Stormqueen!

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  “Donal of Rockraven; yes, I know, the barragana’s brat. Do you even know who fathered you, or are you a son of the river? Did your mother lie in the forest during a Ghost-wind and come home with no-man’s son in her belly?” Donal had flown at him, then, like a banshee, clawing and kicking, and they had been dragged apart, still howling threats at each other. Even now, it was not pleasant to think of young Darren’s scornful gaze, the taunts he had made.

  There was tardy apology in Lord Aldaran’s voice. “If I have wronged you out of my own hunger to call you my son, believe I never meant to throw doubt on the honor of your own lineage, nor to conceal it. I think in what I mean to do tonight you will find how truly I value you, dear son.”

  “I need nothing but that,” Donal said, and sat beside him on a low footstool.

  Aldaran reached for his hand and they sat like that until a servant, bringing lights, proclaimed: “Lord Rakhal Aldaran of Scathfell, and Lord Darren.”

  Rakhal of Scathfell was like his brother had been ten years ago, a big hearty man in the prime of life, his face open and jovial, with that good-fellowship devious men often assume as a way of proclaiming that they are concealing nothing, when the truth is often quite the reverse. Darren was like him, tall and broad, no more than a year or two older than Donal, sandy-red hair swept back from a high forehead, a straightforward look which made Donal think, at first glance, Yes, he is handsome, as girls reckon such things. Dorilys will like him. … He told himself that his faint sense of foreboding was no more than a distaste for seeing his sister taken from his own exclusive protection and charge and given to another.

  I cannot look that Dorilys should remain with me always. She is heir to a great Domain; I am her half-brother, no more, and her well-being must lie in other hands than mine.

  The lord Aldaran rose from his seat and advanced a few steps toward his brother, taking his hands warmly.

  “Greetings, Rakhal. It is too long since you have come to me here at Aldaran. How goes all at Scathfell? And Darren?” He embraced his kinsmen, one after the other, leading them to sit near him. “And you know my foster-son, half-brother to your bride, Darren. Donal Delleray, Aliciane’s son.”

  Darren lifted his eyebrows in recognition and said, “We were taught arms-practice together, and other things. Somehow I had thought his name was Rockraven.”

  “Children are given to such misconceptions,” Lord Aldaran said firmly. “You must have been very young then, nephew, and lineage means little to young lads. Donal’s grandparents were Rafael Delleray and his wife di catenas Mirella Lindir. Donal’s father died young, and his widowed mother came here as singing-woman. She bore me my only living child. Your bride, Darren.”

  “Indeed?” Rakhal of Scathfell looked on Donal with a courteous interest, which Donal suspected of being as spurious as the rest of his good humor.

  Donal wondered why it should matter to him what the Scathfell clan thought of him.

  Darren and I are to be brothers-by-marriage. It is not a relationship I would have sought. He, Donal, was honorably born, honorably fostered in a Great House; that should have been enough. Looking at Darren, he knew it would never be enough, and wondered why. Why should Darren Aldaran, heir to Scathfell, bother to hate and resent the half-brother of his promised wife, the fosterling of her father?

  Then, looking at Darren’s falsely hearty smile, suddenly he knew the answer. He was not much of a telepath, but Darren might as well have shouted it at him.

  Zandni’s hells, he fears my influence over Lord Aldaran! The laws of inheritance by blood are not yet so firm, in these mountains, that he is certain of what may happen. It would not be the first time a nobleman had sought to disinherit his lawful heir for one he considered more suitable; and he knows my foster-father thinks of me as a son, not a fosterling.

  To do Donal credit, the thought had never crossed his mind before. He had known his place—bound to Lord Aldaran by affection, but not by blood—and accepted it. Now, the thought awakened because the men of Scathfell had provoked it, he wondered why it could not be so; why could the man he called “Father,” to whom he had been a dutiful son, not name his heir as he chose? The Aldarans of Scathfell had that inheritance; why should they swell their holdings almost to the size of a kingdom by adding Aldaran itself to their estate?

  But Lord Rakhal had turned away from Donal, saying heartily, “And now we are brought together over the matter of this marriage, so that when we are gone, our young people may hold our joined lands for their doubled portion. Are we to see the girl, Mikhal?”

