted to let their horses graze. They walked at the edge of the water, each looking at the ground, her hands clasped together in front of her, his straight at his sides.
She scuffed the grass with her feet. “I’m sorry I was so rude. Please forgive me. You are an excellent forester to have escaped those men.”
Ryckair picked up a rock and tossed it into the stream. “Well, actually I’m not a forester at all. I just like to ride through the woods.” He rubbed his right arm slightly against his leg. “May I ask your name?”
“It is better you do not. I left my father’s entourage to ride through the woods. It may be my last chance to ride alone. The guards can do little more than bring me back. No punishment can be worse than what awaits me.” She looked at Ryckair. “But, if they thought you aided me you might be imprisoned. I cannot bear the thought of that.”
He suppressed a laugh at the thought of any merchant guard reprimanding a prince, still, he saw tenderness in her eyes that made him believe she truly cared about what might happen to him.
She unfastened her cloak and let it fall to the ground. Beneath, she wore riding breaches of leather and a bodice with finely stitched embroidery.
They stood in silence. Ryckair searched for something to say. “Is this your first time in Meth?” He immediately told himself how stupid he was to ask such a trite question.
To his surprise, she smiled. “This is my first big trip anywhere. The city is huge. I never imagined it was like that with all the different people and foods. I had only read about such things.”
She looked to the ground. “That�
�s a pretty flower.”
“Do you like it? It’s called nerres. If you boil the petals in water you can make a salve that will take the sting out of any insect bite.”
“That’s amazing.”
He hesitated for a moment. “Do you have a book?”
The puzzled expression on her face made Ryckair fear he had said the wrong thing. She went to her saddle bags and brought back a book of poems. Ryckair plucked a nerres and gently placed it between the two pages. “Now I will press the flower and it will remain with you always.”
She smiled “That will be lovely, oh noble knight.”
He bowed low. “The service is its own reward, my lady.”
They both laughed. Ryckair looked down at the book and recited.
The beauty of her haunting eyes,
Outshines the sun of summer day,
Then on my chest her head she lies,
And smiles in her special way;
Her features softened as she took the book back. “You have a fine voice, though I must confess I don’t remember that poem. It will now be one of my favorites.”
Ryckair felt himself blush. “It’s not from your book. I composed it.”
The silence came again. Yet, in that hush he felt closer to this nameless woman than anyone he had ever known. He reached over for her hand. She pulled back and looked away, her arm trembling slightly. Slowly, she stretched her hand out to meet his. They sat down under an oak, hand in hand, staring into each other’s eyes.
A splash sounded from the stream. Ryckair jumped up and drew a dirk from his boot. The thin blade gleamed in the sunlight as he scanned the water for signs of the men they had escaped from earlier. Another splash came. He turned. A large frog sat sunning itself on a rock. At Ryckair’s attention it dove back into the stream and made a third splash.
He turned back to the tree to find the young woman in a fighting stance with a short sword grasped expertly in her hand. Ryckair saw that the scabbard for the blade was sewn into the lining of her cloak. He sheathed his dirk and laughed. “No defender do you need, madam. I think perhaps I should solicit you to protect my poor skin.”
She relaxed her stance and returned the sword to its scabbard. “Oh, brave warrior, against a horde of toads no greater rescuer could I have.” They both laughed. She curtsied formally. “And now, My Lord, what reward would you claim for your valor?”
A flush now spread across Ryckair’s body. In his mind he thought, to be with you, but forced a smile and said, “What will you offer, My Lady?”
She thought for a moment, then unlaced a blanket behind her saddle. Underneath was a sixteen-string harp as was common amongst troubadours. "I have a larger harp at home, but this travels better."
She sat on a rock and strummed a soothing melody. Ryckair settled against the tree trunk and listened. He loved the harp and often wished he had learned to play. The sound was dreamlike, sweet and soft, and this woman played as though she were born for it.
She strummed through old melodies he remembered from childhood and tunes just presented in court that year.
A familiar melody came, one he had heard many times. She hummed as she played. Then she sang in a voice that was clear and sweet.
A hunt was planned,
For king and prince,
To shoot for bird and venison,
So bows were strung,
And quivers stocked,
Then chancellors, prince and king rode forth;
Into the woods,
And through the fields,
The merry hunt proceeded well,
But faithlessness,
And secret plan,
Were in the chancellors’ heart that day;
It was a very old lay, set in the bardic meter of six stanzas, four of four beats and two of eight. It told the story of rebellion in which a king was murdered and a prince escaped assassination. He ran through the woods and came upon a magical spirit in female form called the Chyning who slept in the forest until called for by the true and rightful king. At his approach, the Chyning awoke and offered to use her magical for whatever aid he requested. One wish was forbidden. He could not ask for the Chyning’s love for she would lose her magic and become mortal.
