Darkling Fields of Arvon

by James G Anderson

  To which the stars above attest.

  Doth not the faintest light shine best

  Amidst night's darkling veil?"

  Presently, Kal's fingers strayed to the flap of his night pouch. Again he removed the Pyx of Roncador and held it out before him, letting it dangle for a moment from the end of its chain, his eyes fixed on its steady glow. For some while, Kal considered the gentle tug of its pendulum swings. Then, on an impulse, he placed the chain over his head and around his neck and tucked the cool stone vessel against his chest, beneath his tunic. He stood gazing downstream into the heavy blackness of the night, lulled by the churning splash of river water against the bow. The Pyx's weight reminded him of the burden he bore, his burden as High Bard of Ahn Norvys, as Hordanu. How much of that burden had he now shunted onto the shoulders of Uferian and his house, he wondered. What weight of danger and woe had he brought down upon the old king and his daughter?

  Twenty-Eight

  Kal stared out into a steady grey drizzle from Uferian's apartments. It had started to rain the morning after they had arrived and had continued solidly for two days now. Under the scudding shreds of cloud, the vast paved courtyard below him stretched between long and ornately dressed grey-stone buildings flanking the Silver Palace. The grounds were expansive, to say the least, and Kal had never thought, even in his wildest imaginings that a place of such somber grandeur could exist in Arvon. Indeed, even the glories of Sterentref in Magan's underground domain paled in comparison to the ancient and stark beauty of the Silver Palace, with its filigree of manicured gardens woven in and around the seemingly endless succession of turreted, gargoyle-encrusted, and ivy-clad edifices, shadowed cloisters, and cobbled courtyards. At the centre of the complex of buildings, more than two hundred paces away to his right, at an angle across the court from the very window in which he stood thinking, rose the spire of the Palace itself, home to the high king and queen of Arvon from the years immediately following the reign of Ardiel himself, when the edifice had been first constructed.

  With the protection offered him by Uferian's livery and the Truce of Convocation invoked by Gawmage for the gathering of Arvon's thanes and earls in Dinas Antrum, Kal had spent much of the past three days exploring the palace grounds despite the weather. He returned more than once to the quay where the two river sloops lay berthed, moored among a small fleet of similar ships, each flying the colours of one of an assortment of Arvonian lords. There the Dinastor River edged the grounds, its brown waters curling along the base of a high cliff over which the Palace towered before crawling away downstream to Lake Lavengro. Devved had remained aboard the ships with the seaholdsmen who minded the vessels. His humour had not improved, and, though he greeted Kal civilly, he remained aloof and had not but once or twice ascended the long flight of steps from the moorage to view the royal estate.

  The wonder of the capital had been much diminished, however, by the single foray Kal had ventured into the streets of the city itself. The infinite labyrinth of squalid alleys that comprised Dinas Antrum made Woodglence seem like a quaint country village. It became quickly apparent to Kal that neither the Truce of Convocation nor the livery of the Oakapple Isles would afford him even a mote of protection outside of the palace grounds. The garb, in fact, served more to attract that seemingly large margin of the Dinasantrian population that sought easy prey for their malfeasance. Kal had returned to the Silver Palace bereft by a pickpocket of his purse and the small amount he had taken in it, and would have lost Rhodangalas and his hunting knife also had he not kept a firm hand on the hilt of each for the brief time he had walked the capital's streets. By dint of luck as much as good foresight, he had left the Pyx of Roncador in Gwyn's silent keeping, locked within the chambers allotted to Uferian and his retinue.

  On the whole, Kal realized, they were a broken people. Such was evident in their eyes, hollowed by hunger and hopelessness, a hopelessness bred of their own impoverishment and the rapacity of the merchants and guildsmen, all Mindal-minded, who, though they battened themselves upon the labours of their countrymen, barred the doors of their ears to the pleas of the same without concession and dared not step foot in the streets of their fellow citizens.

