Part 16 (2/2)

”We meet without steel, for a change.” Ottaviano smiled, suddenly nervous. The Fireduke looked no smaller now than he had on the battlefield, bloodspattered and on horseback. He was soft-spoken, but the power simmering under the quiet courtesy was tangible in his handclasp.

”Thou art Ottaviano. I am pleased to know thee, nephew. I am Prince Gaston, Marshal of Landuc.”

For a moment, Otto bristled: doddering, decrepit relics of the early days of Panurgus might call their servants thee, or their dogs or great-grandchildren-and then he realized that in truth. Prince Gaston was a relic, but a vital, living, dangerous one, who had survived and adapted to change after change in the world around him. Why should he not call Otto, thee? He was but a century or so younger than the Well, and he was Otto's eldest uncle to boot. Ottaviano backed away from the dizzying prospect of Prince Gaston's age and attended.

Golias and Gaston were bowing to one another. Gaston smiled his ambiguous smile. ” Tis even greater pleasure to face thee so, Golias.”

”I hope so,” Golias said curtly.

”Let's get to business,” said Ottaviano. ”As soon as the sun goes behind that mountain everything's going to be under a sheet of slick ice, and I'd rather not ride back that way.”

”Well-put,” Prince Gaston said. ”Here's the accord, drafted by my clerks. Review it as ye would, and the copies, here. I have already done so.”

158.

'LtizaBetfi There were twelve copies altogether; Ottaviano handed four to Golias, took four himself, and half-turned and nodded to his emissary. ”Make yourself useful.”

”You demand much of your allies,” said the man, smiling, and Ottaviano chuckled as he handed the sheaf of parchment to him. The emissary stood beside him at the table, reading.

Golias read skeptically, murmured three times about a word or a clause to Ottaviano, and finally nodded grudgingly. Ottaviano read it all twice and went over Golias's share as well. The emissary read quickly, nodding to himself as if making mental ticks, one eyebrow unconsciously lifted, a faint smile on his lips. Gaston thought for the dozenth time that he knew he had met the man, somewhere, and rummaged for the occasion, for a name. It was not like his memory to be so vague. He was a distinctive character, handsome, well-bred, and an excellent swordsman.

Ottaviano did not review the doc.u.ments his emissary had checked, but accepted them and the man's nod with a private look of inquiry and then a nod of his own.

They were intimate, thought Gaston. Friends at the least.

”Very well,” said Otto, and his smile evaporated. He set the parchments down.

”The witnesses for the Emperor of Landuc, who here is represented by myself today,” Gaston said, ”are Sir Vittor Cadine, Sir Blanont of Montfrechet, Sir Michael Torcarry, and Sir Piscos the White.” The standard-bearer, Gaston's esquire, did not count.

”The witnesses for Ascolet, which is me, are Sir Halloy the Rider, Sir Barnet Fridolin, Sir Ustos of Champlys, and Lord Dewar.”

Gaston didn't quite catch the last name, but surmised that it applied to the emissary. Lord of what and where? he wondered in the back of his mind as he bent to the business of signing.

Ottaviano's signatures were tall-capitaled and firm; only the first held a quiver in the final o. Gaston's was neat and compact, flourished distinctively though unfas.h.i.+onably; Golias's name sprawled. The witnesses inscribed names and Sorcerer and a Cjentkman 159.

sealed seals against them in the s.p.a.ce provided. Lord Dewar had no seal, and he signed his name only a precise, small ”Dewar.”

The standard-bearer of Ascolet watched with interest.

”Now for the tough part,” muttered Ottaviano, straightening and looking up at Prince Gaston, all jesting gone.

Gaston nodded once and took a single step to his left, so that there was no longer a table between them.

Ottaviano looked around as if savoring this last moment, and then, very slowly, unbuckled his sword belt and handed it to Gaston. He bent one knee and knelt before the Prince on the bridge. Gaston leaned forward slightly and enfolded his nephew's hands between his own, holding the man's eyes, knowing how vulnerable and humbled he felt.

”I, Ottaviano, do solemnly swear by the Well of Fire that nourishes me. . . .”

Low and clear, no tremor in his voice, spoken directly to Gaston or to something somewhere behind Gaston.

Gaston moistened his lips and said, ”I, Gaston, Prince of Landuc, on behalf of His Radiant Majesty Avril, Emperor of Landuc, who reigns with the force of the Well, do accept thy fealty and appoint thee Baron of Ascolet and grant thee all the rights, privileges, and honors pertaining to this rank, and in return for this boon do lay upon thee the duties of rendering to the Crown the Crown's share of the revenues and of promptly and without delay providing men at the Crown's request to carry out war . . .”

The vow weighed heavily on Ottaviano, Gaston coutd see. But the boy had lost-lost and hardly lost at all, for he had now been granted his father's position. Admittedly one could dispute that he need not have gone to war for it in the first place, but Gaston was no starry-eyed dreamer. Justice demanded to be served with steei. He released Ottaviano's hands and the Baron of Ascolet rose.

”Shall be repeated at Court when circ.u.mstances permit,” Gaston said.

”I'm so looking forward to it,” Ottaviano said, and wryed his mouth, accepting the return of his sword.

Gaston looked at Golias.

160.

'ECizaBetfi ”Wittey There was a more bitter oath to give and one to take. They regarded one another tensely, Gaston standing over his opponent and waiting for him to make the vow which would surrender Golias to the Crown and to offer him, in return, a kind of legitimacy.

Golias rose quickly, disdainfully, having taken the oath, and Gaston caught him by the shoulders.

”Prince Golias,” he said quietly.

Golias stared at him and then nodded, smiling with only one side of his mouth. ”Yeah.”

”Welcome,” said Gaston, and released him after another half-second's clasp.

”Thanks,” Golias said.

Gaston's eye fell, as he turned back to the table, on Lord Dewar, whose expression was grave and remote, sadly vacant or turned on some distant prospect.

”We will begin moving to join you in Erispas tomorrow,” Ottaviano said, ”weather permitting-”

”It will,” said Lord Dewar absently.

Ottaviano chuckled. ”Then we will. And you, Marshal?”

”I'll meet you there, and we'll take counsel together o'er the business of going West as speedily as may be done.”

Ottaviano nodded and looked at Golias, who nodded also.

”Farewell, then, until the morrow,” Prince Gaston said.

Lord Dewar turned and went off the bridge to the squire who held their horses, and Ottaviano frowned after him a moment, breaking off his own farewell. Lord Dewar mounted quickly and urged his horse forward toward the bridge.

”Beg pardon, gentlemen-”

”What? Where the h.e.l.l are you going?” demanded Ottaviano.

”I have affairs to attend to,” Dewar said. He had a long black staff in his hand now. ”Farewell, Otto, and a safe journey to you.”

Gaston's eyes widened fractionally. He stared. The sorcerer! Of course! Gaston had been blind as a-no, surely the man had been fogging perceptions of himself with illusions, Sorcerer and a Qentkman 161.

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