Part 2 (1/2)

”I am Bork, your majesty,” the hirelance said. His voice was respectful, but his eyes were not. ”You will surrender your sword.”

The stablemaster moaned.

Ignoring him, Tobeszijian never took his gaze from Bork.

”No.”

Bork spread his feet in readiness. His face was hard and wary. ”This can go hard, or it can go easy. The sword and your surrender.” Forty to one was impossible. But Tobeszijian had no intention of fighting them yet anyway-there were other things to accomplish first. He mastered his outrage at the man's impudence and made no move to obey. ”This fortress is under your control?” he asked.

Bork smirked. ”I command it.”

A muscle jumped in Tobeszijian's jaw. Otherwise he did not move. ”I am the king, hirelance. Your prisoner or not, I do not surrender my sword to the likes of you. When your master comes to face me, he can demand my sword, and to him alone will I give my answer.”

Bork did not like his defiance, but Tobeszijian's gaze held the iron confidence of birthright and lineage.

He stared the hirelance down, and when Bork's gaze dropped, Tobeszijian knew he'd won temporarily.

”I will ask this again,” he said quietly. ”Where are the queen and the royal children?”

”Your queen remains in residence, but not for long, we think.” As Tobeszijian's fingers clenched around his sword hilt, Bork showed his fangs in a broad smile. Behind Tobeszijian the stablemaster whimpered in fear, but fell silent instantly as Bork's cruel gaze s.h.i.+fted to him. Tobeszijian never took his eyes off the hirelance, and inside his glove he could feel his ring growing hot. What else had taken possession of his palace? He could not stop his imagination from running wild, wondering if the Nonkind now roamed the hallways and pa.s.sages freely. Had Muncel forged a complete alliance with Gant? If so, he must be mad.

With great effort, Tobeszijian pulled his whirling thoughts back under control. He was sweating despitethe cold morning air. He told himself to keep his royal dignity. He must betray no fear, no rage, nothing to indicate he had lost mastery of himself. ”Now, your majesty,” Bork said, his voice as smooth as a serpent's glide. ”You will come with us to the-” ”I will see my queen,” Tobeszijian said sharply. ”If she lies ill, she is in need of me.”

Bork opened his mouth, but Tobeszijian said, ”What you have orders to do can be done later. I am now within these walls. You guard the only way out.” Bork's eyes seemed to shrink in his face until they were two dark pinp.r.i.c.ks, but he protested not.

Tobeszijian turned his back on the Believer, although he half-expected the man to strike. He caught the stablemaster's attention, and the man gaped at him in open fear. ”Yes, your majesty?”

”A fresh horse,” Tobeszijian said. ”My palace may be emptied, and my friends vanished, but I will not forgo all custom.” It was the king's custom to pause here in his stableyard to change mounts and strip off his mail and armor in exchange for a courtly tunic before riding into the palace grounds. Most of the time he divested himself of his weapons also, handing them over to his squire to be cleaned. The king's squire, a lad named Rustin and the son of Count Numitskir, had not gone on the hunting trip this year. Shortly before their departure, he'd disgraced himself with a slattern who claimed he'd fathered a child on her.

Since squires in training to become knights were expected to remain celibate until after they took their knightly vows, the boy had effectively ruined a promising future. In haste to depart, Tobeszijian had told himself he would judge the matter after his return. It seemed now that he would not. He wondered what had become of the boy. For that matter, what had become of his entire court? Would he ever know?

If he allowed himself to feel his shock, he realized, he would not be able to continue. He refused to think beyond his purpose, which burned like a fire coal in his breast. The future might hold his death at the hands of these rabble, but he would not consider that now.

”Let us amend custom today,” he said to the stablemaster. ”Just the horse.” The stablemaster gulped and nodded, bowing low and backing away to snap his fingers frantically at the boys, who were staring with their mouths open. ”It's been told that you can ride the darsteed,” Bork said, and pointed at the opposite side of the stableyard to a round building with a cone-shaped roof of slate. Lights shone from the tiny windows fitted high in the walls. A bugle of fury, m.u.f.fled by the stone walls, came from inside, along with a series of rapid thuds.

