straighter as became a prince of Gerfal, even a captive one.
The wagons stopped. Orboyd got down and stood bareheaded before the gates, evidently waiting for a sign before continuing into the town. Then the riders began to thump their spears on their shields in a steady beat. A single horseman on a magnificent blue roan stallion trotted down the steep road from the citadel. He was in no hurry, raising a hand to the people hanging out of the windows to watch, then resettling his gold-trimmed purple cloak over his shining mail shirt. There was no haste for Fergox Spearthrower because he knew the world would wait for him.
Orboyd knelt in the dirt of the highway, as did all the circus folk. Only Ramil was left standing. Fergox reined in his horse ten paces from the wagons and dismounted. He had a sturdy frame, short grizzled grey hair, and a fighter's face: crooked nose and hard blue eyes. He was clean shaven, needing no beard with scarlet threads, for everyone knew how many men he had killed over the years.
"Report, Orboyd. I understand you were successful." Fergox's voice was harsh but penetrating. Even the soldiers at the back of the guard of honor could hear every word.
"Yes, master. Your spies were able to tell me exactly
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when and where to find them and Gerfalian security was weak."
Fergox smiled, a chilling expression from him. "They have become complacent, thinking that no one dare strike at the heart of their kingdom.
They will not be so lax again. You've done well." He offered Orboyd his hand to kiss. "The spymaster will pay you double for your service to the Empire. But first you must present me to our guests."
Orboyd bowed himself backwards from Fergox to reach Ramil. He untied the Prince and led him forwards. Ramil did not resist, preferring to walk with dignity to being dragged before his enemy.
Fergox shook his head and tutted. "What's this, Orboyd? Why is Prince Ramil ac Burinholt tethered like a bullock to your wagon? That is no way to treat royal blood."
"But, your lordship, he tried to escape--"
"I expected no less of a prince." Fergox regarded Ramil with approval. "Still, perhaps it was as well to punish the cub."
Ramil clenched his fists. A prince of Gerfal, a cub? Fergox spoke as if the ac Burinholts were already under his dominion.
Fergox gave Ramil a curt nod in greeting. "Prince Ramil, I have ordered suitable quarters to be made ready for your accommodation. We have much to talk about but doubtless you would first like to rest yourself after your journey."
Ramil had to speak. "No, I first demand to be
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released. There is no war declared between Gerfal and Holt. Bringing me here as a prisoner--abducting me in my own lands--these are scandalous acts, unworthy of a noble. I demand--"
"Tush, tush!" Fergox waved Ramil away as if he were a bothersome child having a tantrum. "We are beyond all that now, surely you realize that, Prince Ramil? Seizing you was my declaration of war. There will be time enough to discuss all this later." He turned away from Ramil, dismissing him.
"But what of the Princess? Where is she? You did bring her, didn't you, Orboyd?"
The circus man tugged at his collar. "I did, sir, but she hurt herself when trying to escape."
"He lies," Ramil said angrily. "He beat her senseless."
Fergox's face darkened.
"That's not it at all," Orboyd protested, rushing to excuse himself. "The boy didn't see anything. You know, sir, what these Blue Crescent infidels are like, so cunning, so wicked. The witch used her spells to slip away and . . .
and fell out of a tree."
"Where is she?" snapped Fergox.
"In the wagon over there," Orboyd said quickly. "She's received the best nursing from us despite her evil ways and is nearly fully recovered."
In an ill-humor now, Fergox slapped his gloves into his hand and strode over to the fortune-teller's wagon. He leapt up the step at the rear and threw the canvas aside. Light streamed into the darkness, striking a mass of golden hair spread out on a shabby sheepskin.
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Tashi woke abruptly to see a dark figure of a man silhouetted in the entry.
She raised herself on an elbow, trying to make out who it was.
"Gordoc?" she asked hoarsely. It had been hours since anyone had given her water.