The Chyning helped the prince to drive out the chancellors who has betrayed his father. Most were killed. The battle won, the Chyning left to sleep in the woods again. The king longed for her and forgot his kingdom. The remaining chancellors overthrew him and the king fled into the woods in search of the Chyning. He found her and when she looked into his eyes she fell in love and lost her magic. The chancellors found them and slew them both.
Ryckair stood and took a half step forward. She laid the harp aside and looked up into his eyes with an unreadable expression. He leaned down and placed his lips against hers. He had never kissed anyone before and was both thrilled and terrified. She threw her arms around his neck, passionately returning the kiss. Lost in excitement, Ryckair had no thought beyond the instant. He felt her warmth against him, took in her unique scent, heard her urgent breath. All the while, she held him tightly.
Then, she pushed him away and stepped back. Her body shook as she broke into sobs.
Ryckair said, “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
Her voice was again an angry fence. “Did you ever consider that I may have had a life before I met you? Leave me alone. I don’t need you to save me. I don’t need anyone.”
Ryckair stumbled back toward his horse.
She ran after him. “No, please, don’t go.” Tears were in her eyes. “In the name of Ilidel, don’t leave me.” She bowed her head. “I wanted you to kiss me and I wanted to keep kissing you forever. I cannot. My fate is sealed and we shall never see each other again.”
Ryckair opened his mouth to speak. She placed her fingers over his lips. “I know what you will say and I can’t bear to hear the words.” She lowered her head. “Say instead that you hate me for my rudeness.”
He caressed her hair. “Rather I would cut out my own tongue than to speak such a lie.”
They held each other tightly. At last, he helped her secure the harp to her saddle. She mounted her horse and reached down to gently brush his cheek. Without a word, she spurred her horse away.
Ryckair stood silently as she vanished down the trail. All the while, he felt the echo of her touch.
CHAPTER FIVE
Ryckair thought of nothing but the woman in the woods as he rode back to the palace. He returned to his study cell but could not concentrate. The only cheer he found was the thought of seeing Baron Dek at fealty day on the morrow. Dek always brought wondrous stories of the lands he visited in his travels. Ryckair delighted in the tales of foreign customs and sights.
He entered the audience hall from the rear corridor. Craya already sat in the right hand throne. He wore the uniform of a Carandir officer. Like Ryckair, a simple circlet of silver adorned his head.
Trumpets sounded. The high double doors at the west end of the hall swung open and the barons and baronesses of Carandir marched in. One by one, from the eldest houses to the newest, the barons of the realm knelt before the thrones and pledged everlasting allegiance to the Crown in the formal language of court. This was a carefully preserved dialect originally spoken by Avar that was rarely heard beyond its use in official ceremonies. Though it closely resembled the language spoken in the streets and countryside, it required concentrated listening for those not schooled in its subtleties.
Baron Dek and Baroness Jea were the last to step forward. With them came a young woman whose face was hidden beneath a drawn hood. They knelt before the thrones. Dek and Jea recited together. “To thy house and thy heirs, Rascalla, pledges loyalty and fealty for this and all time.” Dek said, “Your Highnesses. Many years have passed since the tragic death of thy parents. On that mournful day thy father did proclaim that the next king would take mine eldest daughter, Mirjel, as his queen. It was planned that she would travel here next fealty day to be presented and begin courtship.
Attacks on caravans have increased. In consultation with mine wife, Baroness Jea, it has been deemed prudent for Mirjel to travel this year with me lest the attacks become worse. Therefore, I bring mine daughter to reside in court, that she may come to know each of thee in preparation to wed the one who passes the test of the key. Your royal Highnesses, my daughter, Mirjel.”
The young woman said, “I, Mirjel, daughter of Dek and Jea, pledge loyalty and fealty to the Crown.”
Ryckair recognized the voice. His heart beat rapidly as Mirjel raised her face to reveal that she was the woman he had just met in the woods the day before. Mirjel’s mouth opened as she stared up at him. Baron Dek bowed and turned toward his box. Mirjel hesitated for a moment before following.
Craya watched them go and noted the look on his brother’s face. The baron’s daughter was striking. Yet, he had known many beautiful women in Carandir. Mirjel, however, possessed something more. There was a subtle quality to her stance and a set of her jaw that hinted at deeper thought.
Still, he had never concerned himself with the thoughts of any women beyond her ability to amuse him. What he found fascinated about Mirjel was the effect she provoked in Ryckair. As Craya studied his brother he knew that Ryckair craved this woman and would do anything to have her. Here was his revenge, no matter who became king.
Mirjel took up residence in the palace. The twins were assigned strictly enforced schedules for courting. Ryckair tried to concentrate on his studies, but his thoughts would wander to their next meeting. When Craya was with her he hid in his study cell and paced the floor.
They were only allowed to touch while dancing at a ball. Each brother was permitted one dance. The dance always ended too soon and a chaperone escorted Mirjel away. This was usually her Aunt, Lady Zedo.
Between balls and official receptions, the twins were allowed to see Mirjel three times a week for a span each time. These meetings were always chaperoned. When the weather was pleasant, they met in the gardens.
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