Tobeszijian's nostrils flared. He felt the darsteed's fiery rage reach his senses, and his own pent-up rage and grief responded like fire in his chest. His heartbeat quickened. For a second his blood raced in his veins. He sent his mind to it: I am homeIhomeIhomeIhome. The creature needed exercise. It had been neglected during his absence, cooped up in there the whole time. He could feel its explosive need. Soon, he promised it.

The savage fire of its mind came cras.h.i.+ng back to him, making him sway slightly in the effort of absorbing it. RunIrunIrunIrun.

Soon, he promised it again, and his heart felt as savage as the beast.

The darsteed inside the fortified stall bugled and kicked. Tobeszijian blinked and broke the contact, realizing that Bork was staring at him in open conjecture.

Bork smiled and gestured at the stablemaster. ”Your king would ride his mighty darsteed. It's in need of exercise.” Tobeszijian frowned. Ordinarily he rode the darsteed into battle instead of a charger. The darsteed was a creature from a nightmare, a beast of war and terror. By the laws of tradition, all kings of Nether had owned a darsteed since the days when Nether first defeated Gant and seized the terrifying beasts as prizes. But the creatures were kept locked up and viewed at a safe distance. No Netheran king, until Tobeszijian, had dared to actually ride one. Thanks to his eldin blood, he could control the brute. When Tobeszijian appeared on the battlefield in full plate armor and antlered helm, bearing his two-handed sword and a war hammer, and riding astride a black fearsome creature that breathed fire and roared with all the violence of h.e.l.l itself, few Kladite raiders could stand and hold their ground. Few Gantese Believers and Nonkind would either. Yet Bork was trying to provoke him into bringing it out. Tobeszijian wondered if the hirelances had gone inside to look at the beast and if it had injured any of them. Grimly he met the Gantese's eyes. He would use the darsteed, all right, but not yet. Not until the proper time.

”Ride it,” Bork urged him. ”We have heard of your legend, King Tobeszijian. We would see it for ourselves. No one will bring it out for us.” Tobeszijian said nothing.

He longed for Kuliestka at his side. By now the lord protector would have tried to put an end to these insults, and gotten himself spitted on the end of a sword. Grief rose inside Tobeszijian, twisting painfully, but he choked it down. He must be iron. He must remain every inch a king if he was to keep himself from being shackled and led away in total humiliation to the guardhouse. ”Forgive me, majesty. We dared not take the beast outside while you were gone,” the stablemaster said nervously. ”Since Vlout died of that head kick, no one can handle it except your majesty.”

Tobeszijian frowned, momentarily distracted. ”You were told to find a replacement for Vlout immediately.”

”I tried, majesty, but-”

Tobeszijian lifted his hand to silence the man.

”Ride it, great king,” Bork said, openly mocking him now. The stableboys came leading up a bay courser fitted with an ornate saddle of silver and a velvet saddlecloth. Rosettes had been braided hastily into its s.h.i.+ning black mane, and its dark hooves gleamed with oil. It tossed its fine head and pranced sideways, its delicate nostrils snorting white plumes in the frosty air.

”That's a lady's mount. Not worth a king's backside,” Bork said, grinning and showing his fangs.”Let's see the darsteed.”

Tobeszijian was conscious of time running out, of his tiny advantage slipping from his fingers. He must turn the tide of this game, and swiftly, before all was lost.

”The queen's health is my concern now,” he said coldly. ”When I have seen her, I will consider your request.”

Bork growled in his throat and moved sharply. Perhaps he meant to strike Tobeszijian, or perhaps he was only making a rude gesture. Either way, Tobeszijian turned on him and caught his fist in midair, straining to hold it when the Gantese would have pulled free. Bork's eyes narrowed to black dots of evil.