  He had first seen the brokenness of the people from a distance, when the ships had sailed through the river gates of the city three days ago. Weary faces appeared, like those of timid mice, lining the long banks inside the river wall to watch the two river sloops as they glided into Dinas Antrum between one of several immense pairs of wrought-iron portals that stood open in the city's ramparts. As they passed, the faces vanished, the people scurrying into the shadows of overhanging buildings, up narrow streets that dribbled filth into the already-fouled waters of the Dinastor. But faces that disappeared were replaced by other faces that peeked out for a moment at the ships and their passengers before fading back into the wretchedness. Deeper into the city they sailed, until the sea of decay broke against the stone-and-iron-grilled walls of mansions and town estates—somber, still, and lifeless—that themselves skirted and pressed against the Silver Palace.

  Bethsefra had been affected by it, too, silently withdrawing into her shipboard quarters, where she had stayed with her handmaid, preferring the familiarity of her austere cabin to the foreign opulence of Uferian's assigned lodgings in the Palace. Only once, on their first day and at her father's express bidding, did she venture to walk among the gardens of the Palace with Kal. But she had been ill at ease the while and, after no more than half an hour, had begged Kal's forgiveness and slipped back down the steps to the quay, the ship, and her cabin. Kal had not seen her since, even when he visited the ships' moorage, though his thoughts had turned to her more often than he cared to admit.

  At Uferian's command, the ships lay ready at berth, prepared to set sail on a moment's notice should the need arise. Uferian was a man to be prepared, and he had confided to Kal more than once that he harboured grave misgivings about the gathering, despite the tone of merry celebration that was being set for the event by the endless string of lavish banquets, entertainments, and festivities that were already well underway. Even upon their arrival at the Silver Palace, he had pressed Kal to take one of the ships and two of his men as her crew. He had urged Kal to take the vessel and, under the colours of the Oakapple Isles and the pretense of making a short sailing jaunt on Lake Lavengro, leave Dinas Antrum with his companions and make for Gorfalster. Kal had thanked Uferian for his generous offer and had been sorely tempted to take him up on it, indeed would have, had it not been for the burden of responsibility he felt for Devved's actions and the consequences that they might bring upon Uferian's house. In the face of Uferian's protests, Kal had decided to remain with him until the matter was resolved for better or for worse; then, Kal said, he and his companions might avail themselves of the king's kindness.

  Indeed, rumours had begun to swirl around the halls of the Silver Palace as the retinues and courtiers of the various Arvonian lords met and mingled. There were many travellers who had passed through Woodglence in the wake of their confrontation with Lysak, and stories abounded, as witnesses, often of dubious credibility, offered the latest variant account of the crimes committed against the young Melderenysian lord and his house. Uferian had taken to remaining in his rooms at all times, other than to present himself at the offices of the Proconsul of Arvon, a man reputed to have the ear of Ferabek, in order to gain an audience to plead in his own defense against the accusations, rumoured or otherwise, that had been brought against him. For two days now, his attempts to speak with the proconsul had been unsuccessful, thwarted, as he was jockeyed from one underling to the next. In the meantime, more and more nobles arrived at the Silver Palace, rumours grew more swollen, and the ships remained in a state of constant, though unobtrusive, readiness.

  Uferian, it became obvious, was much mollified by Kal's presence and had taken to keeping his company and seeking his counsel as the days of the Convocation approached. He was a good man, Kal discovered, a quiet man of keen
mind and resolute will who had a mien of gentle if unbending authority and who enjoyed the complete loyalty and allegiance of his men. As the days passed, Kal, too, had grown fondly respectful of the man.

  Across the broad courtyard, Kal watched three men clad in black step out of the adjacent building and stride towards him, their black cloaks billowing behind them as they hurried over the wet cobbles. They looked like a storm-tossed ravens, Uferian leading the way, his silver head bared, the attendants in his wake pulling their hoods against the cold rain. The king's face was set and his gait purposeful. There was news, Kal thought to himself as he stepped away from the window and closed it on the dampness outside.

  A few minutes passed before Uferian and his men entered the chambers, shaking the rain from their cloaks and handing them to a footman.

  "Kalaquinn?" Uferian called, then spotted the Hordanu standing by the hearth, where a small fire burned brightly in the grate. "Ah, there you are. We have won a hearing before the proconsul." Uferian approached the fireplace and stood rubbing his hands together. "There is an uncommon chill in the air. I am of a mind that it bodes no good. And it's not just the air that's chill. No." He chuckled without humour.

  "Aye, my lord. You've heard the old malediction—'May you live in interesting times'?"