The man kicked the furs aside and knelt beside her. It wasn't Gordoc, or anyone from the circus. He was a complete stranger, but he was looking at her with intense blue eyes. Then he reached out, touched her hand and raised it to his lips.
"My little Tashi," he said, letting her hand fall gently back onto the covers.
Tashi's heart gave a wild skip of joy. He knew her true name. "Have you come to save me, sir?"
He nodded. "Yes, I've come to save you. This whole journey has been merely a step on the path to your salvation."
Tashi lay back on her bed, feeling at peace for the first time in months. "The Mother sent you. She hasn't abandoned me," she whispered.
The man shook his head. "No, not the Mother. She is a blasphemy; she does not exist, just a fair mask put on by evil powers. You are deluded and misguided but soon all that will be behind you."
"No," gasped Tashi, hugging the covers to her chest. "That's not true!"
She flinched as he ran a finger down her cheek, his expression hungry. He must have been a demon sent to tempt her to despair. Her fever could not yet have broken; this was a horrible dream.
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"Rest, Princess, there is much you must do for me. I need you well and looking your best." He nodded, pleased with what he saw. "My Tashi. My agents chose well for me when they had you elected."
He jumped back out of the wagon, letting the canvas fall back into place.
Tashi touched her cheek, the skin still burning where he had caressed her.
How did he know her name? What did he mean when he said that his
agents had chosen her? She was chosen by the Goddess, by the priests of Kai, not by a man from the East with a cruel mouth.
The wagon trundled up the cobbled streets. Tashi could hear the jingle of bridles, hooves, and people shouting in the streets.
"Come see the Prince!" they called.
She closed her eyes. So Ramil had not even managed to get away. Could the boy not do anything right?
"Orboyd's caught a witch too!" someone shouted.
The cry was taken up and passed from house to house. "A prince and a witch! A prince and a witch!"
Tashi lay quietly on her bed, thankful that she was hidden away. She couldn't understand how these people confused her beliefs with witchcraft.
Where she came from, witches were said to dabble in dark powers, exerting their will over others to harm them. But she had touched no one, barely spoken, tried to be as self-effacing as possible and yet still they said these terrible things about her. What had she done to deserve it? The wagon drew to a halt and the canvas side was lifted.
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She sat up to find Orboyd standing over her. It was the first time she had seen him since he had struck her and she could not repress a shiver of fear.
"We're here," he said curtly. "Gordoc, carry her inside."
Her one-time protector made the wagon creak as he clambered aboard. He knelt beside her, reached to touch her hair but stopped himself.
"I'm sorry, little one, I broke my word. I didn't stop them hurting you," he said sadly. "But come now, here we part. Let me carry you inside. You'll be well looked after from now on."
Tashi caught a glimpse of Ramil being led into an archway in the castle courtyard as she was taken through a doorway on the opposite side. Gordoc followed an old maid up the spiral staircase to a room at the top. The woman unlocked the door and ushered them into a comfortable bedchamber, a copper bath already full of water in front of a fire. The hangings were rich but, to Tashi's Blue Crescent eyes, too loud and busy, depicting the confusion of the hunt and war. They clamored from the wall like a fanfare of trumpets, not the subtle whisper of the silks han
ging in her chambers back in Rama.
Gordoc placed her in an armchair.
"Farewell, Princess," he said with a bow.
"Thank you, Gordoc. You've been . . . been kind," Tashi said, sorry to see him go. When he was around, she had always been sure of having someone to speak up for her, even if he couldn't protect her.
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Gordoc bowed again and shuffled out, leaving her alone with the maid. The woman was watching her nervously.
Tashi sighed. "What's your name?" she asked, used to the hostile stares of these Easterners.
"Mergot," the woman said, adding no "my lady" or "your highness." Tashi let it pass.
"And who is your master, Mergot?"
"Lord Gunston, but that weren't him you saw earlier." Mergot began to unbutton the back of Tashi's filthy white shift without so much as a "by your leave."
