Part 33 (1/2)

While Marr and Raihna heaved the guards onto the bench, Aybas knocked on the door. As Wylla sat down on the bench with her arms about the two guards, Aybas heard a noise from within the hut.

”Who is there?”

”By Mitra's beard, it is Lord Aybas. I bear dire news.”

A squeak like a trapped mouse was all that Aybas had of reply. He cursed softly.

”Must I tell it for all the Pougoi, and perhaps the Star Brothers, to hear? Or may I enter and speak privily?”

After a moment that seemed to pa.s.s like the melting of a glacier, Aybas heard the bar lift. He thrust the door open and strode in, past the waiting woman. She let out another squeak, then was silent as Raihna put a hand over her mouth and showed her the dagger in the other.

The princess was still awake. The babe was sleeping, until the moment when strange folk burst into his mother's chamber, at which he awoke with a wail fit to rouse sleepers all over the valley.

The piper's music whistled softly. Then it seemed to sing with no words, but soft and soothing nevertheless. The wails diminished, and at last ceased. As the princess picked up the babe, his eyes drifted shut and he slept again.

”He has taken no harm?” Chienna said, s.h.i.+fting him to one arm. The other was clenched at her waist, and she seemed to wish it held steel.

”Here, Your Highness,” Aybas said. He drew his second dagger from his boot and handed it to the princess. She stared at it, then at Raihna, and nearly dropped the sleeping baby.

”He will come to more harm from being dropped than from my music,” Marr said. ”He only sleeps, and will sleep until it is safe for him to wake.”

”Safe... ?” Princess Chienna appeared to be mazed in her wits. Aybas gritted his teeth. Why did women of sense seem to lose that sense at precisely the worst time?

”Your Highness, I... we are come to take you and Prince Urras to your father. The king is alive and well, although in hiding. With you and your son by his side, the realm will rally to his banner.”

The princess shook her head, making her long black hair dance about her shoulders, white and gleaming where the bedgown revealed them. The gesture seemed to end her confusion.

”Allow me to don suitable apparel, then, good people,” she said with regal dignity. ”It will be neither seemly nor safe to walk through the mountains in my night s.h.i.+ft.”

With an imperious gesture, she summoned her waiting woman. Raihna released the servant, and the two women vanished into the bedchamber, leaving Raihna holding the baby. As if by instinct, she began gently rocking him, and her face as she looked at the sleeping prince told Aybas a whole tale of matters that would never reach the Bossonian's lips.

The princess and her waiting woman were out of the bedchamber in less time than Aybas would have given to carving a joint of good beef. It only seemed like sufficient time for the moon to set and dawn to break across the mountains.

The princess was dressed in a Pougoi warrior's attire, with an arrangement of leather thongs and fleeces across her back for the babe.

Aybas had not known that she possessed either, and his opinion of her and her house rose further.

Very surely, he had wagered on the wrong horse whilst serving Syzambry.

If he gained no other reward from his change of allegiance, he would at least die with a better opinion of his own judgment.

Aybas stepped to the door. Wylla now had one of the guards' heads lolling on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The other had fallen off the bench. She had undone his trousers to give him a more convincing appearance of revelry.

”Is all well?”

Wylla shrugged, which lifted her b.r.e.a.s.t.s most interestingly. It also sent the guard sprawling off the bench to join his comrade.

Aybas took the shrug for ”yes” and motioned the others to come out. The princess held back. The Aquilonian started to address her in terms unfit for royal ears when he saw that she was pointing at her waiting woman. The piper nodded and began to play.

The music could not have reached even into the bedchamber, but Aybas felt it in his bones. They were turning soft and warm, like fresh porridge, within him. His eyelids were vastly heavy; he needed to grip a post of the porch to uphold himself-