  Lord Aldaran said, “She will come to greet the guests, but I felt it more suitable to settle the business part of our meeting without her presence. She is a child, not suited to listen while gray beards settle matters of dowries and marriage gifts and inheritance. She will come to pledge herself, Darren, and to dance with you at the festivities. But I beg of you to remember that she is still very young and there can be no thought of actual marriage for four years at least, perhaps more.”

  Rakhal chuckled. “Fathers seldom think their daughters ripe to marry, Mikhail!”

  “But in this case,” Aldaran said firmly, “Dorilys is no more than eleven; the marriage di catenas must take place no sooner than four years from now.”

  “Come, come. My son is already a man; how long must he wait for a bride?”

  “He must wait those years,” Aldaran said firmly, “or seek one elsewhere.”

  Darren shrugged. “If I must wait for a little girl to grow up, then I suppose I must wait. A barbarous custom this, to pledge a grown man to a girl who has not yet put aside her dolls!”

  “No doubt,” Rakhal of Scathfell said, in his hearty and jovial manner, “but I have felt this marriage was important ever since Dorilys was born, and have spoken often of it to my brother in the past ten years.”

  Darren said, “If my uncle was so opposed before this, why has he given way now?”

  Lord Aldaran’s shoulders went up and down in a heavy shrug. “I suppose because I am growing old and am at last resigned to the knowledge that I should have no son; and I would rather see the estate of Aldaran pass into the hands of kinfolk, than into the hands of a stranger.”

  Why, at this moment, after ten years, Aldaran wondered, should he think of a curse flung by a sorceress many years dead? From this day your loins shall be empty. It was true that he had never thought seriously, from Aliciane’s death, of taking another woman to his bed.

  “Of course it could be argued,” Rakhal of Scathfell said, “that my son is lawful heir to Aldaran, anyway. The lawgivers might well argue that Dorilys deserves no more than a marriage portion, and that a lawfully born nephew is nearer in inheritance than a barragana’s daughter.”

  “I do not grant the right of those so-called lawgivers to offer any judgment in that matter!”

  Scathfell shrugged. “In any case this marriage will settle it without appeal to the law, with the two claimants to marry. The estates shall be joined; I am willing to settle Scathfell on Dorilys’s eldest son, and Darren shall hold Castle Aldaran as warden for Dorilys.” Aldaran shook his head.

  “No. In the marriage contract it is provided; Donal shall be his sister’s warden till she is five-and-twenty.”

  “Unreasonable,” protested Scathfell. “Have you none other way to feather your fosterling’s nest? If he has no property from father or mother, can you not settle some on him by gift?”

  “I have done so,” Aldaran said. “When he came of age, I gave him the small holding of High Crags. It is derelict, since those who held it last spent their time in making war on their neighbors, and not in farming; but Donal, I think, can bring it back to fruitfulness. It only remains to find him a suitable wife, and that shall be done. But he shall be warden for Dorilys.”

  “This looks not as if you trusted us, Uncle,” protested Darren. “Think you, truly, we would deprive Dorilys of her rightful heritage?”

  “Of course not,” said Aldaran, “and since you hav
e no such thoughts, how can it matter to you who is warden for her fortune? Of course, if you had indeed some such notion, you would have to protest Donal’s choice. A paid hireling as warden could be bribed, but certainly not her brother.”

  Donal heard all this in amazement He had not known, when his foster-father sent him to report on the estate of High Crags, that Aldaran designed it for him; he had reported fairly on the work it would take to put it in order, and on its fine possibilities, without believing his foster-father would give him such an estate. Nor did he have any idea that Aldaran would use this marriage-contract to make him Dorilys’s guardian.

  On second thought, this was reasonable. Dorilys was nothing to the Aldarans of Scathfell except an obstacle in their way to Darren’s inheriting. If Lord Aldaran should die tomorrow, only he, as warden, could prevent Darren from taking Dorilys immediately in marriage despite her extreme youth, after which Darren could make use of her estate as he chose. It would not be the first time a woman had been quietly made away with, once her inheritance was safely in her husband’s hands. They might wait till she had borne a child, to make it look legal; but everyone knew that young wives were prone to die in childbirth, and the younger they were, the more likely to die so. Tragic, of course, but not uncommon.