Tashi resigned herself to this treatment. Clearly she was expected to bathe and hopefully change into some fresh clothes. She felt weak but had no objection to the plan, so she allowed Mergot to continue.
"So who did I speak to earlier?" She had thought him a demon conjured up by her illness, but it appeared he was flesh and blood, which was far more terrifying. Shakily, Tashi took Mergot's arm and stepped into the bath.
"Only Lord Fergox Spearthrower himself, him that's going to save you."
Mergot's voice was proud.
Tashi had been preparing herself for bad news, but this was far worse than she had feared. The Emperor himself! What price would he demand from her people for her return? "But I don't need saving by him--I need rescuing from him."
Mergot laughed as if Tashi had just cracked a joke. "He said you'd be confused. He told me you weren't really evil, not like the other three witches.
That's why
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I offered to look after you when none others wanted to. They said you'd curse them, but you won't spell an old woman like me, will you?"
"I know no spells," Tashi replied quietly.
The maid clucked sceptically and poured a basin of hot water over Tashi's hair. With rough fingers, she washed away the dirt of the journey. The bathwater was filthy by the time she had finished.
"There now," Mergot said, wrapping her in a towel and drying her like an infant. "You're to rest tonight. Our lord will see you tomorrow, he said, if you're strong enough."
Too exhausted to argue, Tashi nodded, pulled on the clean nightgown and climbed into the bed. Mergot bustled round the room for a few more minutes, then left, carrying off Tashi's dirty clothes in a bundle. The sheets smelt sweet; the bed was warm. Tashi heard the key turn in the lock, then fell asleep.
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Chapter 6
Ramil had also bathed and changed but, unlike Tashi, he was expected to dine with Fergox that evening. An armed guard escorted him down the dark, cramped corridors of the old castle keep to Fergox's private chambers: no one here was taking any chances that he might escape again. Ramil found the ruler of most of the known world reading by the fire, the leather-bound book looking oddly small in his strong fists. Fergox threw it aside on his approach.
"Are you a scholar, Prince Ramil?" he asked, waving Ramil to a chair opposite him.
A servant carried in a small table and began to set it for supper.
"I can read, sir," replied Ramil, "if that's what you mean."
Fergox smiled and tapped the cover of his book. "A soldier's answer. The ac Burinholts never prized learning. Your scholars are much undervalued. That will change."
Ramil swallowed his bitter retort. Fergox was already reordering the kingdom he had not yet conquered.
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"You are probably wondering what I have got planned for you," Fergox said in a friendly fashion, pouring two glasses of red wine. He sounded like a benefactor planning the career of a favorite ward.
"It had crossed my mind, yes," Ramil answered sardonically.
"Ha!" Fergox raised a glass to him. "I like you. Plenty of spirit. I always rather admired the Burinholt dynasty."
"You have a strange way of showing your admiration: kidnapping me, locking me up with a tiger, dragging me all the way from the border."
Fergox raised an eyebrow in interest. "My man locked you up with a tiger, did he? What, you and my little Tashi?"
"Who?"
"The Princess Taoshira."
Ramil nodded, wondering at the familiarity of tone.
"That was very imaginative of him. I suppose there was no other way of smuggling you across the border. Orboyd is really one of my most useful spies."
The servants entered with the dinner. Produce from all over Spearthrower's empire had made its way to his table. Ramil did not recognize some of the dishes but had no desire to display his ignorance so ate everything without question.
"But back to the subject of your future," Fergox said, pouring some more wine. "I am in your debt, Prince. It was a lucky turn of fortune when your father and the old witches negotiated your match to little Tashi. You cannot imagine how much easier it made
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my plans, for it brought the Blue Crescent Princess so close to my snares. I was going to have to lure her from her island somehow but you did it for me."
Fergox reached out to a globe by his side and gave it a languid spin. "And it has all turned out far better than I could have hoped. As you may guess, the Blue Crescent is none too pleased that you let the Princess be taken." He gave a rough laugh at Ramil's scandalized expression. "And some, thanks to the whispers circulated by my men, think you are to blame. Rumor has it that, rather than wed her, you killed her in the forest and ran for the border."