  "Hmm, would that our visit to Dinas Antrum be filled with boredom." Uferian smiled ruefully. "But, sadly, such is not our lot."

  "But you have gained an audience?"

  "Yes, indeed, before the Proconsul of Arvon, on the morrow."

  "Do you know what kind of man he is?"

  "No, no, I do not. But he is Ferabek's man, so I'll not hold out much hope for mercy. I dare trust, though, that justice will be given its due."

  "But he is Arvonian himself, is he not, the proconsul?"

  "Aye, and recently elevated to the post by Ferabek for the occasion of the gathering. So much I've heard, but no more. Handpicked from the Mindal, no doubt, for his rare and notable virtues—avarice, connivance, treachery, self-interest, murderousness . . ."

  "Well, you shall know him soon enough—"

  "Me? No, I say, rather, we shall know him soon enough. I would sooner have you attend me at this hearing than any other, Kalaquinn. You will come with me? I will rely on your prudent judgment and counsel."

  "I am bound by duty and honour to attend you in this and would do so even if I were not." Kal fell silent for a moment and walked slowly to the window again. He looked down on the courtyard outside, then gazed to where the Dinastor lay hidden behind the buildings of the Silver Palace.

  "I think it wise to have the ships ready, as you have done, my lord," Kal said. "But I will have to make more preparations myself before tomorrow. At what hour do you stand before the proconsul?"

  "Not 'til after midday, although, if experience speaks, I doubt we'll see anything of him much before supper. His offices seem to keep their own time."

  "Good. Then, my lord Uferian, by your gracious leave, I'll accept the ship you have offered and the men to crew her, and now I shall excuse myself to attend to my own needs in preparation for tomorrow. I doubt that I will linger in Dinas Antrum any longer than to learn what judgment is made against the accusations you face. Now, I must speak with my companions."

  "You have my leave, Kalaquinn, and my ship, both with my goodwill."

  * * *

  Morning found Kal on the deck of one of the river sloops. It had stopped raining during the night, and dawn had broken gently, a silver light seeping through the thick overcast that yet obscured the sky. His fellow Holdsmen had removed themselves from Uferian's rooms the night before and settled into the cabins of the ship. They worked now with him, as did the two crewmen promised by Uferian, ensuring that the vessel was adequately provisioned and ready to set sail downstream the moment he returned from the offices of the proconsul.

  The two seaholdsmen obeyed Kal's every direction as they would orders given by Uferian himself. They had doffed the habit of Uferian's court in favour of the sailor's loose blouse and trousers and padded barefoot and cheerful over the wet planks of the deck, seemingly impervious to the dank chill of dawn on the Dinastor that gnawed at Kal. The black leather jerkins, the leggings, and the cloaks of the Isles' livery lay ready to hand, however, a suit for each man on board, and would be put on just prior to their sailing from Dinas Antrum—they were, after all, sailing as a visiting party of the Convocation with the desire to witness, firsthand, the splendour of a sunset on the shining waters of Lake Lavengro. It was a sight worth seeing, or so they had been told, and so they would tell any of the Mindal's river patrols should they be challenged in their flight from the city.

  For now, only Kal wore the black garments, Rhodangalas slung at his hip, the silver swan on his chest glistening feebly in the wan morning light. His own clothes were stowed below deck with the Holdsmen's weapons and the Pyx of Roncador. Kal had taken Gwyn aside, holding the Pyx in its leather case fashioned by the hammerfolk of Nua Cearta. He impressed upon Gwyn its importance and swore the mute Holdsman to guard it as he would his own life. Were they to lose the Pyx, he had said . . . Well, it was beyond thinking. Their mission and purpose would be forfeit, as would be all hope for Ahn Norvys.

  Kal left Gwyn to weigh the burden of responsibility that had been placed upon his shoulders and slipped away from his river sloop and onto its sister ship. On its deck, he met briefly with Bethsefra. He told her of his intentions to leave Dinas Antrum after her father's audience with the proconsul, averring that the accusations against him would most certainly be dismissed. Despite his assurances, she appeared withdrawn, troubled, as if intuiting that danger lurked on the fringes of the not-too-distant future. Kal sensed her foreboding and attempted to assuage her fears, but she said little, and soon they had fallen into an uneasy silence. They stood leaning on the rail for a long while, looking out at the other ships moored in the palace harbour and the wide expanse of the Dinastor behind them.