  With Donal as her warden, and the wardenship extended until Dorilys was a full five-and-twenty, not just old enough to marry legally and bear children, then even if she should die, Donal would be there as her warden and guardian of any child she might bear; and her estate could not fall undisputed into Darren’s hands.

  He thought, My foster-father spoke truly when he said I should know tonight how much he valued me. It may be that he trusts me because he has no one else to trust. But at least he knows that I will protect Dorilys’s interests even before my own.

  Aldaran of Scathfell had not accepted this peacefully; he was still arguing the point and did not cede it until Lord Aldaran reminded his brother that three other mountain lords had all made suit for Dorilys, and that she might have been handfasted at any time to anyone her father chose, even to one of the Lowlands Hasturs or Altons.

  “Indeed she was pledged once before, since Deonara’s Ardais kinfolk were eager to handfast her to one of their sons. They felt they had the best claim, since Deonara never bore me a living son. But the boy died shortly afterward.”

  “Died? How did he die?”

  Aldaran shrugged. “An accident of some sort, I heard. I do not know the details.”

  Nor did Donal. Dorilys had been visiting her Ardais kin at the time, and had come home shocked by the death of her promised husband, even though she had hardly known him and had not really liked him. She had told Donal, “He was a big, rough, rude boy and he broke my doll.” Donal had not questioned her. Now he wondered. Young as Donal was, he knew that if some child stood in the way of an advantageous alliance, that child might not live long.

  And the same could be said of Dorilys…

  “On this point, my mind is made up,” Lord Aldaran said, with an air of good nature, but firmly. “Donal, and Donal alone, shall be warden for his sister.”

  “This is an insult to your kin, Uncle,” Darren protested, but the Lord of Scathfell silenced his son.

  “If it must be, then it must be,” he said. “We should be grateful that the maiden who is to be one of our family has a trustworthy kinsman to protect her; her interests are ours, of course. It shall be as you wish, Mikhail.” But his look at Donal, eyes veiled and thoughtful, put the young man on his guard.

  I must look to myself, he thought. There is probably no danger till Dorilys is grown and the marriage consummated, since if Aldaran still lived he could name another warden.

  But if Aldaran should die, or Dorilys once wedded and taken to Scathfell, my chances would not be great to live very long.

  He wished suddenly that Lord Aldaran were not dealing with kinsmen. If he had been dealing with strangers he would have had a leronis present, with truthspell to make lying or double-dealing impossible. But, although Aldaran might not trust his kinsmen overmuch, he could not insult them by insisting on haying a sorceress, and a truthspell, to bind the bargains.

  They set their hands on it, and signed the contract provided—Donal, too, was required to sign—and the matter was done. Then they were all embracing as kinsmen and going down into the room where the other guests had assembled to celebrate this occasion with feasting, dancing, and revelry.

  But Donal, seeing Darren of Scathfell’s eyes on him, thought again, coldly, I must guard myself.

  This man is my enemy.

  * * *

  CHAPTER NINE

  « ^ »

  When they went down into the Great Hall, Dorilys was there with her foster-mother, the leronis Margali, receiving their guests. For the first time, she was dressed not as a little girl but as a woman, in a long gown of blue, embroidered at neck and sleeves with gold traceries. Her shining copper hair was braided low on her neck and caught into a woman’s butterfly-clasp. She looked far older than her years; she might have been fifteen or sixteen, and Donal was struck by her beauty, yet he was not wholly pleased to see this abrupt change.

  His foreboding was justified when Darren, presented to Dorilys, blinked at her, obviously smitten. He bowed over her hand, saying gallantly, “Kinswoman, this is a pleasure. Your father had given me to believe I was being handfasted to a little girl, and here I find a lovely woman awaiting me. It is even as I thought—no father ever believes his daughter ripe for marriage.”