Ramil put down his knife and fork, his appetite fled.
"There will be war between your two countries come spring. Your father will be only too relieved to receive my offer of alliance. It will appear to him most . . . timely."
"You are trapping him so you can take Gerfal without a fight?"
"Of course. I do not want to squander my men on your little kingdom when I have my sights set on the much bigger prize to the west. He'll need my armies to defeat the Blue Crescent forces. The price will be acknowledging me as overlord."
"Why not crush Gerfal, like you did Brigard?" Ramil tossed back his wine angrily.
Fergox gave him a cold smile. "What would be the point? I have a large empire to control. If I can achieve my aims without wasting resources on unnecessary battles, then I will do so."
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"And what about me?"
The warlord refilled Ramil's glass. "I will tell your father that you came here to seek my aid against those Westerners. I received you as a cousin with open arms, welcomed you into my household, took your unwelcome bride off your hands and even offered you one of my blood as your wife instead to cement the al iance."
"He'll never believe it," Ramil said defiantly, hoping his father would not think him capable of such treachery. This story made him out as a traitor to Gerfal, bringing war upon them by ill-treating a princess.
"Perhaps not, but that won't matter. This is the public story; what he knows in private is neither here nor there. By spring he will have no choice but to accept it or end up fighting on two fronts." Fergox smiled at Ramil's expression. "Don't look so sad, Prince Ramil. You will still have your throne.
It could be much worse."
"A throne, but no power." Ramil drained his glass, trying to rid himself of the foul taste in his mouth.
"Some power," corrected Fergox. "And, if you please me, my favor."
Ramil resisted the temptation to tell the Spearthrower what he could do with his "favor."
"And what of the Princess Taoshira, my unwanted bride as you called her?"
Fergox cocked his head quizzically, his eyes calculating. "Do you care what becomes of her, Prince Ramil?"
"She was under my protection, my guest--"
Fergox nodded, as if this explained everything. "Ah yes, Gerfalian chivalry, I had forgotten. I have no plans
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<
br /> to harm her, if that is what worries you. Quite the opposite: I intend to give her an important role in shaping the future of her country."
"And that is . . . ?"
Fergox picked up the book he had discarded and brandished it at Ramil.
"Did you know that the Blue Crescent Islanders do not believe in God?"
"They believe in a Goddess."
Inspired by his subject, the warlord's eyes lit up with religious fervor.
"Exactly. They are in thrall to a demon, an abomination. They let women rule them, their sons do not inherit, they live in the darkness of ignorance.
Princess Taoshira is going to bring them to the light."
Ramil shifted uneasily in his chair. "And how is she going to do that?"
Fergox turned his attention back to his food and speared a piece of venison.
"By turning to the true faith, of course. Holin the Warmonger, the Father of all other gods, has shown me the way."
Ramil had heard of the Holtish name for the supreme being. Spearthrower introduced worship of this bloody deity in every country he conquered.
Images of him had been set up in temples, a warrior priesthood introduced, icons painted, many bearing a striking likeness to Fergox. It had become the most powerful religion in the world, attracting willing and reluctant adherents every day.
"And how will you persuade her? From what I have seen of the Princess, she is very devoted to her own faith."
"Pah!" Fergox spat out a bit of gristle. "She's young.
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She'll listen. When I bribed the priest on Kai to choose her, I made sure they picked someone from a family free from the influence of that foul court. I know she's had four years of it, but she is not beyond redemption. Those other three witches will be burned at the stake when we conquer the Islands, but my Tashi will ride in to Rama at my side to institute the new religion."
"What do you mean 'by your side'?"
Fergox looked up at the earnest young questioner and winked. "I also asked them to pick me a comely wench. She's to be my wife." He scratched his chin, thinking about it. "Number five, but the prettiest armful of the lot.
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