  Bethsefra relieved the tension, placing her hand on his. As he looked at her, her gaze drifted from their hands on the rail to his face. She held him in her green eyes, unblinking and expressionless, wisps of sable hair straying across her brow, teased in the river breeze. Then she leaned forward and, lifting her face, pressed her lips to his cheek.

  "Go now," she whispered into his ear after a long moment, then lowered her eyes. "My father needs you again." She stepped away from him. He bowed his head stiffly, turned, and left.

  It was late morning by the time Kal walked up the stairs from the quay. A breeze had risen, breaking the overcast and permitting the sun to shine intermittently through rent clouds with a cold and stark light that belied the fact that it was turning summer. He looked down on the small fleet in the harbour. There, Bethsefra stood at the rail of her ship, looking up at him. Kal raised his hand, and she, he saw, smiled and half lifted hers, then slipped away into her cabin. There was a finality about the leave-taking that Kal felt like a cold weight in the pit of his stomach. Her scent lingered with him, as did the warmth of her face on his cheek. He wondered if he would ever see the princess again and was surprised by a tightness in his throat at the thought. He turned quickly and climbed the remaining stairs two at time.

  He crossed the palace grounds at a stride, politely nodding to any he met as he wended his way to the central courtyard and Uferian's lodgings. Outside the chambers, he caught the attention of a footman and bade him bring hot water, food, and ale to the privacy of his room. In short order, Kal was fed, bathed and clean-shaven, and once more dressed in Uferian's livery. He sought out the king in his chamber and found the man pacing the room, attended by two liveried retainers. The two seaholdsmen flitted about the margins of the room like black wrens, tending to meaningless tasks obviously meant to accomplish nothing more than to keep them from drawing upon themselves their lord's ire in his disquieted state.

  "Ah, Kalaquinn, there you are," Uferian said, crossing the room to seize Kal's forearm in one hand and his shoulder in the other. "I thoug
ht perhaps you had—"

  "Forgotten? Left already? No, my lord Uferian, I am ever at your service." Kal smiled in an attempt to calm the man.

  "Yes. Yes, of course." The king forced a smile as well. "And I at yours. Come, the hour is upon us." Uferian released his grip on Kal. "Let us see what kind of a man the Proconsul of Arvon is."

  The four men left the residences and made their way across the courtyard. Dark wet patches mottled the cobblestones, now awash in sunlight beneath a blue sky. Kal looked up and hoped that their plight might enjoy the same turn of fortune that the weather had—dismal prospects turning sunny.

  They entered the offices of the proconsul and were met by a secretary who greeted them perfunctorily. The man ushered them through double doors into a large, high-ceilinged room hung around with ornate tapestries and furnished with upholstered couches and chairs, along with a broad table of gleaming wood. The secretary stood between the doors, a hand on each, bowed his head slightly and exited, pulling the doors closed.

  On the table stood a pewter flagon and several small goblets. Kal lifted the flagon, sniffed its contents, and, satisfied with what he discovered, filled two cups. He handed one to Uferian and said, raising the other, "And so, we wait."

  But the wait was not overlong. Within a half an hour, the secretary had returned.

  "His Excellency, the honourable Proconsul of the Gharssûlian Vassalage of Arvon, will see you now." He half bowed; then, eyeing Rhodangalas at Kal's side and the dagger hanging from Uferian's belt, he said, "Your weapons, sires, you may leave with me."

  Reluctantly, Kal unbuckled the belt from his waist and handed both his sword and his knife to the secretary. Likewise, Uferian and his men surrendered their weapons to the secretary, who, at a word, summoned a hitherto unseen lackey to his side. He burdened the man with the pile of weapons and dismissed him.

  "If you would follow me," the secretary said, lowering his eyes. He led the way out of the room, along a wide hallway, past a pair of pikemen standing on either side of a massive set of doors, and directed the group into another great chamber. The pikemen wheeled in behind Uferian's party as they entered. The guards stationed themselves at the men's backs, in front of the doors, which were closed with a low thud as the secretary left. On either side of the group, a second and a third pair of guards took two firm paces forward from the walls of the room and stood, stiff and without expression, staring straight ahead. Kal glanced at Uferian, his concern reflected in the king's own look.