Part 24 (1/2)

” Tis evidence by circ.u.mstance,” Gaston said. ”Thou saidst at the time that he employed a spell to render these senseless.”

”To put me to sleep. Yes.”

”Thus he had some measure of power already competently at his command. I'm no sorcerer; I know not whether 'tis essential to command the Well in order to use the Roads and Leys and all, though I've believed so. It may not be the case. He may simply be a very clever man.”

”Too clever. Gaston, how can we be sure of him?”

”I trust him,” Gaston said. ”Do not accuse or antagonize him, Josquin. If no other reason will still thee, then because we need his cooperation to defeat Prospero. Without him I had long since lost.”

”Marshal!”

”Prospero hath a peculiar array offerees at his disposal. He is using more sorcery and more magical beings than ever hath done before. We should have been roundly defeated more than once but for Lord Dewar's help.”

”Which you accept unquestioningly-”

”I have conversed with him enough to understand him. If we accept him and his a.s.sistance now without censure or remark, he will be an enduring ally.”

”Hm. He is testing us.”

”An thou wilt. He is no more certain whether he should trust Landuc than Landuc can be that it should trust him.”

”It's to no one's advantage to make an enemy of a sorcerer. Very well, I'll say nothing if he says nothing.” Josquin rose.

”An if he speak oft? Hast vengeance in mind 'gainst him?”

Josquin shrugged and twisted his mouth. ”What could I 216 -:>.

say? Give it back? Challenge him? He beat me in the one fencing-match we ever had-he's good, you know, very good! He befooled me and did me no harm at all.” He chuckled. ”And I helped him. Good night, Uncle Gaston.”

Gaston held up his hand, halting the Prince Heir's departure. ”A word, Prince,” he said.

”Yes?” Josquin, startled by the t.i.tle, waited.

Gaston looked at the younger man ready to dart out of the tent, bright-eyed and smiling. The Marshal's expression was impa.s.sive and his voice without emotion as he said, ”! shall remind you that in my command, I allow no fraternization 'mongst mine officers.”

Josquin's smile vanished. His face flickered with anger; a wash of color flooded and left his cheeks. But he said, ”I remember, sir.”

”Good night, nephew.” Gaston rose and escorted Josquin out.

At the edge of the forest, Freia sat on a long log destined to become a bridge piling and watched the people of Argylle laughing and talking, cooking and eating, around their bonfires in a fenced, stubbled field. Her hands were clasped and pressed between her knees, and her shoulders were hunched and tight; she stared at the festivities without seeing them. She had brought them a wood-elk to cook, out of her awkward, abiding sense that she must give them something, but further involvement in their feast was outside her training. She had no children nor lovers in the crowd; she had no gossip about others' children or lovers; she did not think they needed her help to prepare the food; and she supposed, in her dissociation from them, that they felt no a.s.sociation : with her.

Someone took up the wood-elk's rack and began prancing around the fires, holding it over his own head. A line of laughing, clapping, whooping others followed him in a moment. Freia looked up at the thin-scattered stars. Beneath the woodsmoke and roast-reek, the night air was sweet and warm; but this was the celebration of taking the last summer Sorcerer and a QentUman 217.

grains, and some of the children were waving the first yellowed boughs of autumn in the train of the horned dance leader. The season and the sky had turned; the harvest made it certain. Until the ripe grain had been cut, she could tell herself that summer still reigned.

Sparks rose in a tower from one of the fires, welcomed with delighted shrieks. Freia stared at the stars still and tried to picture the Landuc star-patterns Prospero had taught her. Winter was coming. How far away was Landuc, among the strange lands Prospero had described?

”Brr, it is cold,” said a woman softly.

Freia looked down from the sky. ”Cledie.”

”Come to the fire and be warm, Lady. The food is ready, or most of it.” Cledie wore a loosely pinned mauve tunic that left a breast bare until she, s.h.i.+vering, pulled the cloth tighter around her. She went to one knee beside Freia, to see her face by the fireglow.

”I'm not hungry, thank you.”

”It is not possible,” Cledie said firmly. ”I can smell the meat cooking even here. A stone would salivate.”

Freia smiled but shook her head. ”It's your feast,” she said.

”And yours, as the grain is yours, and the meat and the fruit and vegetables,” Cledie said. ”Someday you will admit it.”

”None of it's mine. You did it all, yourselves.”

”Here comes Scudamor to argue it with you, apple by peach by bean if you will, Lady.”

”Freia.”

”Freia,” Cledie said, smiling, touching Freia's arm once, light and quick. ”If you will be our Freia, then you must eat with us.”

”Lady,” said Scudamor, crunching over the stubble, a dark earthy-smelling bulk. He crouched on his heels in front of her, beside Cledie. ”If you are hungry, Lady, there is food to eat now. Come and eat.”

”Scudamor,” Freia said, ”summer is over today.”

”I feel you are right, Lady.” Scudamor sighed.

218.

'Etizafteth 'Wittey ”No, no, there will be many more warm days,” Cledie protested. ”Why, summer will not end, truly end, for half a season yet.”

”You exaggerate,” Freia said, ”and you said yourself a moment ago that it's cold.”

Cledie laughed. ”But in comparison to the fireside, it is cold here in the stubble and wood-pile.” She s.h.i.+vered comically. ”Perhaps it will snow.”

”The harvest is in, and summer is over,” Scudamor said. ”I have always thought of it thus. The year wheels on.”

”Yes. Time, more time, and no Prospero, nor any word from him. It has been too long,” Freia said, pulling her hands from her knees and straightening.

”It has been a long time, Lady,” Scudamor agreed, reluctantly. ”Yet not so long as to be all out of memory.”

”He said he would be home last winter,” Freia said, ”and here it is nearly autumn again. Something must have happened to him.”

”What could befall Lord Prospero?” wondered Cledie.

”He might be in trouble,” continued Freia, ”and we cannot know, waiting here.”

”He said he would return,” Scudamor murmured. ”That he might be delayed. That we must wait.”

”I want to know where he is,” Freia said, gesturing once, sharply. ”It cannot be taking this long just to make a war. They meet, they fight all at once, and Prospero is King. That was all there was to do.”

”I know nothing of war,” said Scudamor helplessly. ”I know he said we must wait.”