Part 15 (2/2)

and powerful barony owing fealty to an Emperor and being king of a relatively small and poor kingdom neighboring the same.”

”Alike?” Otto said. ”What about the small clauses of fealty, requiring me to go fight Prospero if the Emperor tells me to?”

”Oh, well, that,” Dewar said. ”I suppose. Looking at it in terms of lives lost-” He shrugged again. That was Ot-taviano's problem.

Lives. Ottaviano hadn't considered that. How expensive might it be to hold Ascolet against a merciless and impatient Gaston, who might have men diverted from Herne if he so desired, reinforcements provided to speed victory here and free Gaston to meet Prospero? How long could Ottaviano hold out? Golias and his mercenaries would melt away as soon as Lunete's gold was all in their hands, and that would not take long, for they were expensive to hire. There would be no military a.s.sistance from Lys, for Lunete had-after such delays as she dared use-raised the Emperor's levy of troops there for Gaston and could send no more to Ascolet without treason.

If they were facing Josquin, who (from what Otto had heard) was far and away the least competent of the Princes, or one of Gaston's subordinates in the Imperial Army, the chance of victory would be much greater. Ottaviano had not expected to face the Imperial Marshal himself-nearly in person, the other day, separated by a dozen strides on the battlefield, swinging his long sword and lopping an arm off one of Otto's men. King Panurgus had appointed the Marshal because he was the best man for the job of defending and expanding Landuc. Emperor Avril had kept him on for that reason.

King of Ascolet, Baron of Ascolet. Which was better? It was easy for Dewar to toss off witty remarks about kings and barons. It wasn't his name, his future at stake. Ottaviano had decided when he first learned of his ancestry that he would be King of Ascolet, and by the Fire in him he would do it. But what did it mean to be king of a place conquered, precariously, at the cost of the lives of so many 150.

'Elizabeth of its able-bodied men? They had lost a tenth of their force already. Otto hadn't expected so many deaths, so much slow-killing pain and so many frozen bandages. Would the throne be secure, set on bones and blood of its own citizens? Otto opened and closed his heavy knife: big blades, little blades, awl-punch, corkscrew . . .

Suppose, Ottaviano thought, suppose he won here now and were deposed later, by citizens or Prince Gaston. Looking at it as a problem he faced from the Emperor's side, Otto would be dead. The Emperor took a dim view of rebellion; the fates of Prince Prospero's old friends and allies showed that. Dead was a pretty permanent state to be in. There wasn't much chance of improving it. A live Baron, however, might better his position at opportune moments - later.

Ottaviano snapped shut the blades of his knife, one by one. ”I'll ask you, Dewar, to act as spokesman again, tomorrow,” he said. ”You'll tell him I accept the offer.” ”Surrender!” Golias exclaimed.

”If you don't want to be included,” Ottaviano said, ”I'll do what I can either to get you a safe-conduct or to cover for you while you leave. Up to you. We can try to freight that t.i.tle of Prince with more material ballast.”

Golias looked at Ottaviano, imperfectly covering his contempt, ”Surrendering,” he repeated, shaking his head slightly, and he looked at Dewar disdainfully. Dewar seemed to be dozing in his chair, but Ottaviano saw his eyes glittering under lowered lids. ”I'll speak for myself,” Golias said. ”I cut my own deals.”

The silence was charged. Dewar said nothing. Ottaviano felt his face redden. The implied insult was galling; but Golias had said nothing answerable, nothing openly offensive. Otto couldn't challenge him for it. Perhaps he could take the quarrel to other terms and win.

He forced himself to relax, to smile, to nod. ”Good enough,” Ottaviano said. ”You're your own boss, and you know best what kind of deal you want to cut.” He paused, just long enough to let the topic go, and went on, ”Speaking of cutting and dealing - weren't we going to play cards tonight?”

Sorcerer and a Cfentfeinan 151.

The young guard outside Otto's tent had looked very familiar to Dewar as he went in. As he went out, he paused, taking out a pipe, letting the others go ahead of him.

”Lunete,” murmured Dewar around the pipestem, glancing at her in the torchlight.

She glared at him. ”Shsh,” she mouthed soundlessly.

He lifted an eyebrow and looked at the other guard. ”Pondy,” he acknowledged the Castellan of Lys.