He snarled, baring his fangs.

But Tobeszijian's blue eyes blazed right back, and his mind-unskilled but strong-crashed against Bork's. Back awayIback awayIback away, he commanded. Bork snarled again. The other guards were closing fast, scenting a problem even while the two men stood close to each other, glaring and lockedtogether, their struggle hidden as yet between their bodies.

”When I am at liberty, I will show you the brute's paces,” Tobeszijian said, straining to hold the hirelance. His voice grew rough from the effort he was expending. Back away, his mind commanded again.

Bork unclenched his fist and stopped the struggle abruptly. His eyes held anger mingled with confusion.

Tobeszijian knew he could not control the Believer, but he could influence him. He pushed again, and saw Bork blink. The Gantese stepped back. ”At your majesty's leisure,” he said, and gestured scornfully at the bay, which shook the rosettes tied to its long mane and pawed the ground. ”We shall still be here.”

Relief came sharp and sudden, like a dagger thrust. Feeling his knees weaken, Tobeszijian turned away and swung into the saddle with all the grace and strength he could exhibit. He rode through the smaller gates on the other side of the stableyard and took the winding road that led to his palace. Not caring what any of them thought, he spurred the animal to a gallop and didn't look back.

The palace grounds sloped uphill, enclosing a small, well-groomed forest of ash trees that bordered either side of the stone-paved road. Spurring the bay courser again, Tobeszijian rode through the trees and glimpsed the small, sleek herd of royal deer nibbling at the still-green gra.s.s they'd pawed up from beneath the snow. Their heads flashed up in alarm as he galloped past, and they turned as one, bounding away.

The road dipped, curved through a snow-rimmed stream, and wound steeply up through a stone archway that had once marked a gatehouse and the crumbled remains of the original fortress walls. Ivy now grew over the fallen stones. Frost had burnished the leaves to tawny colors. From this point the road became older, rougher, narrower. The forest grew right up to it on either side. Then abruptly the trees ended, revealing the top of the hill, which was entirely cleared. The palace stood there, silhouetted against the rosy, pearlescent morning sky. The peaks and spires of its roof seemed to stretch to the heavens. The palace was a magnificent sight that never failed to lift Tobeszijian's heart. Three stories tall, the long, multiwinged palace stood there airily in its setting of snow, sky, and shrubbery. Its pale yellow stone had been quarried from the rocky hills near Lake Charva, and it featured long rows of tall windows. Every window was fitted with actual gla.s.s, a luxury so rare and costly it had once threatened to deplete the treasury.

Delicate columns of white marble supported archways over each window. The columns were carved fancifully in the shapes of serpents, lizards, tree branches, and vines. Winged gryphons lunged from the rooftops as waterspouts, and leaping sea-maids with outstretched arms were carved from marble to form the bal.u.s.trades on either side of the broad steps leading up into the state portico. Nowhere else in Grov or all of Nether could such a building be found. It was too ornate, too whimsical. It gave the eye no rest.

It was as different from the original fortress on this spot as the sun was different from the moon. Yet its ramparts remained strong and practical. Behind it the sheer stone cliffs dropped straight down into the Velga River, creating a natural defense on that side. Runtha's Folly, some folk called this bizarre yet beautiful palace. Begun by Tobeszijian's grandfather, Runtha I, and completed by his father, Runtha II, the palace's unusual appearance was blamed on the eldin and their unwelcome influence.