  Donal was stricken with sudden foreboding. Why had Margali done this? Aldaran had written it so carefully into the marriage contract that there could be no marriage until Dorilys had reached fifteen. He had emphasized strongly that she was only a little girl, and now they had given the lie to that argument by presenting Dorilys before all the assembled guests as a grown woman. As Darren, still murmuring gallant words, led Dorilys out for the first dance, Donal looked after them, troubled.

  He asked Margali about this, and she shook her head.

  “It was not by my will, Donal; Dorilys would have it so. I would not cross her when her mind was so strongly set to it. You know as well as I do that it is not wise to provoke Dorilys when she will have something. The gown was her mother’s, and although I am sorry to see my little girl so grown up, still, if she is grown to it—”

  “But she is not,” Donal said, “and my foster-father spent a considerable time convincing Lord Scathfell that Dorilys was still a child, and far too young to marry. Margali, she is only a little girl, you know that as well as I!”

  “Yes, I know, and a very childish one, too,” Margali said, “but I could not argue with her on the eve of a festival. She would have made her displeasure felt all too greatly! You know as well as I, Donal. I can sometimes get her to do my will in important things, but if I tried to enforce my will on her in little things, she would soon stop listening to me when I sought to command her in the most serious ones. Does it matter, really, what dress she wears for her handfasting, since Lord Aldaran has written it, you say, into the marriage contract, that she shall not be bound till she is fifteen?”

  “I suppose not, while my foster-father is still hale and strong enough to enforce his will,” Donal said, “but the memory of this may cause trouble later, if something should happen within the next few years.” Margali would not betray him—she had been kind to him from earliest childhood, she had been his mother’s friend—but still it was unwise to speak so of the lord of a Domain and he lowered his voice. “Lord Scathfell would have no scruples in forcing the child into marriage for his own ambitions, and to seize Aldaran for his own; nor would Darren. If she had been shown tonight for the child she is, public opinion might put some damper, however small, on any such plan. Now those who see her tonight dressed in a woman’s garments, and evidently already full-grown, will not be inclined to inquire about her real age; they will simply remember that at her handfasting she looked like a grown woman, and assume that those folk
of Scathfell had right on their side, after all.”

  Margali looked worried now, too, but she tried to shrug it aside. “I think you are letting yourself make nightmares without cause, Donal. There is no reason to think Lord Aldaran will not live another score of years; certainly long enough to protect his daughter from being taken in marriage before she is old enough. And you know Dorilys—she is a creature of whim; tonight it may please her to play the lady in her mother’s gowns and jewels, but tomorrow it will be forgotten and she will be playing at leapfrog and jackstones with the other children, so that no one living could think her anything but the little child she is in truth.”

  “Merciful Avarra, grant it may be so,” said Donal gravely.

  “Why, I see no reason to doubt it, Donal… Now you must do your duty by your foster-father’s guests, too; there are many women waiting to dance with you, and Dorilys, too, will be wondering why her brother does not lead her out to dance.”

  Donal tried to laugh, seeing Dorilys, returning at Darren’s side, entirely surrounded by a group of the young men, the minor nobility of the hills, Aldaran’s Guardsmen. It might be true that Dorilys was amusing herself, playing the lady, but she was making a very successful pretense of it, laughing and flirting, all too obviously enjoying the flattery and admiration.

  Father will not remonstrate with her. She looks all too much like our mother; and he is proud of his beautiful daughter. Why should I worry, or grudge Dorilys her amusements? No harm can come to her among our kinsmen, at a formal dance, and tomorrow, no doubt, it will be as Margali foresaw, Dorilys with her skirts tucked up to her knees and her hair in a long tail, tearing about like the little hoyden she is, and Darren can see the real Dorilys, the child who is young enough to enjoy dressing up in her mother’s frock but still far from womanhood.

  Trying to thrust aside his misgivings, Donal applied himself to his duties as host, chatting politely with a few elderly dowagers, dancing with young women who had somehow been forgotten or neglected, unobtrusively coming between Lord Aldaran and importunate hangers-on who might trouble him by making inconvenient requests too publicly to be refused. But whenever his eyes turned in Dorilys’s direction, he saw her surrounded by recurrent waves of young men, and she was all too evidently enjoying her popularity.