”Sir,” Pondy said blandly, saluting.

Dewar looked again at Lunete, still glaring at him from under her earflapped, sheepskin-lined helm. ”One cannot hide the moon in a rainbarrel, madame,” he murmured, amused. Otto couldn't possibly know she was here. It was very funny and, Dewar thought, rather sweetly romantic. The sort of thing a girl brought up away from Court on too many troubadour's ballads would do. He smiled more widely, puffing on the pipe.

”Lovely evening,” he said to the icy stars overhead. ”They're off to a card game, but I care as little for it as they care to have me play; I'm too lucky, and honest too. A pleasant and quiet watch to you both.”

”Sir,” Pondy said again. Lunete said nothing, but Dewar could feel her watching him walk away.

When the guards changed at midnight, he put away his books and papers and sat at his narrow table with an elaborately etched five-lobed hourgla.s.s, watching the sands run slowly, measuring the long winter midnight. Before much of the hour had moved from the middle sphere to the lower, he heard a murmur of voices outside.

The tent-flap moved.

”Message from the King, sir,” said one of his own tent-guards.

Dewar lifted his eyebrows, nodded once; the guard stood back and admitted Lunete.

They looked at one another over the candle's flame.

Dewar beckoned her near with one finger and pointed to the other chair, across the table from him.

”Sir,” she said in a low voice, still standing, ”I-”

152.

'E&zaSetk. 1>Mtey ”Come closer and sit down.”

She hesitated, did so.

”No one can hear us now,” Dewar said pleasantly. ”Wine?”

”Howso? No, thank you.”

”A spell,” Dewar said.

Lunete looked around, s.h.i.+vering visibly.

Dewar studied her. ”May one ask,” he said after a moment, ”what you're doing here? Or must one draw conclusions from one's perhaps excessively creative and lively imagination?”

Lunete's cheeks reddened brighter than the winter cold had left them. She took off her gloves for something to do. ”I have been worried,” she said. ”He has not written.”

”Otto is not a diligent letter-writer,” said Dewar.

”Not when things aren't going well,” she agreed, looking away, and then looked back. ”So you are surrendering,” she said.

He sighed. ”He is.”

”Why?” she whispered, a hot hard word.

”Because it is the prudent thing to do,” Dewar said, leaning back in his chair. ”Because Otto shall have what his father had, and that is enough for most men. Because Otto does not like seeing his friends bleed and die. Because Golias's services are expensive and Otto cannot keep him on hire through the winter. Because Prince Gaston has taken Erispas back. Because it is better than losing everything.” ”You couldn't lose.”

”Otto could lose,” Dewar said. ”Madame, 1 am not in the business of giving advice, but I submit to you that Otto has a long life ahead of him in which to plot, scheme, and fight, never mind the portions of it which he would spend with yourself, and were he executed now it would put a serious blotch on that rosy future.”

Lunete opened her mouth to speak. ”Do not asperse him for it,” Dewar said. ”He has won some of his battles and lost others. He is getting out of it very well, all things considered. Were Prince Prospero not in the West-”

A Sorcerer and a Qentfeman c-- 153 ”What?”

”-and Prince Gaston at full leisure to pursue this war and lesson Ascolet thereby in loyalty, I a.s.sure you you'd be a widow before ploughing season came. And that would be a great shame.” Dewar took out a pouch of sweet-smelling herbs and packed his long-stemmed pipe again slowly. ”He-” Lunete began, and did not finish. ”He has done all in his power. No one could do more. He is outcla.s.sed here. That is the simple truth. Were we facing, say, Prince Josquin-the odds would be different. But it is Prince Gaston, the Imperial Marshal, and Prince Gaston has trapped us, and he knows it, and he has other things to do, and Otto is a little more useful alive than dead. Are you familiar with the terms?” ”I heard surrender.”

”But it is a confectionery surrender, sugared with clemency. Otto and Golias abandon this war. Otto holds Ascolet, Baron as Sebastiano was. Golias is granted the t.i.tle Prince. In payment, so to speak, or atonement, they both go west with their men to support Prince Gaston and Prince Herne and the Empire against Prince Prospero, who attacks there with great boldness and great success.”

Lunete drew her breath in, the blood fleeting from her face, ivory in the darkness. ”It will kill him,” she whispered.

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