For many centuries eldin and humans had coexisted peacefully in Nether, even joining themselves into the Church of the Circle and forming the basis of modern religion now held by half the known world. The Chalice of Eternal Life was held sacred by both humans and eldin, who believed in the same history of the Origins and the same G.o.ds. Folk of the eld, however, had magic which the humans did not. They could enter the second world, which humans could not. Eldin and humans found they were usually more comfortable apart, and in general they kept their communities separate. Less than two hundred years ago, Tomias the Reformer-a monk and visionary believed to be from Mandria, although he claimed no land as his origin-had entered Nether, bringing with him a different branch of the church and a radical system of beliefs. Tomias and the reformers considered the eldin to be part of the darkness and superst.i.tion which had held Nether chained for too long. Church magic, held firmly in the hands of the crimson-robed churchmen, was preached to be honorable and true to the Chalice, derived from its sacred power. Eld magic was said to be derived from perversion and secret liaisons with the darkness, a force that would tarnish the Chalice. But any human could enter the Circle and wors.h.i.+p the Chalice, bringing it glory, providing he or she came with a true and willing heart. To serve, a wors.h.i.+per needed only to feel faith. No actual performance or action was required, refuting what had been the former custom of penitence and ritual. Tomias advocated separation and division between humans and the eldin, claiming that the folk of eld had no actual place in the Circle and need not be considered an equal part of it.

Fresh and appealing, this message of reform took quickly in Grov, and from there it spread across the rest of Nether. It became fas.h.i.+onable to deny that the eldin even existed, fas.h.i.+onable to build stone churches and to burn the old paneathas which had stood in wall niches, honoring the old G.o.ds, since time began.

But as a young man, Runtha I shook off the influence of the reformers. One day while riding in the forests alone, he was thrown when his horse stumbled. Knocked unconscious, he awakened hours later to find that night had fallen. Surrounding him was a group of eldin with eerie white flames shooting from their fingertips, lighting the clearing without need of lanterns. Although little contact had been made between humans and eldin since the mission work of Tomias the Reformer, he was treated that night to eld hospitality. Runtha I discovered for himself that the eldin were a gentle, merry people with spirits of light and laughter. He made friends with his hosts, who showed him many wonders and visions. Returning a few days later to his frantic and much-worried court, the young king embraced the old ways and set about undermining the stranglehold of the reformed church. He shortened the sermons and permitted townspeople freedom of choice between the reformed church and the old festivals. Eld groves were preserved by royal decree, and this palace was constructed around the old, dank, original Hall of Kings.

A Mandrian was sent for, and he created these formal gardens of clipped yew hedges, leaving only a small copse of natural hust trees on one side, out of sight. There, roses and sea holly were allowed to grow wild in a thicket. Tended by eldin and much loved by the present queen, this magical place became a riot of color in the spring, when the hust trees bloomed in long white racemes that hung to the ground and all sorts of flowers burst from the ground to open crimson, gold, and pink petals. The bees grew drunk and fat with pollen, the fragrance of flowers filled the air, and the wind would blow a wealth of rose petals across the gra.s.sy paths. As his horse came surging over the last steep segment of road, Tobeszijian summoned a mental image of Nereisse his wife, so pale and graceful, walking there in her grove, her wispy draperies catching on branches, fallen petals hanging in her knee-long blonde hair and scattering behind her. He felt a pang inside him as though he'd been p.r.i.c.ked.

It was her pain, reaching to him.

Oh, great Thod, he prayed frantically, let me reach her in time. He kicked his horse forward, making it kick up spumes of powdery snow, its iron shoes slipping dangerously on patches of ice.

No one waited on the broad steps to greet him. Few lights shone in the windows. The tall double doors stood closed, with no servants ready to open them. He saw no curls of smoke spiraling from the chimneys on the roof. He had never, in all his lifetime, imagined the palace could be this deserted.

The sight of it, abandoned and empty, pierced his heart. A corner of his mind raged, wanting specificnames and faces, ready to condemn and a.s.sign blame. But it was not that easy to separate the tangled skeins of the political web. Who at court was not an enemy of some kind? The lord chancellor, the lord of the treasury, the keeper of the seal, the guardian of the armory, the cardinal of the church, the steward of the household, and yes, especially yes, the king's own half-brother were all problems, siding continuously against him and the policies he tried to set.